#i am about to commit crimes

[obimaulartfire]

Oh my goddddd why does my coworker leave her desk for incredibly long periods of time and I get stuck with all the work I am So!!! Mad!!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[unpretty]

Rare non-kink-taxonomy-hell ask: your description of Sorrowverse Joker as actually good at manipulation and gaslighting, to the point where the act he puts on might sometimes resemble Therapy Joker, has actually made me interested in a version of the Joker. Which has never happened before. Could we hear more about him/this aspect of him? Love your writing btw

what if we had a rare limited-time crossover event

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 🤡:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

"Helloooooo nurse."

"Don't whistle," she snapped, shutting the door. "I'm doing you a favor," she reminded him.

"I thought you were recognizing that denying me cosmetics had no purpose but to dehumanize me," he said.

"You know what I mean," she said, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. "And I'm not a nurse." She pulled the sparkly pencil case she'd brought from the pocket of her coat to offer it to him.

He did not so much rise from his bed as unfold. A spider of a man, all long spindly limbs in ill-fitting pale pink. With all the green of the rest of him, it made him look floral, a mop of green hair and his eyes pastel. Even the white of his skin had a green tinge on closer inspection. She'd been sure it reminded her of something and had spent hours online trying to find it. She'd decided on a small emerald moth, staring at stock photos of delicate wings almost translucent and trying to remember where she ever could have seen one.

Charming as a bouquet full of insects.

He plucked the bag from her hand and pulled what looked like a butterfly knife from inside. He grinned, and when he did his face seemed to grow twice as long and half of it teeth. Gleaming purple metal spun between long fingers, but when he pointed it at her to watch her recoil, it had the teeth of a comb. He waggled his eyebrows at her before running it through his hair, using both hands and raising his elbows much higher than necessary so his shirt rode up. She pressed her lips together rather than dignify the performance with a response.

His eyebrows were still pristine and had been since he'd been admitted. Precise arches with edges razor-sharp.

Without products to keep it in place, his hair fell back down at an angle from his widow's peak. "Don't pretend I'm not funny, Dr. Quinn," he said, metal twirling between his fingers again.

"Quinzel," she corrected.

"Nurse Harlequin," he said, rummaging through the limited personal effects she'd brought him. It was absurd to refuse anyone these few small comforts. She'd always thought so. It was punitive, the way they denied any dignity to anyone they were meant to be treating.

There but for the grace of God, she thought and tried not to.

"I don't have a mirror," he declared, holding a red vial she was sure could not be blood. He reached out to touch beneath her chin. "Hold still."

"Mr. J," she warned, refusing as she always did to refer to him by the only name they had for him.

"I love it when you call me that," he said with relish, using her glasses as a mirror to apply tint to his lips with a wand. "Say it again, doll."

"If they catch you wearing lipstick—"

"It's stain," he said dismissively. "They can't prove it. For all they know I got this the old-fashioned way, sucking dick in the bathroom again."

"Agai—"

"Excellent work, Harley," he said, and then his lips were on hers. She made a muffled sound of indignation and was careful not to move. He'd done this before, the first time they'd met, when he'd learned her name and had a good laugh about it. She'd slapped him for it then, hadn't protested when they'd put him in isolation for it. "Aw," he said as he pulled away, touching her lower lip. "I know it hadn't dried yet, but it doesn't show on you, does it?"

It was only stain, but his skin was so pale the red popped, his grin grotesque. A caricature of something unwholesome, white as a sheet and a mouth like a minstrel, too dark a thought to trust. It was hard not to think the worst of people, ascribe symbolism to nothing at all, fall into spirals. Enough real dog whistles without her inventing new ones.

"That's unacceptable behavior," she said, "and that's not my name."

"You don't call me by my name," he said, tapping the tip of her nose, "and I don't call you by yours." He dropped the pencil case back into her hands before she realized what he was doing, and she had to scramble to catch it in time. "Besides, you seem like a good ride." He made an exaggerated handlebar-revving gesture with both hands and winked as he stepped away from her. Something Fred Astaire in his footwork when he walked. She was careful to stay where she was, tucking the contraband back into her pocket.

"Do you harass all your doctors this way?" she asked pointedly, fixing her glasses again.

"Aggressively," he confirmed as he fell back into his bed. "The rest of them don't like it as much as you do, naughty girl." He sprawled sideways, propping his head up in a pose that might have been provocative if he'd had a curve anywhere but the jutting bones that slotted his hands into his forearms. "It's why they locked me up for being a deviant," he said with a limp-wristed gesture.

"They locked you up for killing people," she corrected.

"They were rich," he scoffed. "That doesn't count as people." Her nose crinkled, pressing her lips together again rather than do anything he'd interpret as a laugh. "You can tell because they didn't send me to prison."

"They didn't send you to prison because Gotham's justice system is fucked," she said. Arkham was privately owned with a budget inflated by charitable donations. It was inevitable that expensive-looking criminals were judged criminally insane, the worst of their excesses no longer a taxpayer problem.

He cocked his head. "Do I look sane to you?" he asked.

"Sane doesn't look like anything," she said. "We both know you knew what you were doing, and there's no medical intervention that would make you behave differently."

He grinned, too wide, too many teeth. She tilted her head a little, only enough to see around the edge of her glasses and confirm that his mouth blurred. "Yet here you are," he said.

"Rehabilitation isn't the exclusive domain of the medically impaired."

This job had been a nightmare from the beginning. Every day in large and small ways it wore her down, an endless river of bullshit trying to smooth down every part of her that believed in anything. No accountability, barely treatment, shifts too long with coworkers as sick as the patients. Less like doctors with patients and more like researchers with lab rats. Rubber stamps and no rocked boats and no goals greater than the status quo. Cameras easily bypassed by any employee who cared to, for whatever reason struck their whim. Her no better.

She should have done more. Her job shouldn't have been worth more than her principles. She could have done more than this, makeup and candy and burner phones in her pockets. She kept notes and told herself she'd blow the whistle someday. She kept her head down and kept her health insurance and knew herself for a traitor.

"Come closer," he said, gesturing with his fingers.

She was halfway across the room before she thought to stop and ask, "Why?"

He was grinning again. "Because I wanted to see if you would," he said, and at the look on her face he threw his head back to cackle. She pressed her nails into her palms and felt her face burn. "This might sound racist," he began.

"Then don't," she warned.

"No, no, it's not like that, I just—"

"Don't."

"I can't tell if you're blushing!" he said, exasperated. He swung his legs around to sit upright, his knees a mile apart. "That's all I was going to say, honestly. Is that bad? You can tell me if it's bad."

"I would call that an 'inside thought'," she said, still blushing. He cackled again.

"Really, though," he said, crooking his fingers again, "you should come over here."

"Why?" she asked first this time.

"So I can kiss you stupid," he said.

Her face felt hot again. "I'm not doing that."

He rolled his eyes so dramatically it took his whole face with it. "I have to come over there?" he asked rhetorically, gesturing at her. "Come on, now, doll. Give yourself a little agency, here. I'm locked up. You get to leave. That little love tap earlier was fine, there were cameras on, I get it, kind of hot if I'm honest, pretty into that. But I've got limits too, you know. You want me to play the big bad taking advantage, that's fine, I'm into it, but trust's a two-way street. Get over here and make it clear you know what you're here for, yeah? Despite what your bosses think, I'm not actually an animal. I'm not sitting here waiting for pretty girls to maim."

"I don't think that," she said, defensive.

"Naw," he said, "you're just coming in here when you're not supposed to be and standing in grabbing range, waiting for nothing to happen. Get over here or leave, I'm not going anywhere."

She half-turned, looking at the doorknob, but hesitated. She wanted the last word, but didn't have one ready and her throat was dry regardless. She felt sick.

"You're real scared I'm gonna laugh at you, huh?" he asked, and she whipped her head around to stare at him. He was leaning forward, chin on his fist, watching her. The pale shade of his eyes made it more predatory than it otherwise would have been. His smile was a wry gash across his face. "That happen a lot?" he asked, cocking his head. "Men telling you you're pretty as a prank, asking you out to make fun when you believed it?" She scowled, and his smile split into a grin. "Awww. Poor l'il Harley. C'mere, then. You wanna make a show of being vulnerable, be vulnerable. Least you can do, don't you think?"

The worst part was realizing, the moment he said it, that it was the thing she most dreaded. That he'd laugh at her for believing him.

She came close enough to stand between his knees, but couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. She looked at the hole in his ear where they hadn't let him keep his earrings, instead.

"There's a doll," he said, grabbing her wrist and yanking so she'd fall into his lap. She narrowly avoided her knee hitting him somewhere awkward. She was distracted by how bony his thighs felt compared to hers, all his limbs too thin as his arms went around her waist. He kissed beneath her ear, and she thought of his mouth, the wide span of it and all those teeth at her throat. "Doesn't being honest with yourself feel better?" he asked against her skin.

"This is very, very bad," she breathed, her voice shaking. Her own body heat was mortifying. He felt halfway to a corpse.

"Awww, don't be like that," he said, and she could feel him smiling. All those teeth. "What's the worst that could happen?"

[phoenixkaptain]

One thing I like is that the only people who really truly see Shinichi in Conan, the only people he drops his guard around enough to act like himself, are like: 1. Hattori, best friend, one of the first people to discover his secret, the human equivalent of a puppy dog. And 2. the Detective Boys, the literal young children he spends time with mostly against his own will.

And it's so funny because he TRIES to keep his guard up, he TRIES to act like a regular, boring child, but Shinichi/Conan has one fatal flaw that prevents him from pulling it off: he's too much of a perfectionist, he's too much of a completionist. Once a mystery has his attention he has to solve it, he has to get to the bottom of it, he has to solve riddles, he'll spend the entire day and night thinking about it because he NEEDS to know.

Hattori knows that because Hattori Gets It, he's right there with him, and he understands that the obsessiveness is what makes Shinichi a good detective.

But the Detective Boys do Not get it, they just know that sometimes their weird buddy gets strangely intense and normally it's because murder is involved but sometimes it's about a stupid map to treasure that he finds stupid until he finds out he doesn't get it and begins to obsess over it until he does get it. And sometimes their weird buddy starts laughing maniacally and they're all a bit concerned, but hey, maybe that's just how weird friend expresses himself? Sometimes weird buddy seems to pretend to be stupid, like he just spent fifteen minutes explaining something only to turn around and act like he's three. And this bothers them because, like, what? What's the purpose? And how is anyone convinced???

I love the Detective Boys plots, they are all Conan thinking that it's stupid only to then get way too into it. And just imagine how Inspecter Megure feels! This child yesterday explained the hows and whys of a gruesome murder, only to then be like "how does a clock work?" Like, bro must be SO confused. He and the Detective Boys are over there like, "I know Conan isn't stupid. You know Conan isn't stupid. Conan knows Conan isn't stupid. And yet, somehow, Conan just said the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. And now he's back to not being stupid, what was the poINT-"

All this to say, I like that Conan's friends know about Conan's interests and obsessions and accept those interests and obsessions as part of him, and even try to give him things to interest him and get him to spend time with them. Which is just something we never really see with Shinichi because Shinichi's only real friend seemed in the beginning to be Ran, and Ran in the first episode seemed caught off guard by the fact that Shinichi spent nearly an entire trip to an amusement park talking about Sherlock Holmes.

[secretly-a-trekkie]

woke up an hour ago, looked in the mirror and had a thought ™️

[userhangmanpage]

For you this is a professional accomplishment. For me... this is personal. I don't want this opportunity. I need it.

[infamously-winking]

Silly Straw Page Fully Translated:

hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg = “eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind”

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv = “The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away”

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob = “Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly”

215 858 117 450 110 628 19 211 120 2256 216 951 25 256 27 532 212 506 18 1317 110 1137 221. 658 23 1330 210 231 118 929 112 2043 = “Twisted out of shape after the kill, the ghosts of his family are haunting him still.”

we’re not talking about that last cipher enough…

[everwalldigan]

Me whenever Jason Todd is being a massive CUNT, a mean BITCH if you will, committing CRIMES AND MURDER in any piece of media

[hereticalarchives]

Is sex or sexual thoughts (of the straight or queer variety) actually viewed as heretical for space marines in 40k or is it one of those things the fanon has just repeated a lot since the idea is up to interpretation ?

[wistoreal]

willry doodles for tonight + headcanon rambles in tags ^_^

[generic-sonic-fan]

Hi!

When I read your fics I was amazed how you write team dark and their dynamic. I was wondering, since I would like to write about them as well, but am struggling with really getting them to feel like actual people.

Do you have any tricks or things you keep in mind when writing Omega? And on top of that, what do you keep in mind when writing Rouge or Shadow? How do you make these three fit so well? Like three puzzle pieces that kind of have the right shape but still don’t quite align.

I’m sorry if this is a big ask, I’m just quite curious, you have written them so well in Mirror Verse and other one shots like CTRL + ALT + DELETE. Can’t help but ask for the secrets of the master :)

I am so honored by this question and you've also activated my trap card. I LOVE talking about how I see these guys and the vibes I keep in mind for each of them while writing.

The TL;DR:

Team Dark are a group of three mutually beneficial friends who regard each other as equals, even if they occasionally disagree/fight. In my opinion, if this is missing, you're no longer writing Team Dark, but "Rouge and her two dogs" or "IDW Shadow and his no good very bad mandates" or whatever. This is my most controversial opinion.

For Omega, he's the boisterous rebel of the group. He helps keep their momentum going at all times, and tends to be a driving force in conversations and the instigator of new actions.

For Shadow, he's the serious anchor of the team. He helps keep Team Dark together, tending to be the one most willing to let his true emotions show, whether that be his attachment to them or his real opinions on a situation.

For Rouge, she's the charismatic tactician of the team. She helps point Team Dark in a direction, tending to outline the circumstances and situations they find themselves in to help the other two understand better.

To use tropes, they're all Lancers for each other. Ideally, each one of them can be compared and contrasted against each other- not just Shadow and Rouge vs Omega or Shadow and Omega vs Rouge.

To move onto individual breakdowns of how I see each of them and how they fit together- LONG post beneath the cut! You have been warned! Oh, and the actual writing advice is at the bottom because I got carried away, oops.

Omega:

The basis-

The very core of my writing for Omega comes down to three points, which I will reiterate here for convenience. Omega:

Hates Eggman

Will do ANYTHING to avoid being ignored and overlooked again

uses the first point to cover up the second point and would sooner deactivate than admit it

This is, in my humble opinion, what motivates Omega in almost everything he does. He's loud and boisterous. Why? Because he hates being silenced! He's violent and dangerous. Why? Because the idea of being (and being seen) as powerless makes him furious.

Omega's greatest desires, outwardly manifested by his drive to kill his creator, are about choice and freedom for himself. If he wants to do something, he does it. Flat out. Or in the very rare cases of his restraint, he will make it explicitly clear that he is choosing not to for a reason that still benefits him in the long run. This robot has a pathological need for control over his life, and god help anyone who dares threaten that.

That control includes control over his image- he's a deeply prideful individual. Getting him to admit a mistake is like pulling (metaphorical) teeth. Shadow and Rouge are more likely to apologize than he ever will be. He can't stand being perceived as weak, inconsistent, or incompetent.

He's much more of a liar than Shadow ever could be. I've heard the phrase "still waters run deep", and I think that describes Omega perfectly. Like all the other members of Team Dark, he is extremely guarded with his more vulnerable emotions. Whereas Rouge's cover emotion is a flirty suaveness, and Shadow's cover emotion is aloof determination, Omega's cover emotion is a sort of joyous rage. He wants to be seen either as A. Angry or B. Having the time of his life. Good luck getting him to express anything else. (Even in front of Shadow and Rouge!)

But the important part is that he does feel the full range of emotions. And he accepts that he feels all those things, even if you couldn't get him to confess it out loud. I myself tend to accidentally write Omega as more philosophical than I think he needs to be, but that doesn't negate the fact that he does care about things that he pretends not to! How people treat him vs how they treat his organic teammates, his role as the (not quite) only friendly robot in his universe, so on. He has a curiosity about the world around him that someone who was isolated from it might have. And yes, there's actual canon evidence for this now- he spends all of Shadow's campaign in Sonic x Shadow generations making remarks and generating conclusions about the world around him, not just about Eggman robots.

Omega has such a zeal for life that he's not himself without it. He cares. He cares. He cares. Make him have strong opinions on everything.

Fitting into Team Dark:

Omega fits into Team Dark as their catalyst. The definition of "catalyst" is "a substance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction without itself undergoing any permanent chemical change".

Omega is the one always spurring Shadow and Rouge into motion, and he's the one that forces them into conflict- not against each other, but against the world, and their preconceptions of just about everything. He's the one asking "WHY NOT?" whenever they say they can't do something, "WHO CARES?" whenever they worry too much about anything. He's got too much drive to ever sit idly by, and being friends with him requires at least some level of reciprocation of that energy.

The biggest way Omega shows that he cares is simply by his presence. Shadow and Rouge understand that if Omega did not want to be here, he wouldn't be. Tolerating their own problems and eccentricities is their biggest ask from him. Given that "their problems" usually tend to be far outside his skill range, he's always a bit unsure of how to solve them. And of course, as we covered previously, he hates feeling or seeming unsure.

. . . but he does want to solve them. Because he cares.

He's the most classically tsundere out of all of them. It took him the longest out of all of them to figure out that he did genuinely care about them, but now that he does. . . he's not quite sure how to navigate it? Relationships are still new to him, give him time. The line where "WANTING TO MAINTAIN TEAMMATE EFFECTIVENESS" separates from "SEEING MY TEAMMATE IN DISTRESS MAKES ME DISTRESSED" is really fuzzy for him.

So he tries. He's one to face their problems like he does every other problem- head on. It's moments like this where his own clarity and certainty of character can cut through the fog of a problem that the other two are overcomplicating.

---

He's most similar to Shadow in their shared bluntness and need to feel like they're accomplishing their goals. They're both impulsive. They're both guys who ask "well why don't we just do X" and then they go run off to do X, even if it's already been tried and found to not work by someone before them. They share a mistrust of the competency of others.

He's most unlike Shadow in the fact that Shadow masks, heavily, while he does not. Shadow keeps quiet and tries to blend in with "normal" people. Omega does not, from his appearance to the way he acts. He embraces his differences while Shadow struggles with them. Omega is much more certain in his identity than Shadow will ever be.

---

He's most similar to Rouge in their shared nonchalance for consequences. Rouge is barely, barely governed by the idea that it would be harder to do what she wants if the cops are after her. Omega has come to agree with this philosophy. I've always headcanoned them as being far more morally questionable than Shadow would ever let himself be. They're also both go-getters. When they see something they want, they get it, even if the methods they employ to do so differ.

He's most unlike Rouge in that Rouge loves to play the "game" of society. She gets joy out of playing the fool sometimes and allowing people to underestimate her, something Omega would never tolerate even if he did see the value of such a play. This extends to her proclivity for stealth and anonymity- she doesn't mind having the last laugh over someone in private, whereas for Omega, what's the point if nobody knows that you won?

Shadow:

The basis:

Shadow is a character that I have the most difficulty describing how I write. Probably because, for fuck's sake, he's Shadow the Hedgehog. Everybody knows Shadow. Everybody writes about Shadow. And everybody writes about Shadow differently yet they all feel like the same guy. He is "all of him", and in a manner almost similar to Metal Sonic, there's so many different ways you can portray him yet still have it feel right.

Here is just about the only post I've made about how I write Shadow. It's a bit rambly, but I still stand by it. My favorite paragraph from it is probably this one-

At his best, Shadow is thoughtful, neutral, and surprisingly level-headed. Impulse only gets the best of him when he perceives himself as being the only one who can act competently- if a situation "needs" an Ultimate Lifeform, he's the first to run in and try to solve it. Otherwise, he's much more methodical than the likes of Sonic, Amy, Omega, etc. He values efficiency over fun or flashiness. He's not very good at putting himself in other people's shoes, but if you want an objective opinion on a situation at hand he's one of your best bets to ask.

For me, Shadow is someone who values being stoic and being there for the people who need him. One of his innate desires, one that he consistently struggles with, is to be the perfect tool for the people he cares about. He wants to solve their problems. Ease their pain. Fulfill their wishes about the world. I always thought that his very first line in SA2 to Eggman, about "granting his wish" was very resonant to him both pre- and post-Maria.

Shadow knows that he has the tendency to follow the directions of others, and it's something he fights within himself. He pushes himself to be independent to the point of overcorrecting and putting everyone off. He also has a tendency to form attachments, deeply, and this too is something that he tries to suppress and avoid showing (for Maria-related reasons).

Ultimately, Shadow is the most honest character of Team Dark. His struggles with who he is and his own mental health are too big for him to fight alone- as a result, he's forced to share them. He tries so hard to deny parts of him to himself that he ends up spilling everything everywhere. Shadow tries, and does a decent job in front of strangers, but among friends he just can't hide. He is all of him.

(This ironically results in him being the 'token mentally ill one' of Team Dark when I write him, lol! He's the one who's had to put the work in because of his PTSD, and it shows! He's got more emotional maturity than either Omega or Rouge because he's had to develop it to keep moving forward with his life.)

Fitting into Team Dark:

Shadow is the anchor of Team Dark. He helps ground Omega and Rouge to the world. He's by far the most philosophical and spiritual of the three- he's the only one thinking about stuff like his purpose, his future, his role in life, what he's meant to be, etc. He's a thinker, and sometimes Omega and Rouge need that sort of anchor to the bigger picture to stay themselves.

He is honest and he is earnest. He says what he means, and means what he says. He provides the best evaluations of the current situation. He's almost like the "canary in the coal mine"- if something is going wrong, if the Team or anybody in it starts to lose their way, Shadow is the first to speak up.

He might not be the one to start the conversation, but he is the first one to really talk, and this helps the others open up. The most important thing is that he doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's not self-aware enough to be a facilitator or mediator in any capacity, but he is the stabilizer of the three regardless.

. . . which some might call ironic, given the fact that it's Rouge and Omega helping him stay level when it comes to his erratic mental health. He does lean on them when he gets triggered. He needs to. And sometimes he needs someone to talk him out of his own spiral when he thinks too much. Omega and Rouge help him to unwind from the tight little knots he binds himself in trying to sort out himself.

Saying that Shadow cares about them is like saying that Shadow cares about breathing. It's effortless. Natural. He couldn't stop caring about them now if he tried. It's just the way he's wired. The biggest way that he shows this is by doing things for them and worrying about them. Both in silence, of course.

---

He's most similar to Omega in his potential for ruthlessness and a stubbornness when they've made up their minds. They also relate through their shared otherness to the majority, being manufactured beings who have difficulty discerning the intentions and reasoning of others.

He's most unlike Omega in that he has a firm moral compass and a deep consideration for what is "intended" for him. Furthermore, conflict isn't something Shadow enjoys. Destruction? Sure. Conflict? Not really, so he avoids it for things he doesn't deem important. Omega finds disagreements refreshing, whereas for Shadow they make him feel trapped.

---

He's most similar to Rouge in that they both don't mind slowing down. They both take pleasure in the little things in life, from soft blankets to good fur care products and the like. Though Shadow is more duty-driven than her, they prefer having lives outside of their work. They both need to have periods alone to gather themselves again.

He's most unlike Rouge in that he's selfless while she's selfish. It's not even just that he's got a more heroic moral compass than her- he just fundamentally values other things more highly than he does himself. Of the entire team he's the most likely to step up to "do what's required" or "do what's right". Oh, and he's self-sacrificial to a fault, something Rouge just can't fathom.

Rouge:

Rouge is the hardest for me to write because she's the opposite of Omega in a lot of ways.

This is a bat who puts on a front for everything.

Including in her own narration.

I think my strongest POV character work for her that shows this is chapters 2 and 6 of my 2024 Team Dark Week one-shots. Both of which allude to things about her that she won't even tell the audience, as well as plenty of emotions that she kicks down so that nobody sees them.

Whereas Omega desires physical control, Rouge desires control over information. She's a string-puller, a manipulator, a planner. She's the ultimate tactician, and she will do everything in her power to ensure that she ends up on top and her enemies end up on the bottom, crushed by her own heel if she's lucky, but she'll also settle for their destruction by anyone or anything else.

She's invested most heavily into her social skillset. She always knows the right thing to say. Conversations are if-then equations for her; if she says this, then the other person will feel that. She uses this on enemies and friends alike, and furthermore, regardless of what she might actually want to say or do in the moment.

A friend might be sad, and if she needs them to be happy, she'll console them, even if she would rather grab their shoulders and scream her frustration at them. An enemy might ask her to do something that she hates, but if it means accomplishing her goals, she'll shove that down and do it with a smile. She's flexible, adaptable, mutable, and she can track her status with each individual with ease. . .

. . . except with herself. Not to say that she isn't incredibly prideful, and that she won't stick up for herself, but sometimes the gap between what she needs to be to get the result she wants and what she's actually feeling in the moment can grow so large she disconnects them entirely. She won't just hide her emotions- she will feel ashamed of them and try to force herself not to feel them.

She's the most 'herself' when she's 'off shift', so to speak. She relaxes significantly when she's alone or with the two people on this planet that she trusts enough to do so. She actually becomes less opinionated when she's at her most casual. She can get catty or annoyed by things in this state but she much more go-with-the-flow. While she gets the most pleasure from intensive gem heists, it doesn't take much to just make her happy. A good TV show? She's happy. A fun chat with a friend? She's happy. Painted nails and a good outfit? Happy.

The catch is having the stability to stay that way, hence the impressive tangle of machinations she concocts to keep her little corner of the world totally within her control.

Fitting into Team Dark:

Most people probably were surprised by my previous section stating that Shadow was the emotional anchor of the team. Most people see Rouge that way- and that's a valid interpretation, but I prefer a different take.

Rouge is the team leader. Period. I stand by the majority of this post I made about Rouge's dynamic as the team leader. The TL;DR is that she's the planner and tactician, the expert at cognitively thinking through the best way to aim the two living weapons at her disposal. This also, however, comes with resolving the differences between them when things get heated.

She often finds herself as the one resolving conflict, not because she's the "mom friend", but that she needs these two to get along (and some external parties to get along with them!) or else a lot of her plans could fall apart, and she cannot have that. Being a part of Team Dark is one hell of a vulnerable position for her, and there's some days where she wonders if it's worth it. Being dependent on others like this freaks her out in a way that Shadow and Omega can't conceptualize.

She's always had a soft spot for Shadow and Omega given the circumstances. That much is true. But I think it's only a significant ways into her friendship with them that she resolves to stick by Shadow and Omega's sides should the world turn against them. Choosing to have someone's back instead of distancing herself the moment things become dicey is a huge sign that she genuinely cares. I believe her confession in Sonic 06, and again in SxS Gens, to be the most honest and heartfelt she's ever going to be with them. Shadow and Omega might not understand the full depth of what those moments meant for her.

---

She's most similar to Shadow in that they're both pretty grounded. A lot of the basic assumptions they make about the world and scripts for how to behave are similar between them. They feel their emotions similarly and in response to similar situations, even if Rouge tends to hide them better. They're both just. . . pretty relaxed people outside of extraordinary circumstances. Not to say they don't have moments where they get passionate and excited on their own though.

She's most unlike Shadow in that she doesn't think anything is wrong with her. For all her knowledge on people and emotions and conversation, she doesn't understand that the way she operates is pretty mentally ill, folks! She thinks that she doesn't have any trauma, anything to cry about or angst over, and nothing is further than the truth. Her struggles were 'ordinary', distant from alien bioweapons or growing up on a space station or being freshly created then locked in a basement forever. But they were still struggles, struggles that shape how she sees the world and not in a good way.

---

She's the most similar to Omega in their shared pathological need for control, lol. They're both control freaks, even if said control freaking can occur in opposite directions from each other. It's where they chafe the most and it's because they're so similar. They're also both prideful and care deeply about keeping their reputations consistent. They're both liars in contrast to Shadow's honesty.

She's the most unlike Omega in that she's willing to mute herself to get what she wants. Sometimes she wishes she could scream "why can't you just pretend to be normal?!?!?!" at him when he's stirring up trouble and forcing her to alter her plans. She's calculated. He's rash. Fundamental mismatch of vibes sometimes.

Conclusion

It's been so fun to type out the culmination of almost my two years writing for these characters and how they weave in and out of each other.

In a not-at-all-concise way, I've tried to describe how they fit together and how they all have different sides to them.

I think the most important thing I've practiced to make them feel "real" when you're writing them is to hint, but not outright state, that there's something they're not saying that differs or is deeper than their surface-level conversation. For example, Rouge would never ever EVER say "I'm manipulating people to protect myself." Omega would never ever ever say "I care but I have no idea how to show it." Shadow could maybe possibly say "I'm trying to find myself and resist being the obedient tool I was made to be," but holy shit is he going to have to be going through it to even consider saying that.

You have to hint at it. Dance around the topic. Delight in withholding the information from the readers. Have Rouge sweet-talk someone to do something only for her smile to fade into something anxious and tired the moment their back is turned. Have Omega shoplift something small for Rouge from the supermarket and have him questioning the entire time whether it was even worth the effort, only to be relieved when Rouge squeals in delight. Have Shadow give an abrupt "no" to a seemingly benign request for a favor from Rouge and write him clamming up about why he did so afterwards.

It's blending these deeper facets of their characters into their current dialogue and actions that's my favorite thing to do in my writing. Even better if an outside character witnesses that little glimpse of the interior world and goes "huh, I wasn't expecting that."

Oh, and all the above paragraphs I've typed in this post to perfectly describe each character? Remember that they don't know all that about themselves.

They might be just as surprised as the outside characters are about how they've acted. They might not realize that something was bothering them, or that there was something they feel strongly about, until it surfaces unexpectedly! This can result in fights, or big dramatic moments.

All of THAT dives into the whole "avoiding therapy-speak" discussion currently happening in the greater writing community, one that would require me to write an entirely different post to explain. Here's my favorite primer on the subject if you'd like, but this post is already long enough, so I'll leave off here.

Thank you so much for this ask. You gave my autistic ass the best evening of my life typing this all out.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Something from the post-apocalypse (part 1). About 1.7k.

GP knocks on the infirmary door and doesn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, motioning for Max to get in ahead of him.

The infirmary is not really a medical room, just a room they have converted into a makeshift doctor office, with a couple of cots, a desk, and several cabinets full of supplies. They don't even have doctors, not really, but they make do. In the past few years, more or less anyone has learned how to suture small wounds and determine if someone is worth dragging back to safety or if it's better to leave them for dead.

Still, they do have some people who are more expert than others, mostly because of previous knowledge, and Rupert and Brad are two of them.

He tells Max to sit down on the cot, watching as the boy lifts himself on it with a wince, and then goes to knock on a different door, hoping someone is on the other side and he doesn't have to leave Max in here to go look for them.

It must be his lucky day though, because the door opens, Brad nodding at him.

"What's up?"

GP motions towards Max, then subtly shakes his head when he sees Brad's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth already open to ask questions.

"He needs a check up," he tells him, moving back next to Max. He could leave at this point, Max is unharmed and Brad is more than capable of defending himself, but he leans against the cot instead, watching as Brad drags a chair closer.

Max is sitting with his arms crossed, his expression a mix of suspicion and confusion, shoulders tense. He looks like a scared boy and it makes GP feel softer than he has in forever.

"Who are you, then?" Brad asks, motioning for Max to take his top off. It must have been a hoodie once, but it's now destroyed, covered in blood and dust.

Max doesn't move.

"I'm Max," he says, arms still crossed, "and I'm not stripping."

Brad throws GP a look, eyebrows raised again, but then brings his attention back to Max.

"If you want me to check your injuries, I gotta see them, mate."

"I don't want anything," Max snaps back, tilting his chin towards GP. "He brought me here. I already know what are my injuries you don't need to see them."

"Max," GP cuts in before Brad can reply, "let Brad do his job. I'll get you another shirt when he's done."

Max glares at him, pouting, and doesn't move.

"I am not taking my clothes off in a room with two strangers, one of which is armed. And if that means you'll throw me out, then throw me out."

This time GP is pretty sure his eyebrows are just as high on his forehead as Brad's are. He doesn't even want to start dissecting the reasoning behind Max's decision, but it's clear he won't be moved.

"Fine," Brad finally sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "How old are you?"

"Old enough."

GP huffs and exasperated breath and clenches his teeth, trying to find patience. In some twisted way, it's almost comforting to know teenagers haven't changed in the apocalypse either.

"I'm eighteen."

Max's voice is much quieter, and when GP snaps his attention back at him, he notices his whole demeanor has shifted, shoulders curled inwards and eyes low. It's only when he sees his gaze jump between GP's hands and the gun on his side that he realises that Max is scared.

GP is an armed stranger, who was clearly annoyed at him, and Max is scared. Fuck.

GP works to relax his face, crossing his arms so his hands are away from his weapons.

"Thank you, Max," he says, as gently as possible. It seems to surprise Max, but the boy still relaxes a little, so GP will count it as a win.

"Since you don't want to show me, can you tell me where you're hurt?" Brad asks, bringing them back on track. When GP looks at him he's already looking back, a million questions in his eyes. GP is glad he can't ask them at the moment, because he doesn't think he has any answers.

"I have some cuts, most of them from glass. The worst one is here," Max points at his side, almost on his hip, "which I stitched up, but I don't know if I did a good job. My ribs hurt, don't know what's with them, and I think I have a sprained ankle. Left one."

If the list fazes Brad, he doesn't show it, nodding along Max's words.

"Alright. If your ribs hurt, it would help me to touch them, and see if they're broken, same with your ankle. And for the stitches, I would really need to see them. Do you think there's glass in the cuts?"

Max shrugs, apparently uncaring.

"Not sure. I think not."

Brad nods again.

"Okay. What can I do to make you comfortable enough to get your shirt off so I can check?"

For a long moment, Max doesn't answer, looking at Brad appraisingly, then uncrosses his arms, pointing towards GP.

"He goes. And you show me you have no needles on you."

GP tries his best not to show a reaction, despite unease curling in his gut.

"I'll go get you some clean clothes and some soap. I'll be back."

Brad does something complicated with his face that GP doesn't bother trying to interpret as he heads towards the door. The last things he sees before shutting it behind him, it's Brad emptying his pockets on the table next to the cot.

--

When GP comes back, a change of clothes and some other things tucked into a satchel in his hands, Max is still sitting on the cot, but he's now shirtless and shoeless, sharp eyes following Brad's movements as he grabs some supplies from the drawers.

"Oh, perfect timing!" Brad says when GP knocks, turning around with a smile. "I want him to shower before I put some bandages on him."

Max doesn't seem too thrilled about the idea, or about GP being back in the room, but he jumps off the cot anyway, ignoring Brad's surprised exclamation, extending his hand for the things GP is carrying.

"This way," GP tells him, refusing to give them to him as he guides him to the closest showers, noticing the way Max's steps drag a little. He would offer him help, but he doesn't think Max would do well with feeling weak, so he marches on, pulling a door open and ushering Max inside.

The showers are near the infirmary for a good reason, and he's been often happy about it. When he sees the pallor of Max's face and the way he holds onto the wall as he waits for instructions, he feels glad about it all over again.

"Water turns off automatically after 7 minutes, but if you need more to get clean just yell and I will sort it out," GP tells him, pulling the shower curtain from one of the stalls to the side and placing the soap on the floor.

"I'll leave this," he adds, raising the satchel, "right here. There's a towel and a change of clothes, hopefully they fit. If they don't, yell and I'll sort it out. I'll be right outside."

Max nods, but doesn't move, eyes fixed somewhere on GP's left.

"Max," GP calls, waiting until the boy finally looks at him, "I won't come in and nobody else will come in, unless you yell or I have reasonable belief you have passed out. Okay?"

"Loud and clear," Max mumbles, but GP sees his shoulders relax just a tad. He really needs to talk to Jonathan and figure out where the hell he's been to become this wary.

He knows the world isn't a kind place right now, hell, he's lived in worse places than this since the apocalypse started, but he doesn't like the idea of a kid being this tense about something easy as a shower.

He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Max, wanting to say anything that could reassure him at all, but then he thinks better of it, simply turning around and exiting the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind him.

For a while, he doesn't hear anything.

There's the usual sounds of The Garage, the mechanical whirr of the fans, the buzzing of the lights, the echo of someone's step walking down the corridors somewhere on his right, far away enough he can't point out who it might be. But nothing from the bathroom.

After five minutes he's almost tempted to open the door, check that Max is still alive, when he finally hears the groaning of the pipes that signal the water being turned on.

After seven minutes he holds his breath, waiting for Max to call for more water, but there's nothing but silence. He waits, listening tensely, but the next thing he hears is the sound of the handle being pulled down and the door opening.

He steps away from the wall he'd been resting against, and meets Max's eyes. He looks...different. The layer of blood and grime is gone, leaving his skin pink, like he scrubbed hard to clean it. Now that his face is clean it's clear that there's no trace of a stubble on his cheeks, just some acne on his neck, and on his forehead, where his hair is flopping wetly. The hoodie GP had brought him is too big, sleeves dropping down to the tip of his fingers.

He looks young. He looks like a kid. A skinny kid with bags under his eyes and scrapes all over.

GP's heart clenches.

"All done?" he asks, more softly than he intended to.

Max nods, looking down at where he's holding the wet towel and his ruined clothes.

"Where..." he starts, hesitantly.

"Unless you're particularly attached to those clothes I'd say we can throw them away, and I'll take care of the towel," GP interrupts him, extending his hand to take them.

Max doesn't flinch at the movement, but it's close enough, muscles stiffening until he visibly forces himself to relax, handing everything over.

"You can throw them," he tells him, looking even more lost now that he doesn't have anything to hold.

GP nods, throwing everything back into the satchel and turning around, worried about what expression might be on his face.

"Come on, let's get back to Brad, and then I'll find you some food."

"Thank you," Max murmurs, so low GP can barely hear him.

"Of course, kid. Come on."

[darrys-laundry]

hope cole’s solo 7 am paul performance went well this morning

[the-wizard-synonyms]

oh fuck oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck oh shit

[procrastinahman]

Watching the gilded age and got to the Billy Carlton portion.

“I don’t have the strength to fight anymore” brother what fight. You didn’t even step into the ring.

[kindahoping4forever]

Nostalgia For A Time That Never Existed in Washington DC - 26 May 2024