#GOD IS AN EGOIST++ ;OOC

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Track 1

melt with you | modern english - RinSagi

I'd stop the world and melt with you you've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time there's nothing you and I won't do I'd stop the world and melt with you

💌 Rin takes his chance right here and now.

Tags and Themes: fluff!! wedding arc for certain characters!! a little ooc but I loooove writing Isagi and Rin this way. Hissy kitties but will love deeply lmao

Masterlist ❣️

Rin hates weddings.

Maybe just this one.

On this lovely day, everyone celebrated the wedding of Itoshi Sae.... and Shidou Ryusei. It seems they never fell apart after the whole thing they did during the U-20 match. As it turns out, Shidou got Sae's number, and every day he'd message the older Itoshi. Sometimes he'd get a cold reply, sometimes it's radio silent.

Confirmation of the two seeing each other was solidified when Sae bought a house far from the city and Shidou moved in a few days later. Maybe that's when Rin finally accepted, rather tolerated, that his brother and that pink roach are... meant to be together.

Shidou looked tame for once in his life, in a tux and his hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail. Sae looked the same, except for the small smile on his face and the sparkle in his eyes finally back after so many years of being lifeless.

Rin gagged a little as he sat on the round table with the other Blue Lockers, watching a video presentation of the same-day edit the videographer and his team made. It was all too much, Rin thought. He'd do it a little subtler once he gets married. His eyes then wandered to the other table next to his and he saw him.

They didn't speak much during the ceremony. Rin stole glances at him as Shidou and Sae exchanged vows, though he got annoyed at how inappropriate Shidou's vows were and how Sae smiled slightly at those. Rin still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that his brother liked being cuffed.

Isagi, with his hair parted on the side and slicked back (Rin preferred it that way now), was seated between Bachira, who was tearing up while watching the video and clutching onto Isagi's sleeve, and Chigiri, who was busy filming the whole thing for Kunigami. The big guy never bothered to attend after the shit he got from Shidou. Isagi looked love-struck for some reason. Was he imagining his wedding too? Rin would like to think so because Isagi's a softie like that. It's one thing Rin admires about him. Despite how much of an egoist he became, he's still softhearted off the field.

The celebration went on until the host requested the newlyweds to have their first dance on the dance floor. Shidou, being extra as he is, spun Sae a few times before pulling him closer, his arms slithering around Sae's waist. It's still mind-boggling to see Sae smile at Shidou. Rin had never seen his brother smile since that night on the field, so he wasn't sure if he still experienced happiness. But seeing him on the dance floor, swaying with Shidou, Rin knew Sae was happy.

Shidou rested his forehead against Sae's, whispering something to him which earned another smile. Rin sees Sae respond, hushed conversations under the music and the eyes of their guests. It was almost romantic... if it wasn't them up there.

After a few more sways, the host invited everyone to join them on the dance floor. A few people stood up from their seats and joined Shidou and Sae, congratulating them before getting together with their dance partners. Rin felt like this was his chance, an opportunity he might never get. Because after this event, after this whole little reunion, he'll never see Isagi again. Isagi would fly back to Germany, and he'd be back in France. Sure, Rin could visit Isagi by plane or train or car or whatever, but this exact moment is what he's been waiting for.

So, with a huff, he stood up from his chair and walked towards Isagi's table. Isagi was reclining back in his seat while in a conversation with Chigiri. God, he was beautiful. It was a little too late when Rin realized that. Isagi already left for Germany after their time in Blue Lock. He felt like a total dumbass not saying something before they all left the facility. But thank God for Shidou and Sae, they got everyone together, even those who were in the NEL. He can feel his heart thump! thump! thumping against his chest as he reached his seat, standing there stiffly as he heard the hum of Isagi's voice.

If it weren't for Bachira, Isagi wouldn't have turned around to see Rin there, staring at him with his ever-bored teal eyes. "Rin-chan," Bachira piped, "you here for Isagi?" he teased as he pushed Isagi off of his seat. Isagi laughed and protested but was now standing up, running his hand over his tux to neat them up. "Yes," Rin replied. He then held his hand out for Isagi, his eyes looking straight at Isagi's deep blues. "Would you like to dance?" Rin asked. Isagi's eyes widened, and then he turned to Bachira as if asking "You heard that, right?" Bachira's eyes shifted between Rin and Isagi and smiled confirming that yes, they heard it right.

Isagi took Rin's hand and Rin led him to the dance floor. He didn't notice the way Shidou smirked his way, didn't notice the smiles from his former teammates. All he focused on was Isagi under the lights, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. They stood there awkwardly, Isagi's hand still in Rin's. Rin noticed the shift on Isagi's face, his curiosity now turning into a frown.

"I don't know how to dance," Rin silently confessed with a sigh to explain why he was just standing. "You asked me to dance but you don't know how?" Isagi replied, his voice teasing. Isagi pulled Rin's hand and placed it on his waist, and then Isagi rested his hands on his chest. "I'll teach you then."

Isagi then started to sway, and Rin followed his lead. Rin then tightened his arm around Isagi, pulling him closer. He didn't sense any objections from Isagi, which was a good sign. He felt Isagi's arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders, and it made everything better.

Isagi drowned everything around them... at least that's how Rin felt.

Right now, it was just them on the dance floor. No one else in the room, just them, holding each other close. The taller boy leaned to rest his forehead against Isagi's, closing his eyes to relish the moment he knows will be replaying in his mind forever. "Rin?"

Isagi's gentle voice pulled him back to reality, teal meeting deep blue. "Are you okay?" He asked. Rin breathed and nodded. "I just... missed you."

"Really? The great Itoshi Rin misses me, his rival?"

"Believe it or not, yes. I missed you and your smart mouth," Rin replied, rolling his eyes at Isagi.

Isagi scoffed and smirked up at him. "Is that why you're holding me like this?"

"Yes," Rin replied.

Isagi took a breath before he spoke, and Rin stopped him by speaking first. "I missed seeing your stupid face every single day because, in Blue Lock, we only see each other. I missed your smart remarks and insults because they pushed me to at least be a little better than you. I missed the way you subtly showed you care, at least, and I hated how I resented you and thought you were pitying me. But thinking about it now, I'd rather have you around than be apart.

"I can't believe I missed you. Seeing you here now made me feel... feel complete. I know it's because my good-for-nothing brother got married to the worst person I've met in the facility, but it made me think that if I don't take my chance, I'd lose you forever."

Isagi stared up at him, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest with every word that spilled from his lips. Oh, how he longed to hear those from Rin. All this time, Isagi thought they were doomed to be together, forever rivals. But right now, as Rin melts within his arms, he knows that it will get even better.

"Took you long enough, genius," was all Isagi said to which Rin scoffed. "At least say something better than that," Rin replied. Isagi smiled and cradled Rin's face in his hands. "I love you, too."

Header from Pinterest

Divider by @saradika-graphics

[the-wardenn]

Introduction.

BANHAMMER ASK/ROLEPLAY BLOG

//

Rules.

No NSFW, mod is a minor. Suggestive asks & such are allowed though, just be wary. I will not answer if I'm uncomfortable.

Magic anon is limited. It's fun & all, but it sometimes gets in the way of things. Also I can't up with everything.

Do not expect me to respond right away. I run other accounts & I have a personal life. There is a person behind the screen.

Lore // Headcanons

Banhammer is not the only warden. There were many wardens before him, there have been since literally the beginning of the Inpherno.

However, Banhammer is the 'true' warden, the prophesied one. He is very much special & held up to alot of expectations.

His 'boss' is the Gods of Justice, a huge fusion god that is one of Periastron's most noble servants. They are incredibly strict, & the eyes seen around Banland are them monitoring him.

Banhammer physically does not know how to act. He's used to his mom holding his hand every step of the way, & he's never really had time to figure out who he wants to be. He's only been told he has to be a certain way.

He's still a cocky & egoistical asshole though, & on the dumber side. He's also very slow when it comes to things.

He can see everything. He is all seeing. His eyesight is scarily good, to the point where it's physically painful. He gets flashbanged from seeing all directions even behind him & seeing everyone's sins & shit so that's the main reason why he wears a blindfold.

Tags.

I will not be using '#banhammer phighting' as to not clog up the tag. Also, any previous tags I used will no longer be used. I am retconning everything that happened previously on this blog.

#the warden ⚖️ will be used on every single post

#once more ⚖️ will be used on reblogs

#answered ⚖️ will be used on asks

#all seeing 👁️‍🗨️ will be used on any posts featuring/mentioning the Gods of Justice

Format

Banhammer will be speaking in blue. The Gods of Justice will be speaking in red, all caps, bold.

OOC/Mod will be colorless

[stigmatvm]

🔥 + shigaraki tomura

shigaraki's one of those characters i call "disabled when it's convenient" when it comes to fandom.

nobody actually takes into consideration what both his physical and mental state would do to change his day-to-day life as opposed to an abled person. the disability simply doesn't exist, especially when they want to write him fucking or being fucked. but it does exist when they need wangst or a "tender moment" of pity from the other party. and it does exist when it comes to making jokes about him.

every time i see a crusty joke or a joke about shigaraki being unhygienic the op owes me 100$ and i do plan on hunting them down to collect eventually. i have a handful of skin conditions that greatly resemble shigaraki's because i have a poor immune system and circulation problems. none of that has to do with my personal hygiene. ive been made fun of before ive been considered dirty i put off getting help for them for years because i thought i was just inherently disgusting we know shigaraki's condition is related to 1) his quirk 2) a psychosomatic stress response 3) related immune/environmental issues (he mentions heat and humidity making it worse as a child). i dont know why everyone thinks theyre a comedian calling him crusty or a dirty gamer i really dont especially when relieving the worst pain often includes medicated baths. its not even a new or clever joke you think if you were gonna play hot potato with ableism youd do something new with it but that just shows the bottom of the barrel intelligence we're working with here and i dont feel bad for saying it. shigaraki cant hear you but real people with skin conditions can and we are all wishing those people a very Go To Hell

and then of course they refuse to take it seriously when it comes to writing or drawing him in any serious way. in the words of a wise man: huff my cock and balls

[astrowaffles]

Answer all of them :]

JAMMIE I'M IN LOVE W YOU HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED TO ANSWER THEM ALL

anyways

Do you listen to music when you write?

no. my little animal brain must have complete silence in order to function. i'm very easily overstimulated and even if i have it on and manage to ignore it, the moment i leave the Writing Zone for even a second, i'm extremely irritated and frustrated. DOWN WITH BACKGROUND MUSIC

Do you have a trusted beta?

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN!! honestly i'm too egoistic to have a beta, i tend to just assume i got it right the first time anyway. most of my fics are unbeta'd, although a few were done by hayla (@cauxtion)

First person or third person?

Third person. Personally I hate reading fics in first person so I don't write them either, but it has been known to happen.

Past tense or present tense?

Usually if I want something to have an emotional tone, I'll use present tense, whereas cracky or otherwise shallower fics are past tense.

How long do your fics tend to be? Multi-chapter or one-shots?

Short! Mostly one-shots, mostly about 1.5k or thereabouts. Plot is not my strong point.

Rarepairs? Yea or nay?

I don't tend to write them and usually don't actively ship them, but i'm not against them or anything. i just prefer the ships that make sense to *me*.

In character or out of character?

I try SO HARD to make everything in character, but the problem is, I write UA's (universe alterations) so the characters are in situations they have never canonically been in. it's a lot of guesswork, and i'm sure it turns out ooc regularly!

Favourite trope?

Well, obviously, i'm a SUCKER for a good old single father figure ... reluctant father figure ... doting father figure ... found family, y'all. found family.

Do you like reading/writing Omegaverse?

Have read it, will probably read it in the future. Would 100% never write it. Not my thing, really, but lots of love to the people who do!

OTP(s)?

It's endless, dear god. Just in haikyuu, there's iwaoi, ushiten, kghn, daisuga, skts, kyouhaba, matsuhana, kuroken, bokuaka ....... there is literally no end

NOTP?

y'all are gonna hate me for this, i can feel it, but I have two: ushioi, and kiyoyachi. detest them, tbh

Fluff or smut?

Fluff!!!! i literally do not give a flying flamingo whether the characters fucked or not, tell me what they did on their date to the amusement park fr

Does angst get you excited?

I literally hate it so much throw it away bury it put it in a nuclear reactor i hate it so much. i will only read it for the Greater Good of a fic i'm very invested in

How do you come up with fic ideas?

Usually i'll sit there and think, i want to write a fic. what shall i write it about? and then i get an idea and then i write it. simples.

Are you a planner?

Nope. there's a reason my fics usually peter out at about 2k words, and it's because i've run out of ideas since i didn't plan anything :D

Do you title your chapters?

Not usually, but it depends on the context. sometimes i'm trying to copy the style of a book (like percy jackson) or the chapters are essentially standalone stories, in which case there'd be titles.

Overused words or phrases that just make your eye twitch?

i don't have any! the only thing that annoys me is when native english speakers try to use common english-speaker phrases but get them wrong. how do you even manage that??

What's something you struggle with as a writer?

character/story depth. my writing it just ' they bantered and then they went home'. WHERE ARE THE FEELINGS??

Any writing advice?

Write what you want to write! there's no point forcing yourself to continue things or start things that you're not interested in. you're here to have fun, so let yourself have fun and don't feel obligation to do anything. and if you end up not writing for months on end, so what? you have to do what works for you.

thanks for the ask!

[webwanderer]

Sleeping Petunia

☒ [Scaramouche x GN!Reader]

☒ [3rd person p.o.v.]

☒ [1.0 k words]

☒ [Use of "Name" as the self insert]

☒ [Scara might be a lil ooc because I haven't palyed Genshin since 2.3]

☒ [Modern AU]

☒ [SFW, but slightly suggestive]

•`*+:｡. "they made me into this" .ೃ࿐

↳ for a full immersion~

Name was sitting at their chair; like the violet haired boy, they didn’t seem to wanting to let go such comfortable and loved spot. The seat’s padded arms wrapped them, and loud noises, which were clearly audible from outside the headphones' speaker, filled their ears, comforting their person, the one who was so afraid of succumbing to silence. Another game ended, another hour passed. Their night and day were spent accordingly to this living style, the routine that didn’t allow any thought to permeate to their brain. Name occasionally let go of the mouse and lifted their hand off the keyboard in order to take a sip from the crumpled – maybe survivor of a fit of rage – bottle, of which plastic reflected the suffused red light that enveloped the room. This time was different, though. Name, once they finished swallowing that vague liquid, didn’t lay their eyes again on the monitor in front of them, but twisted slightly their head. The movement was slow and felt not natural – given the time they just spent still, in the same position; it took them a few minutes to adapt to the new posture, but after that, everything came back to normality, to the old days when life flowed ‘effortlessly’. Following their head, was their body. The chair rotated on the place, allowing the young to face in the direction of the other, who was still sleeping, not even caring to get under the blankets. Name’s eyes wandered along the pale boy silhouette. His sleep seemed messy, eyebrows frowned, jaw slightly clenched: an uneasy look on his face. It resulted crystal clear, that his nightmares were nagging him once again. His magenta lips tightened, as if he did not want to let escape the anxieties to which he was accustomed. He secretly kept that mask of silence; even if, at first glance, he could look like an egoist narcissist, he had never wanted to weight down the others with his own struggles. Name, to the sight of the boy quietly shifting in his rest, stood up from their chair. Slowly, dragging their feet, still drowsy because of the endless time spent at the desk, they got closer to the bed.

Scaramouche was laying on his back, and the place of his legs reminded a mixture of supine and fetal position. Name was devouring that view. The other’s body was right before him, it seemed like he lowered all of his guards and allowed himself to appear defenceless in front of Name. That look was rare to be seen on the purple haired boy, and Name found that extremely attractive. Only the thought of Scaramouche, feeling comfortable enough to take off his costume, aroused them. It made their chest burn, they were proud of themselves but at the same time, they felt an unconditional attraction to the other. They felt the need to embrace him, to slide their fingers all along his features; they wanted to draw delicate traces long the boy’s back, starting from the bottom of his neck and carefully going down, following his spine, until his dimples of Apollo. God, if they were attractive. Said Name to themselves while picturing the image in their head. They wanted to hold his hand, and with the other, empty one, trace his slender interlocked fingers. 

Slow shaky breaths left pale chapped lips. The boy’s mouth was slightly ajar, enough to allow feeble sighs to escape. Hours passed since the man fell asleep; the softness of his face was starting to vanish. His head felt heavy, dragged down by the weight of the thoughts that were racing through his mind. In a deep state of sleep, his body was resting bed-nailed, not hinting of wanting to abandon that troubled but peaceful – compared to his life – dream land.

A drop.

Their focus shifted from Scaramouche’s hands to his face. A single, little drop was drawing his cheek. A crystal tear, pure as the boy’s looks, reflected a past of mourning, an Odyssey with no Ithaca homeland to return to: an open wandering with no sweet end. Without letting go of the other’s hand, Name slowly lifted theirs. They leaned in, getting closer to that resting face. Their finger was about to caress the violet haired boy’s tender skin, in an attempt to clean him off the teardrop. But they froze. It was not their role to comfort Scaramouche, nor to help him. They surely knew he didn’t want to be helped, and he definitely didn’t need it either. That was the older’s will: to overcome his past, by his own. 

They stayed in that position for a while, gazing yet another time at his soft features. They could never get enough of them. Feeling the attraction of a magnet at the tip of their nose, they leaned in more. They shifted their weight onto the bed, putting a knee on the soft duvet to top better over the silhouette of the other. Decreasing the space that separated them, they were now almost front to front. Only a single exhale from Name’s lips was enough to awake Scaramouche from his slumber. Immediately, the younger gently jolted back to give room for the boy to move his head. The violette was now facing Name. Purple irises interlocked with their entranced ones. Name was sinking, losing themselves in fields of Petunia flowers. A fresh, cold fragrance, rising from amethyst locks, gripped to every inch of Name’s skin. 

Scaramouche pinned his gaze into the other’s, but no answer was to be perceived. They had long ago gone astray in gracious Elysian Fields. A spacious land. A spacious land for reverb to be heard; for distant burning worries to be lost; for lonely souls to find comforting solitude and full silence.  It was possible to grasps the melancholic tunes of mellow, familiar melodies, far away at the borders of that extra-corporeal dimension. Old notes melted in blurred memories. Fragments of a forgotten, worn out childhood. 

The feeling of burning skin touching their collarbone awakened them from that ethereal wandering. Snapping out from their trance brought them to directly face Scaramouche. In the snap of a moment, their mouths were tied together, enlaced. The kiss was delicate. Soft lips gently being burned by feverish emotions. Theirs was a calm passion; it kindled the air around them. No hurry allowed in that brief instant: they were there for each other, and they were not about to run anywhere.

[Fun fact: the symbolic meaning of petunia flowers has evolved throughout time from associations with anger and resentment to the more modern symbolism of desire, hope, and calmness. I thought it could have been a good fit for Scara]

[lycanomancy]

Mama Amara hcs

check out this ask for context/background

Because I’m obsessed with Amara being a typical stern, tough-love, but supportive mom-figure to the garbage boy Troy.

Warning: This is purely indulgent and will probably be OOC to some/most people. 

When Troy first comes under her wing (unbeknownst to him), it’s more ‘drill sergeant’ than anything outright friendly or parental. There is no coddling or slack, Amara’s on a mission to take this rude, greasy, moody E-boy and civilize him. She will domesticate and tame this oversized rat if it’s the last thing she does. 

First order of business: if the ship jerks or a vent blows on him, he’s gone. The skin will wilt off his bones, he will melt into a puddle. How is he even walking? Where is his flesh? Does he have organs? She asks around to see what his diet is, what kind of junk/poison he’s putting in his body. 

He’s been living off of ramen since he got there. Amara kicks in his door at 6 in the morning with a plate piled with protein breakfast burritos. 

“Eat some actual food, before you slip down a godd*mned grate!”

Troy is convinced it’s poisoned. Amara flashs her many arms, perfectly able of force-feeding a string bean. He, smartly, takes the hint.

This becomes the normal. He takes it as an insult and really doesn’t want it, but Amara knows every single one of his hiding places, and it’s eat or get beat. She makes a lot of Partali cuisine, which he hasn’t had since Mom, so that’s another reason for him to get his hackles up

Amara could not care less about his hackles; she’s Buff Personified, this child looks like a straw. It’s the first time in years that someone wasn’t threatened, intimidated, and more importantly, afraid with his displays of “I’m a God, and you’re about to be sacrificed.”

It’s kind of refreshing.

After she ensures he’s actually getting nutrients and calories, Amara moves on to Phase 2: Domestication. 

Troy has more complexs than a neighborhood on Promethea. He’s rude, he’s callous and defensive, he’s cruel and selfish and egoistical. He’s also shy. He stutters, and hides in dark corners with mechanical projects while humming to the music in his headphones. Amara starts noticing the split between Troy, a young man with issues, and the issues taking shape in the God-King. 

She knows she can’t just yank him around and make him socialize with everyone - baby steps, little by little, start small. Just like a workout. 

Troy’s first real social interaction with another person is Amara dragging him to her room for training.

She starts him out with some basic yoga to get a feel for just how unhealthy he is. He complains the entire time, and gets even more annoyed when Amara doesn’t care. 

Troy thinks it’s punishment, or she’s supposed to watch him like a parole officer. Amara’s just trying to A: get him in better shape, and B: socialize him, like a feral dog that’s been kicked too many times. It takes a month of daily workouts, slowly getting more challenging then the last, and Troy complaining more and more each day, before he starts getting used to it. Hackles come down, shell opens a bit. Amara takes the opportunity to ask him about how he got so good with engineering, and the shell opens a little more. 

She’s the only one who talks to him without a glare or sneer, so she’s the only who he’ll talk to. Troy asks her about what Partali was like, she tells him stories about stopping crime lords and saving villages. Amara inquires as to how he managed to keep the CoV functional and not a total dumpster fire and he regales to her horrors of working with bandit warlords and corporate trust-fund children like Katagawa. 

Amara now has proof that there’s a regular human being in there, albiet a damaged one. But, Amara is the queen of working with what’s she’s got and coming out on top - damaged or not, she can work with him if there’s some mortality in there. 

Once he’s comfortable enough around her, it’s like Troy Calypso and the kid she’s taken under her wing were never the same people. Amara learns that his stuttering is an indicator of him being relaxed, and him speaking neatly and even is the opposite. She can see a human under there, but the God-King, as much of a defensive shell as it may be, is still part of that human, and the blood still stains that human’s hands. 

When she starts trying to make Troy socialize with the others, she gets a good look at just how bad his “Me vs Them” mindset is. Everything that comes out his mouth is dismissive, rude, callous, condescending, overly-defensive, or a combination of the five. That human she got a glimpse off hides away, behind the skin of the bloodthirsty psychopath that she, that they all, tried to take down. 

He snaps at Zane’s attempts of conversation, Tannis’ inquiries about his tattoos. Ellie gets off a little easier, but that’s because Troy mostly ignores her. And good god, Lilith and Ava don’t make it easy. One of them will bring up his time in the CoV, his relationship with Tyreen or Typhon, or imply him a fake siren, a freak, and hell decides to blow over the Sanctuary. 

How Troy knew about Roland, Amara doesn’t know. She does know that he barely escaped with his life, and that blaming the Crimson Raider’s death on Lilith was not a smart thing to do.

Amara talks to anyone who has the capacity to be civil, tells them her goal, and politely asks that they not try to make it nigh impossible with snide remarks about every sore spot Troy has, Ava. 

Only Zane and Ellie really support her, but once she gets the crew on-board with Operation: Make This Man Tolerable, things start going smoother. 

When Troy doesn’t use basic manners like please, thank you, or doesn’t hold the door open for someone, the air gets static-y while Amara counts down to 1 in her head. She doesn’t need to out-loud, Troy knows his timer to rectify his behavior by her stern gaze and the flashing of her tattoos. After a while, manners become normal habit - for a select few. Ellie stops being ‘Car Chick’ and has her name following a ‘Ms’. Moze gets an enthusiastic ‘Thanks!’ when she lets him poke around Iron Bear. Tannis is thrilled by his use of ‘Dr.’ and that he’s no longer threatening to kill her every time she sneaks up on him to look at his tattoos. 

Amara notices that he’s much worse with men, and it takes him twice as long to be...well, not friendly, but to stop being aggressive to the same gender. He met Brick and it was like a chihuahua snarling at a mastiff, shaking in every limb. Luckily, Brick about as friendly as someone can get and doesn’t have anything out for Troy, so that one-sided rivalry eases off once Troy stops seeing the berserker as threat. 

She’s honestly kind of proud of him. A few months ago, he was hiding in corners and his room, starving and isolated. Troy’s actually managed to get on Ellie’s good side. Fl4k’s pets like him now. He’s eating properly now, his skin doesn’t look so grey and thin. He looks healthy.

Until he doesn’t.

She goes around the ship trying to find him for more training, but no one has seen him. The ship goes on lockdown. Progress or not, he’s still Troy Calypso, and they still can’t trust him.

Mr. Chew finds him behind some machinery in the back, unconscious with his tattoos flickering. Tannis is checking him over, but she doesn’t find any source. His heartbeat is irregular, his blood circulation is all wrong, he stops breathing for far too many seconds at a time. He looks pale and he’s cold to the touch. Lilith thinks he might have taken a bad hit of narcotics when Amara figures it out.

No one has been giving Troy energy. 

He’s been away from Tyreen for the better part of a year, and he hasn’t gotten a boost since he was in the CoV. One of the sirens needs to give him some energy, but they can’t - he has to take it, and after Maya, no one feels inclined to. 

Amara volunteers when he wakes up, but he refuses. Says he’s ‘done being a parasite’. 

Amara flips her lid. 

Everyone is shoved out of the clinic, and for a solid 47 minutes and 31 seconds, Amara goes over every single insecurity Troy has about his body, powers, and relationship with his sister, and tears them down one by one like they were bandits. 

Troy’s still emotionally constipated, so he agrees to take some energy just so Amara stops talking about his issues. 

When she lets him take her arm and sap power from her, she makes him take more than the bare minimum he needs. The entire time, she berates him for not saying anything, and tells him to come to her before he’s suffering. 

Judging from his reaction, Tyreen had different feelings. 

Amara drags him to her room for training and an entire blender of a protein shake once he can stand again. 

She makes a joke about Maliwan brand kitchenware, and it’s the first time she hears him genuinely laugh.

[chandlerrosen]

the hollow crown and dagger of the mind

when: auditions

where: the alderidge auditorium

who: chandler rosen, center stage, all alone

ooc: chandler is auditioning for macbeth! i don’t expect her to get the role, though i do think she’d be a strong contender! additionally, i think it’d be interesting if she played lady macbeth, as she never played a female role before and heidi seems to like to shake things up, plus the guilt tears lady macbeth apart, and though chandler didn’t kill anyone, she still feels incredibly guilty for a number of reasons. also, i think it’d be saucy if she was macduff, whose morality and thirst for justice could translate well to the plot, considering chandler wants to find out who kills orson! extra spicy if macbeth/lady macbeth killed orson, though that is up to heidi of course.

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,” 

the infamous words from the equally infamous play rang through chandler’s head as she anticipated her call to action, the beginning of the end. well acquainted with the ceremony of the audition, chandler held in her hand an iced coffee the size of her head, the condensation dripping down her thigh as she silently buzzed with adrenaline and caffeine. soon she would be called into the auditorium, prepared to bare her heart, her soul, the very blood in her veins, and leave it on the stage. just as orson taught her. of course, he wouldn’t be there, beaming up at her performance that she created for his eyes only. god, those eyes. how she missed the way they sparkled and glinted, their familiar warmth soothing her nerves as she uttered her first word, thus beginning her descent, spiralling deeper and deeper into the character she sculpted with the hands of her passion. 

and then she was called, by a voice unfamiliar though not unkind. nerves before an audition are normal - though some may disagree, they are liars. but her nerves were compounded with the fear that heidi knew, and would judge her for her fleshly sins - though sweet, they stung. the sun was beginning to sink as she took one last look out the window and entered the auditorium, the blinding stage lights a familiar comfort amidst the chaos. 

“hello, my name is chandler rosen and i’m auditioning for the role of macbeth,” she said confidently. a bold choice, but this would be her final time gracing the stage at alderidge, and such a tremendous goodbye must go out with an equally devastating bang. could she do it, though? before her audition she considered not auditioning, or simply doing an overdone speech from macbeth. but she couldn’t afford to be cast in a small role, quite literally. as well, it would simply prove everyone right when they swear she only got the lead in henry viii because of who she chose to give her heart to. rumors flew around chandler, beating her over and over again with words that stained and burned into her core. she chose to embrace those scars with her performance. if it is a murderer they want, it will be a murderer she will give. 

but could she do it? could she show, 

                                                         show,

                                                                    SHOW!

as the three witches demand? could she unfurl the scrolls inside her veins that contained her deepest fears of cowardice and regret, confront the monstrous creature that lived inside of her, that was capable of hurting those she loved? capable of becoming her mother? could she show the world the most depraved parts of her she tries so desperately to hide? she must, she simply has no other choice.

“i will be performing richard ii’s monologue from act three, scene three.” heidi nodded as she jotted down notes on her pad, and met chandler with friendly eyes. perhaps heidi wasn’t so bad after all. she was no orson, that was for certain, but no one could match up to him. and if she turned out to be the villain in this tragedy, so be it. more fuel for her fire. 

her body sunk with despair as she prepared her descent. voice lowered effortlessly as she did, she began, “what must the king do now? must he submit? the king shall do it: must he be deposed? the king shall be contented: must he lose the name of king?” she paused, a pained expression on her face as she imagined herself, a despot at his prime, seeing the fruits of his labor and body slipping before his eyes as he was faced with mutiny. “o' God's name, let it go:” moaning on go, they, chandler and richard intertwined, begged for release from their suffering. the words she spake became a river that flowed out from her lips as she became that tired egoist. “i'll give my jewels for a set of beads, my gorgeous palace for a hermitage, my gay apparel for an almsman's gown, my figured goblets for a dish of wood, my sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, my subjects for a pair of carved saints,” they pleaded with their audience, envisioned a world of simplicity, where outside pressures and pleasures were eliminated, their self effaced and transformed into a small cog in a divined machine. “and my large kingdom for a little grave,” pausing, a look of ecstasy and pain, of the utmost catharsis, spread across her face, she waited a beat for the words to sink in and resound across the space. a little grave, the same one orson was lying in, alone. the same one she would call eternity one day. 

the thought of orson in his grave made her heart sink deeper. her eyes glazed over as her voice turned bitter and dreamlike, “a little little grave, an obscure grave; or i'll be buried in the king's highway, some way of common trade, where subjects' feet may hourly trample on their sovereign's head; for on my heart they tread now whilst I live; and buried once, why not upon my head?” voice filled with spite and heartbreak, chandler couldn’t tell who she was more mad at - those who betrayed her, or she, who betrayed herself. betrayal - the thought never crossed her mind until that minute as she reveled in the pitiful richard, who saw his subjects as his children, and their committing patricide on their divinely anointed king. chandler didn’t see herself as the king of alderidge - far from it, honestly. though she understood his words, his desire with every fiber of his being to be anonymous, the burden of others and their bitter betrayal eased off his shoulders. their shoulders. the disappointment she saw in the eyes of those she once called friends, the sadness in the eyes of the one she called my love. breaking grace’s heart destroyed her own, and chandler would give anything to feel that sorrow and anger and betrayal that grace must feel. if only that could mean grace was happy. 

tears began to prick her eyes at the most opportune time as she turns to the fabricated cousin of richard and continues, “aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! we'll make foul weather with despised tears; our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, and make a dearth in this revolting land.” weeping joy fills her voice as she, as richard, gives a rousing speech to his woebegone cousin. misery loves company, after all, though chandler felt herself entirely alone lately. she had helen, but her best friend’s light was too bright to be dulled by the darkness of her own depravity. and thus she questioned who her own aumerle would be. who would be alongside her as she brought the storm down upon herself and her peers, who she digs her grave alongside? who would be brought down with her as she plummeted to the rocky bottom of her metaphorical grave? until finally she realized the answer. no one. 

alas, no time to dwell on her own misery upon the sordid stage! for it was richard who required her undivided attention! she quickened the pace, asking her next question with morbid, restrained glee, pontificating on their shared sorrow, “or shall we play the wantons with our woes, and make some pretty match with shedding tears? as thus, to drop them still upon one place, till they have fretted us a pair of graves within the earth; and, therein laid,—there lies two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.” and oh, how her eyes wept. her stream of tears slowed and stilled, her voice traversing the terrain from woe to bitterness, and dropping into melancholic anguish, popping the p’s like orson taught her, stressing the beauty of shakespeare’s words. all emotions dulled by the composure that dignified a king who had naught but his own dignity left. 

she turns to face heidi, her lone audience member. perhaps her new director was just as alone as she was. perhaps they could find common ground, perhaps she could soften the blow of orson’s death. the foolish thoughts of a child filled her head before she realized the obvious - nothing, and no one, could soften this lethal blow. and again, anger bubbled in her - anger at herself, at her own helplessness. a helplessness that she felt within richard, who could do nothing but stand there and talk, concede his kingdom and pray for his life. she spoke with a self-righteous flair, eager to hold onto the scraps of richard’s pride, “would not this ill do well? well, well, i see i talk but idly, and you laugh at me. most mighty prince, my lord northumberland, what says king bolingbroke? will his majesty give richard leave to live till richard die?” they laughed at him. all of them, laughing at a man on the brink of losing his lifeblood, faced with an impossble choice, and one completely out of his hands: to die a king, to live forever in infamy? or to die shrouded in anonymity, to live in peace? to be or not to be, though that question found its home in a different play far from chandler’s mind. 

contempt filled her voice as she straightened up, her final stand against those who dare deny her her love, her friends, her passion, who dare denied richard his hollow crown. she snarled her lip and began her solitary revolution, “you make a leg, and bolingbroke says ay.” 

it was the cowardice in those who deposed richard - they flatter him, only to mindlessly follow the next man with victory written in his blood. they praise him as they once praised richard. as they once praised orson. perhaps, at the denouement of her descent, she realized that she was not richard; orson was. or perhaps it was an amalgam of the two of them - three of them? after the time they spent together, chandler couldn’t help but wonder how much of orson’s soul intertwined with hers, how much blood he left stained on her fingertips, her throat, her heart. she once thought that she would be lucky to have an ounce of orson’s passion and intelligence, but now she worries - for a brief second before she violently effaces it from her mind’s eye - that he left too much of his own darkness. how selfish of him, to break her life and leave her to pick up the pieces. and yet, when they were together, she felt as though the cracks she accumulated throughout her life were plastered with solid gold. beauty cannot exist without terror, after all. 

she took a second to decompress from the emotions of her monologue. taking a breath, she perked up, smiling at heidi who, surprisingly, returned the gesture. “thank you, chandler.” she says before returning to her notepad. “thank you,” chandler said with a sincerity that startled her. adrenaline pumping through her veins, she floated out of the door, confronted by the hazy darkness of dusk. the thoughts and emotions that came up during her monologue, those unexplored territories that chandler feared venturing, were simply something she would have to ponder tomorrow. 

[orsino-the-enchanter]

I was tagged by @valentin-cs, who kindly asked me to do this meme in-character for Orsino. Your wish is my command, love~❤

Name: Orsino

Star sign: Pisces

Height: 180cm. 

Put your itunes, spotify or googleplay music on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up ?  *stares at Mun confused* *has no idea what itunes, spotify and googleplay are* *mun shrugs* Well, anyway, here are some songs off the top of my head:

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds - “Tupelo” Tom Waits - “Time” Mark Lanegan - “Miracle” Leonard Cohen - “If It Be Your Will” Peter Murphy - “Things To Remember”

Grab one book nearest to you and turn to page 23. What’s line 17?

“He tries to explain it to me on our way home at night. It is so tragic and so ridiculous at the same time that I am obliged to stop now and then and laugh in his face.” (Henry Miller, Tropic Of Cancer)

Ever had a poem or a song written about you? Gods, I hope not. My life’s story would make for poor entertainment.

When was the last time you played air guitar? Air guitar? *stares at mun confused* *mun demonstrates* Oh, thAt... Nah, I do not partake in air guitaring. *mun clears throat* Okay okay, sometimes I do, but in my own time. Satisfied now? *mun nods*

Who is your celebrity crush? Did Meredith count as a celebrity? 

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

Hate : Screams of all kinds. I’ve heard enough of them to last me an eternity.

Love : The sound of rain, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the crackling of a fireplace, the sound of waves.

Do you believe in ghosts? ‘Tis not a matter of “belief”; I have seen spirits and it is common knowledge that the Gallows were haunted. 

How about aliens? It would be terribly egoistic to believe we are the only sentient beings in the universe.

Do you drive? *shrug* I can ride.

What was the last book you read? “Saving Normal: An Insider's Revolt Against Out-of-Control Psychiatric Diagnosis, DSM-5, Big Pharma, and the Medicalization of Ordinary Life” by Allen Frances. I borrowed it from the mun.

Do you like the smell of gasoline? Not really. ‘Tis too intense.

What was the last movie you saw? Good question. It must have been Van Helsing.

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Well, technically I died when I performed the Harvester spell. I could say rhe only reason I am still around is because Mythal willed it, but really it’s just necromancy, some coincidences and my rotten luck.

Do you have any obsessions right now? Given the Coronavirus lockdown, I have more time to knit and bake than before.  

Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? I try not to. Most of them are long dead now anyway.

In a relationship? I..uh... n-no. Not really.

Tagging :  tagging: @shield-of-shame​  @the-old-and-the-hapless​ @hooded-rogue​ @iamcole  @enchanter-rhys​ @thebloodychampion​ @lowtownbutcher​ @c0rpse-fl0wer​ @jowanmancer​ @sworntoprotect​ and whoever else i am forgetting atm (feel free to answer either ic or ooc)

[jean-and-ali-liveblogs]

[1] Okay, firstly, the show IS in a different timeline now. Original Steven from the first episode is undeniably dead. Current Steven never got to use the Hourglass, he never experienced events of this episode, same with the Gems. [2] I really hate this episode for many reasons. Steven is very OOC here, he turns from a compassionate good person, into an egoistic brat. The whole time travel idea is just horrible to the show. Having canon time travel just causes a LOT of problems with the plot.

Jean: [1] I think that since Steven didn’t do anything with the hourglass, then according to the sets there is nothing there (OH MY GOD -Ali). Steven from subset B died. And Steven from set A is continuing his story normally 

(This is it, guys. This is how our friendship is going to end. Because of talking about time as SETS AND SUBSETS. I can’t take this anymore.

I am joking, of course. Um, saying that just in case - Ali)

Jean: [2] I don’t think he was acting like egoistic brat.

Ali: Elaborate, elaborate, elaborate.

Jean: He just wanted them to listen to him, he wanted to set (this word triggers me now - Ali) hierarchy. You know, that HE is the star of that band.

Ali: Wasn’t that OOC for him?

Jean: Not really, he just really really wanted those Stevens to listen to him and got a little bit too inpatient. But come on. I think it’s normal for people to sometimes act differently than they usually act. I am not shocked. You know, if Steven kicked somebody in the ass and called somebody a dick, then I would definitely wonder what’s wrong. 

Ali: Well, I guess. That thing about how “ I think it’s normal for people to sometimes act differently than they usually act.“ is quite true actually. I mean, my friends expect me to be always patient, docile (even borderline on submissive) and pretty much ok with everything, but every now and then I deviate from that, because I am done with something or something triggers me and then everybody think I am OOC.

But I personally still do think that Steven was kinda OOC in that episode. ... I guess that means that I am a little bit of a hypocrite.

[dooleysbionicarm-y]

And Elite Force was horrible because the only writers were the ones who wrote the stupid filler episodes of Lab Rats except for when Chris Peterson wrote ‘The Rise of Five’ and ‘The Attack’ and him and Bryan Moore wrote ‘Home Sweet Home’, and there were no writers from Mighty Med either. They didn’t even bring back Tecton.

alskdjlas quite honestly i don’t really remember much of elite force bc i blacked out most of it, but you’re right, the filler episodes were so so so annoying and irritating so when it actually focused on the actual plot, it felt out of place and confusing (don’t even get me started on that mess of a finale … ) and the whole premise of the show was just so bland and unoriginal, like how do you manage to take a show about bionic heroes and a show about normos saving superheroe’s lives and turn it into a show about 5 bratty teenagers living in a penthouse, cause that seemed like that was all they were doing to me!!!

and what more, the writers didn’t even understand most of the characters and made them as irritating and bland and ooc as possible??? i didn’t even watch that much mighty med but i distinctly remember oliver not being as big as a creep to skylar as he was in elite force lol. and elite force also reduced kaz to a one dimensional character cause i’m pretty sure that kaz had some other character traits other than ‘comic relief’ and ‘dumbass’ in mighty med lmao,,,and skylar,,,i don’t even remember much of what happened to skylar in elite force but i’m pretty sure they did her dirty too!!!

and chase oh my god chase, i never thought i would end up hating him but yet here we are lol!!! he’s always been a little egoistical, but the writers just took and amplified that and kind of made it his only prominent character trait and i’m!!! i wanted to smack him! like literally the only other trait i remember he had was that he was whiny and he was wanting to get a girlfriend and the latter thing got so creepy after two episodes of it. it’s shown in lab rats that he does want a girlfriend, okay i can accept that bc i want a girlfriend too lmao, but again the writers took that and made it on a whole other level to the point of borderline obsessiveness over getting a girlfriend??? his tactics for trying to get a gf were so pathetic and creepy (how about try getting a personality for a change lol!)  i hated it so fucking much oh my god. he became every single white guy on television character i hate and i hate elite force for turning a character that served as a huge comfort for me during the hardest year of my life into that absolute piece of trash. god.

the only character i was kinda satisfied with was bree’s insecurity plot and that one episode with baby davenport, but even then she came off as incredibly annoying at times and just eeeurgh :))) like i know the disney channel formula for girl characters is to always have them a little obsessed with boys and makeup and looking good and bullshit like that but it was so exasperating hearing about it so much lmfao!!!

and the character dynamics were so fucking stale lmao,,,there was some promise of some interesting new friendships and i was kind of intrigued with bree and kaz’s friendship and chase and skylar’s relationship,,,but then of course disney does nothing but disappoint me and sent it all crashing down :))) i still cannot believe that they had the gall to pair skylar and oliver together even though oliver probably could have won the award for Megacreep #1 after all his unsettling interactions with skylar, i was so fucking uncomfortable for days after i watched the ep where they got together. if they want a romance for skylar so badly, bree is right there u cowards!!!

i’m sorry this got super ranty lmao but u can probably find me at any given time fuming over how much i hated this shitfest of a show :) disney hire me to write your shows you dumb bitch

[stigmatvm]

now i dont want to sound extreme but whenever i see someone putting shipping a literal child and an adult on the same level as your average unhealthy-for-both relationship in fiction i think i should be allowed to press them with stones until they die. since they want to be witch hunted so fucking bad

[stigmatvm]

The urge to give muses fangs. Looks at ibara

[stigmatvm]

a small update on my end:

frankly, im emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. things have just been one after the other, and i had a very long and taxing conversation today with the person who started this. (it was cathartic, but taxing) im not sure what ill end up updating, if at all. i also have a lot of schoolwork i put off, and my chronic pain is worse in part im sure to the stress. i dont know when ill be back around for good, but i love and appreciate all of you and hope things are steady. thanks so much for all the support

[stigmatvm]

anyway. when will we see ibara again

[stigmatvm]

Good morning beloved colleagues i took the day off to be productive but i slept 13 hours so!!!! We'll see!!

[stigmatvm]

making this an official discord + plotting call! Tumblr ims suck fucking nuts but i wanna talk more to u guys and maybe get things rolling so feel free to add me at gabrhiel#6666 ! It helps if u say who u are also 💖💖💖