#and only one landmine exists at a time

[yellosnacc]

Welcome to a long one.

The Ciwan empire is the fastest-growing sloman power ever since the war of continents and the first to discover a form of gunpowder (thanks to their enemies being uniima lls who have been using it long before).

But even with that advantage (among slomen), the Ciwan armies are iconic for a different reason. That being the Kuiqua-trained units that Sun-cutters come from.

These units have traditionally existed for hundreds of years but are slowly just becoming a symbol for show because of the political and battling changes in the world. However, you will still see them from time to time ripping people to pieces.

Just like the majority of sloman military groups the unit relies on intense teamwork, they need constant communication and preplanned routes to deal with the opposing strategy.

The simplified average scene might look something like this:

In one unit of 30 members, three strikers (Sun-cutters) make a plan with their scholars and commanding Fire-catchers (Seconds leaders). After getting to the war zone they wait for their window in which some members spy or communicate with deeper army spies. When they know their target and best strategy they get in. The strikers use hand gestures, clicks, or whistles to save energy while the Seconds forward the orders to the rest with "ground's" (war language), wooden whistles see more use in very large units. Many times, however, often just seeing the movement of the sun-cutters is enough for the whole group to act.

Strikers will sometimes wait behind their heavies (Beasts) if their force isn't necessary (units can be as few as 5 members or as many as 50, the two extremes work very differently). Once the situation calls for it, they bullet their targets, often stabbing talons first and tearing muscles in a swift motion. This may happen multiple times as other unit members engage in direct battle with the target/s or disarm them with specialized tools. Kuiqua units both kill and capture, having healing supplies on their heavies if they need to make sure their target doesn't bleed out (or their own soldiers).

All members of the Kuiquan unit are priests of different levels but all are priests of the dead (ones that speak for their ancestors rather than gods). It's believed lands conquered with these soldiers present will flourish with life. Many former battlegrounds have turned into gardens and crop fields (hopefully they don't keep this up when landmines are invented).

To the image. What you see is a small variety of soldiers. Beasts and fire-catchers have other names and features in their armor that they are known for based on all their roles that can often switch between fights. Only Sun-cutters truly have one name.

Fire-catchers are also sometimes strikers in training and may move up if they prove themselves. Though, more often Sun-cutters rise from the ranks of regular taloned soldiers with enough talent.

-

As mentioned in the image, Sun-cutters tend to be very prideful. Their helmets are an impractical mess that pushes their ears forward. A Ciwan Sloman's ears are very important to them and if they are damaged it's a career-ending event. Still, almost no strikers bind their ears, not wanting to be shamed for cowardness.

an ex-striker

here is the whole picture if you prefer it big

Btw, Kuiqua is the city Neal lives in. He has met or been arranged to meet these units multiple times since Neal himself is stuck classified as a fancy soldier. They are also not uncommon around temples, small talk is required.

Thank you for reading this far! Next I must answer the questions of biology. This has taken me 50 000 years.

[melatonin-melanin]

jirai kei as a trend and the inherent ableism and racism present within it

if you've been present in any japanese fashion or vtuber spaces for the past few years, chances are you've most likely heard of jirai kei. it's gotten major media attention in japan, and inevitably its popularity has spread overseas. what is still misinterpreted about it, however, is that jirai kei is a fashion style. jirai kei is a stereotype, as well as a subculture that features fashion elements. as opposed to the fashion aspects, the focus of the subculture is mental illness, and many people use the jirai tags and labels to find those with similar struggles and interests. you can learn more about the recent history of jirai kei as a stereotype here, and the fashions associated with jirai kei here.

jirai kei as a stereotype is bad for a multitude of reasons, but there are many people who seem to think that there's nothing wrong with the trend itself. i've seen many arguments in favor of it, ranging from "if brands are using it, that must mean the term isn't that bad" to "plenty of japanese girls are using it to only refer to the fashion, and they don't actually lash out at others or self-harm." its usage by brands and everyday people are true, and that much cannot be argued. the problem comes from assuming that, because it's something widespread in japan, it can't possibly be as bad as people make it out to be. if this trend were to come from anywhere else, i'm almost certain that people would immediately question the morality of it for several reasons. this is going to be a long post, so i hope you have some time.

TW for mentions of self-harm, alcohol and drug abuse, and child sex trafficking below the cut.

a brief rundown of jirai kei's origins

to start, jirai kei's original coinage before the trend has existed since around the 90s. it was used by misogynistic men to refer to women who they believed exhibited signs of emotional instability. this was applied to completely harmless traits, and the criteria for someone being a landmine has drastically changed over the years. for example, the first common identifier was simply "a girl who looks put together." this sexist usage still extends to present times, but now it's often conflated with the current aestheticized definition of the term.

the source of the current iteration of jirai kei

the modern-day jirai kei stereotype comes almost entirely from a gang known as the toyoko kids, who reside in kabukicho. this gang contains many members ranging from ages 9 to 24 who have run away from their homes and families. they have been known for several activities, but the most publicized ones are cutting themselves in public circles, papa katsu (underage prostitution), heavily drinking, and overdosing on over-the-counter medications. majority of the gang members also wear japanese alternative fashions, with girly kei being the fashion that's most often present in the jirai kei stereotype.

where does the ableism come in?

the rise of the aesthetic trend peaked somewhere in 2020, where a "landmine makeup challenge" gained popularity online and resulted in various people attempting to mock and mimic the stereotype for clout. people would wear girly fashion, act "wild" or "crazy" on camera, and, at worst, pretend to cut their wrists or even use makeup to create fake self-harm scars. i don't believe i need to explain why faking self-harm for views is ableist. however, the ableism is also present in the supposed "lighter" aspects of the trend, particularly its sudden association with girly fashion.

during the height of jirai kei's popularity in japan, many brands had begun to sell pink x black girly coordinates, advertising them as jirai kei fashion. it's incredibly important to note that girly as a fashion has existed for several years prior, and that multiple people had already been wearing clothing that's abruptly being labeled jirai. as a result, you have all of these random people minding their business suddenly being labeled as "crazy psycho bitches" because of the clothes that they wear. as if that isn't enough, some brands went as far as to promote the more dangerous aspects of the stereotype as well. with attempts to pander to girls who are deemed "yandere" and "highly explosive," many shops, online influencers, and companies had directly and indirectly capitalized on the suffering of the toyoko kids by encouraging people to cut their wrists, manipulate their partners, binge drink, and lash out at others to engage in the "full landmine experience."

mental illness in japan is almost never taken seriously because it's seen as a personality flaw rather than something that needs treatment. the jirai kei trend only set back any progress made for mental health acknowledgement in society, as people perceived as landmines began to be harassed for wearing girly fashion. more girls were approached by men on the street trying to scout them for prostitution, and people gave away their wardrobe because "others assumed they were troublesome" for wearing it. from another perspective, the anti-recovery nature of the trend has also taken lives. some people who felt that they identified with the term had fully embraced the lifestyle that was commercialized and promoted as something "cute and fun," resulting in more people running away from home to be like the toyoko kids. these people, who have essentially been failed by the system, are simultaneously fetishized and shunned for the fact that they're struggling.

well, what about the racism?

the racism present in the jirai kei trend, from what i've seen, mainly comes from overseas communities. the perception that many people have of jirai kei tends to have its roots in orientalism. if you've ever witnessed how people tend to glorify japan in almost every context, this shouldn't be too surprising. what's concerning, however, is that much of this glorification of jirai still goes unacknowledged by the western j-fashion community.

when jirai kei gained popularity in japan's mainstream, people mistook the name of the stereotype for the name of the fashion. this mindset also translated over to western spaces without a second thought. as a result, when jirai kei as a stereotype was formally introduced to overseas j-fashion communities, some were confused and oddly adamant. it seemed like people thought, "there's no way that japan would endorse something so horrible. there has to be different explanations!" regardless of whether this idea was conscious or subconscious, it had begun what people now call "jirai discourse" in the community. many arguments were made in favor of using jirai kei to refer solely to girly fashion, as opposed to recognizing its origins and continuous usage as a derogatory term. an especially common viewpoint that's perpetuated is that jirai kei has been reclaimed or is in the process of being reclaimed, which is something that has several things wrong with it.

problems with thinking that jirai is "reclaimed, so it's fine to use"

firstly, reclamation is subjective. the assumption that the entirety of a minority group makes the unanimous decision to reclaim a term is frankly just implausible. even more popular words that are thrown around more casually nowadays are still debated in some circles on whether or not they should be used. for a term like jirai kei, something fairly recently coined and undoubtedly controversial in most contexts, the mere idea of reclamation amongst anyone would have to take a much longer time, and that's only if the stereotype starts getting taken seriously.

secondly, the only people who have the right to consider reclamation are the people who are directly affected by the usage of this term, which would be feminine-presenting native japanese people who are mentally ill. people overseas have argued in favor of reclaiming the term despite not being a part of the group that the term is actually used against. this is not something where you can take apart the criteria and suddenly claim that you're also affected by jirai kei's usage. for a comparison that may be easily understood, that's like if a nonblack woman tried to advocate for the reclamation of the "mammy" stereotype, which stereotypes and therefore only affects the perception of black women. just because both groups consist of women, that doesn't mean they have the exact same experience with the stereotype in question, even if they happen to resonate with some aspect of it. unless you've grown up in japan as someone afab and/or feminine-presenting and have struggled with mental health, it's nearly impossible to fully identify with the extent of jirai kei's harm because it's occurred in such a specific set of circumstances to a specific group of people. the only thing that should be done in this case is doing your research on the affected group, which you can do by looking into the history of the toyoko kids and some of the individual stories of the members. that way, you can at least attain a better understanding of their perspectives and connect the effects of jirai kei to their struggles.

lastly, it is not reclaiming to simply use the term for yourself. this tends to be where the idea of jirai kei being reclaimed comes from, because many japanese girls on social media use the term to refer to themselves as well. in these instances, there are typically two separate reasons: one, the person is pretending to be a landmine for clout; or two, they genuinely identify with the derogatory meaning of the term. the latter is often the case, since there's not many other ways for people in japan who are mentally ill to find groups for themselves. when it comes to reclamation, it's important to remember that it's not simply using a word that was used against a group that you're a part of. reclaiming is about actively working to change a term's meaning into a neutral or positive context for the benefit of the group. none of these girls are doing that. there's no big effort in japanese landmine spaces to move the perception of being a landmine away from things like girly kei fashion, idol fan culture, or toxic behaviors, which leads me to the final section of this post.

it is not anyone's job to push for the "reclamation" of jirai kei.

i put reclamation in quotes because, although some genuinely may not have ill intentions, many people come off as having a "white savior" mindset as opposed to actually wanting to reclaim the term in any sense (which, as mentioned before, is not the right of just anyone), and it's usually for the sake of enjoying girly fashion without feeling bad for incorrectly calling it jirai kei. one of the defenses often used to propose that being seen as a landmine can actually be a good thing is that the people who do self-harm and abuse substances are simply "bad apples" in the landmine community. if they're not treated as the dirty underside, then they're seen as things to be pitied and sympathized with, but with the quick disclaimer of "don't worry though, not all landmines are like this!"

not only is this incredibly ableist, but this assumption being made by mainly white influencers is also rooted in the historical development of racism against asian people, particularly in the united states. if you've heard of the model minority myth, one of the biggest issues with it is that it heavily generalizes asian people as being well-mannered, good-natured, and upstanding citizens. as a result, anyone who seems to fall out of this generalization is deemed an "untrustworthy foreigner" and appears as nonexistent through a romanticized lens. this exact situation can be applied to how people tend to treat the issues surrounding the jirai kei trend. the japanese girls who are faking and/or making fun of mental instability for the sake of online popularity are suddenly being glorified as these ideal representations of jirai kei to be palatable to the western world. meanwhile, the people who are considered by many to be part of the lowest rungs of society and are actually getting this term thrown at them pejoratively are treated as an afterthought and not representative of what people overseas want jirai kei to mean. it's even to the extent where native japanese people using girly kei or being uncomfortable with jirai kei are immediately assumed to be faking their ethnicity or their japanese-speaking skills, something that many foreigners have actually done in an attempt to claim authority over jirai kei's usage. since the reality of the trend is so uncomfortable to many, people think that it's best to simply disregard it or dumb down its impact when that changes nothing. what has avoiding the topic of discrimination and fetishization ever done for anyone?

the last thing i want to point out is that, even if reclamation of the term was in progress, it would not be happening the way that some seem to think it is. if the term was being reclaimed, we would not have people (both overseas and in japan) still acting like the stereotype for tons of likes, namely by taking pictures of themselves in girly kei next to cans of pink monster while sitting on the sidewalk with someone handing them money. that is an actual image i've seen, and if that doesn't tell you that there's a problem, i'm not sure what else will.

[tremendum]

landmines

 pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl once)   rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)     word count: 6.2k summary: (straight lines, they unwind you she does a little thing with her eye that says “we’re off soon,” she says the bleeding’s incidental ‘cause she’s so cool she said “I’m no fun if I’ve only a bottle of wine” and now she’s doing it all the time )  or. “he saw how your hands shook when you exchanged rations for those damn pills. hell, at one time in his life he'd felt his own hands shake in the same way. so Joel doesn't get to be all high and mighty with you, after all.”  warnings: Pre-TLOU, set in Boston, canon-typical violence, age gap (mentioned & undefined), joel and reader are in love but joel can’t deal with his emotions, mentions of drugs use (painkillers), drinking, brief and minor allusions to religion, angst, alcohol/drug abuse, this is about reader and joel's drug addictions, and about reader's struggle with going clean (PLS DO NOT READ THIS IF IT IS HARMFUL TO YOU. keep yourself safe <3),  love confessions, brief mentions of withdrawal symptoms (reader gets a nose bleed), brief mentions of smut (unprotected PiV, creampie, multiple orgasms, soft its kinda vanilla tbh), fluff.  notes: this just came to me while listening to Milk by the 1975. heavily based off of the lyrics of that song and just something I needed to get out of my system. also written in both Joel and reader’s POV, but tbh it’s mostly Joel’s 

recent joel fics: fever Mr. Miller

★  

there was something so conspicuous about the lines you created with your fingers. 

soft music crackles odd over the weak signal in the corner of the room. a breeze chills your bare skin over your head as the swell of the concerto sends shivers over the blades of your shoulders, smoothing over your form as you hunch at the table. 

you need this. 

stray swipes of plastic - marred around the edges from rough use down with FEDRA or from wear-and-tear of jobs in your life; it's the flimsy, pathetic evidence of your existence within this QZ, within this society, within life. you are here. 

your own identification name and photograph stare up at you with a bright smile as you scrape strict lines out with your hands.

currently, you are here, but soon, you'll be a little less than that. 

the powder slips through a crack in your nail and you wince, groaning at the smidgeon loss that quite literally slipped through your fingers. but sooner than you'd expect, your irritation is eased with the sight of the jar to your right, nearly empty of its bloody red contents. you smile gently - you're almost out. maybe Joel will come to your rescue soon with more refills; you'd traded enough items as of late to be rewarded with something as delicious as his presence. 

slipping up towards the cabinet, you remove your glass from its resting place and set it on the table, completing your sweet altar of peace before you. 

the glass you pour the crimson into is smudged but still cherished; its place in the cupboard always rimmed with the absence of dust from daily use despite the scarcity of the product itself. you work hard for these small rewards. 

but the thud of your door busting open looses your focus and you can't help the yelp that you let out, head turning on a quick swivel towards the entrance, gauging the severity of the intrusion. 

the startled movement of your hand sends the glass tumbling over, acetous red seeping over the grains of wood under you and you grunt in irritation, sighing towards the intruder who's now cost you that very last half a glass of wine. 

your door swings on weak hinges as the broad shoulders that you'd know anywhere stumble into your small studio, seemingly overestimating the power with which he'd need to throttle the frame open. there's a denim shirt that stretches over the arms and chest of the intruder, the top buttons undone and revealing golden skin kissed with the sweat of the day's work. 

you sigh as Joel Miller's sharp gaze hits you. 

"you made me spill." you whine. both of you recognize the adoration that laces your words, straining them of any hostility that might flood through you had it been anyone else to startle you. 

a moment of peace as he shuts the door and lumbers into your space, face laced with a sort of exhaustion and irritation that you've grown used to. a hand wipes over the facial hair of his mustache, jaw set with unvoiced exasperation as he stalks forward. "you should really be lockin' that thing, you know." he grunts, face ridden with the displeasure of his easy entry. 

you sigh, knowing he's right, "but I knew it'd be you that's coming round, Joel. why lock it for you?" 

it's a fair statement, because if anybody in this life were to make you safe, it's him. but he clearly doesn't accept that as he rolls his eyes; sometimes, you wonder if he sees you as a nuisance. 

the drawl of his slow accent leaks through his words as he stares at your little altarpiece in front of you, the way your your chest is wet with the spilt wine, your face flustered in your embarrassment. "y'can't always be expectin’ me." he mutters and the words should feel bitter to your ears, but there's a ring of falsehoods that lie within each syllable and it just makes you smile. 

you just press your tongue to your teeth; "right. I’ll keep my axe by the door." you say, hoping that’ll soothe him. 

you don't want to press it with him today, because it seems he's in an odd mood anyways, his eyes trained on your small little art project in front of you. so instead, you stand to rid yourself of the red that stains through your shirt. 

"y'got that thing workin' I see." he states, jutting his jaw to the side towards the radio that crackles with the classical music gently in the evening air. streaks of bright orange paint his silhouette from where he props himself, the dying light of another boring Thursday being swallowed by the sweet nighttime air. 

you nod, clearing your throat, "y-yeah, um, I fixed it up this morning before heading down to sweep." you explain, fingers keeping the wine-stained cloth away from your skin. you'd seen him earlier today already - he was working down in the other quadrant this week, but he showed up to see Tess and you while you worked sweeps. he had to discuss business with Tess, leaving you sticking out like a sore thumb when their hushed conversation turned their backs from you. it'd taken a turn recently, since the last mistake you made on a run with Tess. you'd almost died and Tess was nearly there with you, saved by the skins of your knees and a shot through a clicker's head. 

Joel didn't really like that all too much, and ever since then you'd been kept on the sidelines. only repairs for inside the QZ, now; Joel and Tess would get the parts you needed from elsewhere for you. 

"what are you doing here, Joel?" you ask, though at this point it seems futile to ask him something so obvious- just as expected, he ignores your imploring question. instead, his hand sweeps over your table in a confused motion, gesturing pointedly to just where your guilt falls into three tidy, straight white lines of powder. 

you bite your lip. 

"c'mon," he mutters, shaking his head as your name falls from his curled lip. "what are you doin' with all this? it's more than a week's work." 

you send him a heated gaze; a week of your work, not his. you tell him just as much, in a way. 

"it's not a big deal," you defend, crossing your arms; as if that'd protect you from the truth that you almost caved in again after several days of going through the motions, starved of the high that you so craved. (you are here.) your eyes are torn from the floorboards as Joel huffs in irritation, this arms bulging as they cross along his chest. 

his eyes flicker over your form in a hawkish gaze, his nostrils flaring in anger, "get yourself cleaned up." he snaps. 

it's an order, and you're smart enough to listen. 

alone in your room, Joel recognizes the piece that plays over the radio, the kind of music you could have heard at a ballet way back before all the shit. some piano piece by some guy- Satie, he thinks you've told him before- something way before your time, before his time, even. he's sweeping the sweet lines you'd created into a baggie and pocketing them while you're gone wringing your loose top in the bathroom bitterly. he knows you’ll be upset with him, but it’s for the better. 

you stare bitterly at your shirt; the red rings down the drain in a vague pink trickle. 

it's quiet in the small apartment but not in an absent kind of way. it's a more tired, angry quiet. the kind that Joel carries with him everywhere in town; the kind of quiet peace that has befallen your life ever since earning your name tangled in with his and Tess's those months ago. 

it's not that life in Boston is peaceful. nothing is, anymore. 

 but the things that Joel and Tess do for you, for whatever reason - be it the parts you can fix or the items you've found easy to smuggle for your bosses; or even just your personality, your ability to survive and still flourish despite all the rot of the world - it's nice. and they trust you.

you like Tess, you trust her. she's kind of like an older sister to you, in some ways. the world's birthed out a new kind of life for the people like you, who were too young to remember the before of it all, and maybe Tess sees in you a sister to protect, to survive with. 

Joel, though... your head peaks around the corner of the bathroom before you slink back out, almost as if you have a tail tucked between your legs, face burning with something between anger and shame. Joel. 

Joel is someone vastly, deeply embedded into you. it's something that you never expected, but meeting him only a month after you met Tess, after you survived the trek from Springfield QZ to Boston, there was something within him that just clicked with the two of you. 

and he’d seen how your hands shook when you exchanged rations for those damn pills. hell, at one time in his life he'd felt his own hands shake in the same way. 

so Joel doesn't get to be all high and mighty with you, after all. 

even he knows that. 

when you round the corner, shirt wet and stuck to the soft skin underneath, his heart flutters slightly in his cold chest. he didn't want to pick a fight with you; he was fucking tired. and with you and him, it was always the same: he'd overreact about your safety, or your using, and you'd yell at him that he isn't in charge of you. then it'd get all- as he liked to call it - thick, muggy with the words that he cannot, will not say and the words you yearn to whisper. 

you never do, though. so it ends with anger until it's somehow resolved and he sees you the next day on the street.

one time, you'd gotten into such a heated argument that you did not speak to him for six days. he'd gotten angry at you for trying to smuggle something too big by yourself. you'd gone and gotten yourself beat nearly to a pulp by a bunch of assholes and Joel was beside himself with the gullibility, the naiveté of it all. and he'd been real fuckin' mean to you about it, enough to spring large tears of anger in your eyes and earn himself a smack across the face - a harsh one, at that, because you know well how to defend yourself. 

but then, you'd really shocked him. you'd told him he was weak because he can't love anything. 

he wasn't sure where that shit came from, and maybe it was coupled with the resurgence of emotions from his past - something he did not allow himself to think about - but it just made him more angry. 

it ended in an ugly roar of anger and unspoken feelings. he didn't see you for almost a week. 

Tess stopped by instead of him to trade for parts or pills, checking in on you with subtle questions that turned into blunt statements. you'd pass him on the way to a job in the mornings, eyes sharp as they saw right past him, jaw tilted with that spunky defiance he so admired in you. 

his heart had hurt the whole time, even when your birthday came round and you showed up meekly at his front door to ask if he'd get you some sugar and eggs (he realized as you spoke that you were planning to make yourself a birthday cake). instead, with a lot of huffing and ignoring those all-knowing looks from Tess, he'd baked you your own goddamn cake, showing at your door with the shameful attempt at the confection to effectively end your near-week-long standoff. 

you'd cried at his knees out of his thoughtfulness, as you'd called it. at his willingness to just pretend, for a minute, that everything was okay. he didn't know how to feel about that. 

he knows the anger that he feels towards you is synthetic; a covering that he throws on top of the storage unit full of things that scare him too much to uncover - age, safety, responsibility, affection, happiness, protection, pain, surviving.

but consequentially you bring it all out of him anyways and light the fire of anger more than anyone else, even those goddamned pricks who paint the insignias onto every street sign in the city. and he never knows how to just talk with you, even after all this time. 

you make him nervous like a damn schoolboy in the hallways seeing a pretty girl. 

this life is cruel in so many ways; unfortunately, happiness is one of the worst. way back before all of this shit happened, Joel would never have favored sadness, or pain, or hurt, nor sorrow. but the twisting, bitter truth is that he's no longer content with that same, dull pattern of emotions which swirl languidly in his chest that have just nested within him. life in Boston is just that - life. and for the last few decades, he's done what he needed to survive, and that's how it was. 

but now, he's got you. 

and that's not really anything he'd thought were in the cards for him, not after so many years alone. Tess was his partner, and he trusts her with his life. but you - you. his sweet girl, too much for this world yet not enough at all; with your music, that stubborn independence, light of laughter, and those straight lines; the ones that always seem to unwind you and never seem to stop. 

you told him once that you're not sure if Joel Miller was the type to love something. he's not sure either. 

when you're face-to-face with him again, the sheepish grin melts from your lips. the absence of the crushed pulls, your identification card, the rolled up scrap paper you'd made into a makeshift straw of sorts paints a bitter look on your face as you stare up at him. 

you know he took them intentionally, to help - so the warmth in your chest from the gesture of good faith tells you not to bark at him.

he's trying to do the good thing for a friend right now. it's the same thing you would do anytime you come over and Joel's halfway down a fresh bottle of that amber liquid he keeps on him at all times. you appreciate each other. 

so you just pour yourself a small glass calmly, aware of his eyes on you. "d'you want some, Miller?" you ask, back turned from him to fish out a glass. 

he lets out a chuckle, "no, darlin', wine ain't really my thing." it makes you grin, because yeah, you did know that. you know a lot about him. you shake your head, tilting it slightly as you settle yourself back into the chair you'd perched on before his company. 

"right." you smile at him, a glinting in your eyes as you shrug at him. god, that look. you're tempting him all the same, with your eyes or your smile or just you. 

"I took your shit." he admits, knowing there's no point in hiding it. he was a very blunt man, always has been. life's easier that way. 

you sigh, shaking your head, "I-" you stop yourself from griping at him for being a fucking babysitter, instead trying again. your eye drops down to him in a wry little wink, your mind static with the noise of his knuckles against the scruff of his jaw. "come on, Joel. you know I'm no fun if I only get a bit of wine." you try to joke, crossing your arms as the liquid breaches your lips, head itching for a bit of euphoria. "I just... I need some of that other shit every once in a while." you try to defend. “I’m getting better.” you convince yourself. 

something pops gently inside your sinuses, and as you sniff slightly, you feel the gush of movement. 

his eyes are hard as he stares you down, but he soon swears under his breath, turning to grab the rag that sits on your counter. your hands rise to your nose to cover as the blood starts to drip from your right nostril - fuck. 

you tilt forward slightly the moment you have the urge to lean back; when you'd first met and he learned about your habit, Joel'd shown you to reduce swelling and swallowing blood to lean between your legs. "I'm fine, Joel-" you start to argue as his grip finds your bicep, "shut up, now." he snaps, clearly upset. 

it hurts you to hurt him like this. 

licking your lips, your eyes fall onto his own, the movement of his jaw as his plush lips clench, brow furrowing in anger. if you could just- if you could be bold enough to just once surge up and taste him, maybe it'd all be different. 

maybe. 

"Joel, it's-" you break off, eyes flickering to the pocket you just know he shoved your pills into, roaming over the denim, "it's incidental. it's dry outside now, allergies and shit." 

he shakes his head in disbelief, growing tired of you skirting around the problem and not outright saying it. 

"you think you're fuckin' special, don't ya?" he grunts, storming over to shut your windows, leaving your body with a cold chill of reality. 

the rag he gave you comes away from your face bloody. no, you're not yet a corpse, but you still rot away. 

he sighs heavy, like he has to make a grave decision in the face of a troubling truth - had you really gotten to a point where this was an issue, or was Joel just protective? you're not sure, but it makes you feel shitty no matter. 

"y'know, it won't make anything better." he tries again through a soft, gruff sigh after a few moments. you barely let your eyes flicker to his. 

who is he, to say that to you? 

"is that supposed to be some kind of joke, Joel?" your words don't have sharpness, instead you're shrouded with that kind of disappointment he often finds in your eyes every time he can't say the things to you he wants. the things he's afraid of, the things he knows you're not afraid of. "don't you think I know that? you went through this yourself, you've told me that you know how fucking hard it is." you defend, knuckles white as you sip a bit of the wine.

he sighs; a deep, heavy sigh as his fingers pinch his frustrated brow. "I know-" he starts to explain himself, but you shake your head, tired. 

"don't say anything about it, Joel. I get it." you sigh, "it’s 'not the same', for whatever bullshit reason you can come up with this week." your words are harsh but they're not mad. 

you're not angry in the way maybe you should be towards the hypocrite that stands tall and sharp in front of you.

instead you stand, moving to let yourself fall onto the ratty couch that sits miserably in the corner of the room. you're fucking tired - your body aches from the exhaustion of the week's work, of fixing up all that shit for Tadeau who honestly cheated you out on the last payment. worse, though, you're tired of this push and pull with Joel; where he shows up to bring you what you need, stays and watches with commiseration as you try to feel something - sneaking sips of his own liquid gold until his cheeks are a pinkish red, matching the heat in yours.

but you're most tired with how, recently, it always ends with arguing instead of maybe just- being with each other. you're just tired of stepping over eggshells that may actually be landmines. 

landmines like I care about you too much and I just want you to feel something like what I feel for you, because you deserve it. 

"I'm just-" he cuts himself off with a resigned look. hardened. I'm just worried about you.

he doesn't sit on the couch. your wine is forgotten on the table now, because the most intoxicating thing in your life stands in front of you with his full, undivided attention just on the way you curl up on the ripped sofa.

the sun is setting now and if Joel doesn't leave soon, curfew will pass. you hate it when he stays over, sleeps on the sofa; your bed always feels huge and guilty beneath your body when you can hear him toss and turn all night, air tense either with anger or with the desire to continue to exist within each other's company even after the exchange of good-nights. 

"how is this different from your thing?" you ask, the defense rising up like bile in your chest, swirling inklings of doubt and fear within your chest. 

perhaps it's because he's right. his fear is real; he's gone through this before, and as badly as you want to believe him you also just can't keep pretending he's just a really good friend. because it's Joel fucking Miller, and he doesn't have friends. 

you're tired of the fogginess of which you lately haven't been able to escape. and if Joel is afraid of something... then you know you should run from it like hell. 

he doesn’t respond to your attempt to make him, so you purse your lips, shame curling up your cheeks. you try again. 

"I have been trying to- to stop." you admit, fingers tangling into themselves. he heaves a deep sigh and makes the trek over to you, dropping onto the sofa next to you. his thigh brushes yours and the both of you tense, though you pretend you don't notice. you know he likes the touches - subtle as they are - because in a world like this, affection was a weakness but it was also an incredibly fierce strength. it was scary, but it felt right. 

he was always just like you, in that way. 

"I know you have." he resigns with a nod, eyes flickering over to yours with a gentleness that is only ever reserved for you these days.  “’s a good thing.” he acknowledges. 

you swallow the heavy lump of regret in your throat because you're done hiding all of this shit. "I'm sorry. I don't- I don't want to let you down." 

but there it is - the line that Joel had invisibly, wordlessly drawn in the sand of your blurry relationship. especially when the sun is almost gone, and it's not enough to know that you're not together just because words have never expressed it. 

any time you do this, toe this line he’s made, Joel has to close up from you. and you understand that. this is the line - where you admit something vulnerable, something you're both feeling, only for him to go completely the other way. because he’s scared. 

he shakes his head in almost disappointment. "you should be doin' this for yourself." he says sternly, jaw tightening as he moves away from you. push and pull. and he is right, you should do this for yourself.

and you are; every damn day you wake up, get dressed, go to get some work done for rations so that you can survive in this hell of a life because you really do love this life. the feeling of belonging somewhere, with him and with your friends and Tess. but it's hard to express that to him when it's like talking to a brick fucking wall every time you mention feelings.

you let out a choked sigh, tears rimming your eyes as you huff, "you're right. I am. I just- I don't really want to fight like this," you sigh, heart thundering with anxiety. "not tonight." 

he nods shortly, looking across the apartment to your trinkets that lie everywhere. he doesn't know how you do it - the apartment is full of them, just random shit you find around and treasure enough to keep. it brings life to something that shouldn't have it in the small, crumbling studio apartment that should take life out of people - but your place, it gives people life. it's a glimpse into how things should be, how they used to be. your items are a look back into a life that you never got to have; things that he'd see as trash. but truth be told: in your place, they're so you, and he supposes they're treasure to him anyways. "neither do I." he mutters, hand falling into his lap. 

you should probably remind him that curfew is soon. he knows it is, though, you know it'd be pointless to remind him; it's clear that this has become one of those many nights he'll spend on your lumpy couch. 

you say something else, instead. "I saw Jonah fall on his ass today while shoveling." 

he chuckles at that. shaking his head, he looks down at you, at the sunshine in your eyes despite the sun's dip below the crumbling remains of the city; you're smiling up at him, giggling to yourself at the sporadic noise of his amusement. you're amused because he's amused. you want him to smile. 

he wishes, fleetingly, that he could be like you, more alive, more full of love and life and - and happiness. naive as it may be. 

that was the kind of gift you brought for him each time you came to see him or he came to see you. somehow, you fill him with words he doesn't know how to express. and you never make him explain them, you just feel them. 

"he deserved it." Joel decides with a smirk, ignoring the monstrous green envy that licks at his lungs at the mention of that young pup that followed you around for months, nearly begging to have you. 

he remembers when you'd shot him down; much to Joel's shock, you'd said you weren't interested in him. you've said that about just near every damn person who has set their sights on you. 

you shake your head at him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder and leaving a buzzing warmth on his skin as you do, "stop it, Joel. you're awful." but you're still giggling, grinning nearly ear-to-ear. "he-he did, though." you agree, smiling down to your lap with a laugh. 

his face feels warm as you settle into the cushions, lulling your head to settle it onto his shoulder. the light weight of it blankets his heart in a warmth he swears he hasn't felt in decades. 

"never understood why people keep that boy around." Joel shakes his head, "he's a dud." 

you let out a soft laugh, staring up at Joel with disbelief, "c'mon, Joel." you tilt your head with a stare at him. he blinks back, jaw clenching as he leans back, wincing as he adjusts his back. 

you shake your head as you laugh yet again, "he's not a dud. he's actually quite resourceful for those assholes in the square. creepy, but smart enough." you shrug, pulling a stray seam from the couch beneath you. he sighs- you're too kind for your own good, sometimes. "he's just terrified of you." you add, lifting an accusatory brow. 

"don' know why." Joel chooses to mutter, and you send him a look yet again. Joel doesn't need you to remind him why that boy Jonah was so afraid of him, he remembered damn well on his own. 

he'd just made sure you were safe, was all. and after it’d happened, you’d spent the whole night convincing Joel that what he did wasn't scary, just protective. worried about his friend. 

there's a streak of pride that runs through him, knowing the boy wouldn't come near you again. you deserve to be comfortable, to feel safe in this city, this life. and if Joel can try to do anything, it's that. 

"yes you do." you say it so gently, it's less than a whisper. but Joel, emboldened by the soft light of your single lamp in the corner, the crackling of the classical music in the corner, the ambiance of the settled sun, nods his head.

you make it seem so simple. he looks around your apartment; at the glass that's filled but forgotten, at the ripped and faded posters for bands that fell from existence before your birth; at the plants that flourish in your care, at the clay pots and spare keychains and old magazines that you've collected for so long. you make it so damn easy, he realizes.

so for once, why can't he indulge? he knows you wouldn't stop him if he were to try and kiss you right now. there have been several times, in the heat of an argument or after a close call during a smuggle route with you where he's almost just leaned down and gone for it. and each time, your sunshine-eyes have called him in, begged him. pleaded with him. 

but he's always avoided that; it's like stepping over a landmine each time. and those landmines just seem to pile up and pile up these days.

the landmines; the ones that are starting to seem more and more like eggshells just waiting to be crushed. 

so with a shallow swallow of pride, he crushes them all with one sentence. 

"yeah, I do. ‘s because he knows you're mine now." 

well, this was certainly new territory for you and him. 

you stare up at him after he mutters those words. his eyes are sharp, serious, jaw ticking as he searches for your response. your heart thunders at his admission - the willingness to admit anything even remotely close to affection has never come easy for Joel, if at all. it's almost scary. 

but he doesn't look dishonest, or regretful. there's a flicker of insecurity, of course; but deeper inside, there's acceptance. you've been patient with him, and likely will be for the rest of your life - he's ready to be patient with you, too. you let out a shaky breath, afraid that any burst of movement or emotion will scare him away like a wounded animal. 

"yeah." you utter, mouth dry, "I'm- I'm yours." you agree. 

it was never spoken out loud before; it wasn't really even suggested except for by the prying eyes of others along the street, noticing the one and only soft spot Joel Miller has: you. 

hell, even Tess hadn't mentioned it to either of you out of fear of hostility, fear of cannon-balling feet-first onto a landmine the size of the whole QZ. 

you and Joel. 

but there is simply no alcohol or pill on this planet that will taste the way his lips do, and you know it. you yearn to taste him. "Joel..." you mutter softly, leaning forward as your arm curls around his bicep. your chin tilts up and his eyes, lidded low, meet yours. 

he ought not to do this. there are reasons he's held back from touching you, kissing you, making you his before. there are hundreds of reasons that this is a bad idea, but as you stare up at him with the warmth of the sun in your eyes, warming his cold bones, he caves in. he would give you anything you want. 

that's just the way it's always been with you and him, he realizes. 

your face is close to his, and you stare up at him with longing, desire, need dripping from your whole being. his hand falls onto your denim-clad thigh, his thumb rubbing light patterns as you lean closer.

"why would you let me do this?" he whispers, a ghost against your lips. tilting your head, you furrow your brows, "l-let you?" you shake your head with a soft smile, "I have wanted this since I met you. I've ached for you." you admit feebly. "isn't this right?" you ask, insecure. your brows are pulled together in anxiety and he wishes to smooth out the frustration with the pad of his thumb. "shouldn't we be together?" you ask, almost broken. 

his stomach curls with emotion at the tone of your voice, pleading with him. his groan vibrates through your entire body as he sighs, "darlin', you're askin' the wrong man that. y’know I'd tear the world apart to be with you." he admits, feeling the grace of your smile over his own.  

"I want to feel-" you beg, hands roaming over his chest, "I want to feel you. please." you ask him gently, and his stomach twists because you know he'll always cave for you. 

"I'm a bad man-" he starts with the spiel he's given himself every single night, laying on his mattress or on your shitty couch begging his mind not to dream of your soft, supple skin. 

"stop that, Joel. you sound foolish." you shake your head, sunshine in your eyes lighting the whole room. "this life is just how it is, and you are how you are. I am yours, and you deserve to be mine, too." 

he swallows roughly as your lips brush against his, and his heart feels the trigger of a pressure plate; he knows he isn't going to be able to stop the words from falling from his lips as soon as they part. 

"you're- you're everything." he admits breathlessly, eyes searching yours. 

the world explodes around you and even with Joel's shitty ear he can still hear the ring of your laughter, of your smile, of your happiness. his words are broken and choked up from disuse; he's not sure when the last time he said those words were, and he cannot open that closet full of skeletons right now. 

but it doesn't matter, when you say your next words with a smile bigger than the whole world.  "I love you too, Joel." 

and when he takes you on your lumpy couch, your moans are sweet. saccharine. he swallows every single one with his own lips, your fingers tangled in his curls. 

you taste different than he'd expected - more sweet, more caring. your skin is soft and your touches on him breathe new life into him. 

sure, there are a lot of things that Joel cannot and probably will not ever be able to say. you know that, though, and as you come undone around him, spasming in bliss and sobbing out his name as if it's the only thing you can remember, it's all he can do to pull you closer into a tight embrace. 

it's fully dark outside as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from your strained body, gone limp from his love; your lips are bruised and so are your hips, but there's still that sweet smile on your face as he moans your name out, finally able to let go. the couch is on its last leg, crumbling beneath your bodies as you wrap your legs around his lap, squeezing him tighter as you pull your chest to his, your lips to his own. his words are dirty, uttered into the shell of your ear as his hand trails down the line of your spine, pumping up into you until he's shooting spurts of his seed deep into you. 

he paints you with his love, and though his words are never enough, yours are. he can't believe those things that you left unsaid for so many months would taste so damn good after they were detonated. both of your fears, entangled with each other in a life nothing like what you'd hope for, are enough to keep your hands entwined even after you're both spent. 

his hands are gentle and intoxicating as they clean you up, wiping down your slicked thighs and your spent body, his lips soothing over every mark he'd left in his wake.

and finally, as sleep overtakes the both of you, Joel finally slides under your covers with you. he pulls you tightly into his warm chest, the lumpy couch forgotten. his lips ghost over your neck even after you fall asleep.

your hand twitches in his when you mutter his name in your sleep. he can't help the smile that grows on his lips.

maybe, you could guide him through all of those landmines. 

.

requests open.

. 

[q-starhalo]

ALRIGHT ALL YOU BBH ENJOYERS! YOU LITTLE GHOSTIES! Here are some lines from when Bad was expressing his anger with Pomme (who was also upset) that I think are very neat because my gosh were those lines so good.

(I tried to get them exact so apologies if some are long or not actually accurate)

"It also highlights the fact that that son of a gun thought that he could take my son? My son Pomme. From me?"

"Does he think he's going to intimidate me by taking my son? This- If anything, this motivates me even more!"

"The ONLY thing I could say is that he is grateful not a hair on Dappers head looks like it was harmed. Because if his hat had been so much as askew, I would have ended his existence right there."

"Quackity was given Pandoras Box, and he made the mistake of opening it."

"There will be blood, Quackity."

"I'm going to find whoever signed off on this, I'm going to find whoever's remotely responsible. Everybody, every single person who was connected with my sons kidnapping, and I will make them all suffer. Every single one, Pomme. Every single person who is remotely connected. I don't care who it is."

"He better hope I don't win the election. Cause if I win, ohhh. Oh my gosh. If I win. Quackity has no idea what he is just put his foot into."

"He stooped to the level of this. Of laying his grimy little mitts on what should not be touched. You do not touch my son. Nobody touches my children. Nobody."

"I'm going to pay him back for it 100 times over. That's always been my philosophy, Pomme. When someone messes with you, you return the favor 100 times over. And you send the message not to mess with you again."

"I'm pretty easy going Pomme. I'm pretty easy going. I don't hold a grudge. I live and let live. I let people do what they want. But the moment you try and touch what's important to me, you've gone too far."

"He hasn't just angered one of us, he's angered all of us."

"Laying his hands on you adorable little eggs is one step too far."

"And now he just stepped on it. He stepped on a landmine and he doesn't even realize it's about to explode under his feet."

"We need to make a list of every. single. person. Every single person we need to do payback against."

"No mercy, no quarter, no pauses, no timeouts, nothing."

"It's just me, and revenge"

"Every single person who was involved. Every single person. I don't care if it's Cucurucho. I don't care if it's ElQuackity, Quackity. I don't care if the code monster is involved. I genuinely don't. I do not care. Because anybody who is willing to do this, who is willing to threaten my boy. The apple of my eye. [...] Anyone willing to do that, willing to take one of my children from me. And use it as, as what? A threat? Leverage? Anyone willing to do that, I don't care who it is. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care if I- I don't care if it takes 100 years, I will hunt you down. And I will end you. I'll make you regret 1,000 times over what you've done. I will make you regret every single thing you did.

"And when you're on your knees, begging for mercy. When you cry out with that last breath and you say please let the tournament end, I will whisper in your ear "no""

""Why is Bad playing the victim?" I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my child was kidnapped and that inconveniences you and makes me quote on quote play the victim."

"He doesn't realize the storm, it's like a storm in a bottle, and he just like threw the bottle on the ground. And now the storm is out."

"But had Dapper been killed, there wouldn't have been forgiveness in that situation. I mean, I would've forgiven Slime eventually after I'd, you know, killed him a bunch. Maybe, had imprisoned him."

"Sale on Hot Topic items, 50% off with the code "BadBoyHalo""

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

when y/n gathering scrap to meet quota and heard a noise and quickly turn around to see coil-head stop moving they slowly walking backward to try not get killed, after a long while they managed to escape from the coil-head. now y/n heard a rumor about a very familiar entity with a funny nickname peanut (its scp 178 if your curious) but it have very valuable information to know since its familiar to coil-heads when looking at the enemy will not move until your not looking at it

"Just be cool..it's all for the Company...all for the Company...."

Uttering that small mantra, you approached the large humming machinery, your eyes being set directly on the prize: a glowing yellow apparatus. The powercell of this entire facility.

It was worth a good fortune in the name of meeting quota, although it didn't come without its risks.

Like plunging you into total darkness and being stupidly heavy to lug back to the ship.

Unfortunately your crew sent you to retrieve it alone, as they were adding up how much the scrap piles were worth, buying stuff on the terminal, and looking out for eyeless dogs.

But for all you knew, they could be doing fuckall while you're risking life and limb every second you remained in this building.

Then again, that's just a normal day when working for the Company.

You kept your scanner going, cradling the giant apparatus close to your chest. It was your only source of light right now, as your flashlight was out of battery--and it made you look like a giant walking target for whatever monsters lurked here.

Speaking of which-

--New creature data sent to the terminal!--

"...what did I just scan?"

Stopping in your tracks for a brief moment, you took a look around the room, not seeing any sort of creature moving...

Only to suddenly hear loud footsteps rushing at you from behind, and in panic you swiftly turned around. The glow of the apparatus illuminated something humanoid that stopped short in front of you, allowing you to fully take in its horrifying appearance.

It was a creature that looked like a mannequin, with nails piercing its body, no forearms, and its head attached to a metal spring that bobbed as it stopped in-place. It had two hollow eyes and a broken mouth that made it incapable of expressions...yet you felt very afraid staring up at it.

"Shit..th-there's something here, guys.." You muttered into the walkie-talkie, praying somebody would pick up.

"We see it." One of your crewmembers' voice responded. "It's...a Coil-Head. Just got the data."

"Coil-Head? That's what they call these things?"

"If you wanna get specific, it's a Vir colli-"

"Whatever, not important. How much longer do I have until midnight?" You huffed.

"You got time. You're close to the exit!"

"Okay...well what do I do about this thing? I'm looking right at it."

"This is gonna sound weird, but just..keep doing that and head for the exit. But whatever you do, don't l-"

*krrrrrrrt*

"...one more time? I didn't catch that last part."

"........."

"Oh my god..you're kidding me, right?" Briefly glancing at your walkie-talkie, you realized the battery died and groaned, although the Coil-Head suddenly moved an inch closer, its head bobbing violently. "Woah--okay, okay..I'll keep looking at you, I guess....I don't want any problems."

It didn't answer, and simply stared.

"Christ..why does something like this exist at all?" You mumbled to yourself, keeping a tight hold on the apparatus as you slowly backed away, trying to keep your ears and scanner open for anything that might creep up behind you.

God forbid it was another landmine, spider web, or Bracken.

This was genuinely terrifying, especially knowing you were wandering through a near pitch-black facility with this mechanical creature following you every time you had to break line of sight.

Now that you've lost all communication with your crew, the only way they could tell if you're alive was on the monitors. You didn't even know what time it was. All you could do was pray to whatever god was out there in this vast universe that you'd get back to the ship before they decided to take off without you.

Surely, they wouldn't abandon one of their own..

Then again, you were all told to do "whatever it takes" to survive long enough to meet the next quota.

Even if it meant ditching and killing each other, or leaving the moon's atmosphere before midnight to keep tabs on whatever scrap was salvaged for the day.

But regardless, you had to survive..and so you did your best to maneuver around the facility with the Coil-Head in your sights at all times.

Its mannerisms did remind you of some other creature you have researched from a different and not-so-ethical company. Although right now, you're not too focused on that.

Not dying was more important.

........

"You made it!!"

"Yeah, no shit..my arms are killing me.." Dropping the apparatus unceremoniously on the ship floor, you looked at your fellow crewmates--two of whom were arguing about which moon to route the ship to next, while only one acknowledged your close call with the Coil-Head.

At least somebody cares.

But now that you've had time to calm down, you remembered what you wanted to do once you returned here safely.

"Y'know, that Coil-Head reminds me of this one creature I've read about back on Earth..its mannerisms are similar." You hummed, before heading to the terminal, irritated by the arguing duo. "Move. I need to look up something."

"Oh thank god." One of the employees huffed, shaking her head. "Please jump on the terminal before this dumbass routes us to Titan and blows all our money."

"Why are you being so stingy?! We can afford it!"

"We can't afford dying just because you wanna go to the deadliest moon! You think it's gonna be like Experimentation? A cakewalk??"

"No but it sure as hell's gonna give us better loot! We may have an apparatus but it's not gonna sustain us!"

"...can you guys take this conversation elsewhere? I'm going in." You squeezed between the pair and managed to get your hands on the keyboard, pulling up the internet (with speed that sucked since the Company tended to be cheap like that).

Curious, they stopped their squabbling and looked to what you were typing, bringing up a data profile for a creature called-

"SCP-173?"

"Yep. Or as they call it, the Statue..but I like its nickname "Peanut" a little better." You chuckled as you read its containment summary and description. ""The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight...object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull"...yep....the vibes are similar. Interesting"

"I thought snapping necks was the Bracken's job." One crewmember joked. "You're telling me that Coil-Heads and this Peanut might be cousins?"

"Maybe whoever designed them took some inspiration...though I wonder how it could snap someone's neck if it doesn't have any hands.."

"I kinda wanna see that happen. Any volunteers?" The Titan-obsessed employee laughed, but the dead silence and blank stares they received from all three of you caused them to tense up. "...I-I was only kidding...jeez.."

"If we run into another Coil-Head, we're leaving you behind to stare at it."

"Wha----are you really that mad that I suggested going to Titan???" They snapped.

"Since you're acting like a total nincompoop who should know we don't have the proper equipment yet...yes." You answered flatly, to which they groaned in annoyance.

"You're all jerks...I wish I had a new crew."

"In space, no one can hear you whine. Now let's go to March. We still got one day left to make some extra bucks, okay?"

"Fiiiiine, "Captain". Whatever you say."

[elysiumblue]

Pick a card - Describing your beauty 😍

A reading that can help bringing you positivity. Let me attempt to describe your beauty. I may also provide some advices to enhance your beauty in some piles.

As always, this is a general reading, so just take what resonates, and leave the rest behind. Also, this reading is aim to provide positive vibes. If you find the messages offensive, then the message may not be for you. Maybe you are not ready for the messages, or you can try pick another pile.

👇🏻 Pick a heart emoji that you feel drawn to 👇🏻

And find the corresponding reading for you below!

💜 Pile 1 💜

People feels that you need to be seen more, because they want to see your beauty! They can see the glow of you, even when you're trying your very very best to hide it. Besides that, people also see that you're visibly hurt, so they want to help you with the healing.

Yes, I can see that pile 1 is definitely going through some shit. It's more apparent in the way you push people away, or hurt people with your words. I can see that you don't do this because you like to hurt others, but it's due to you not feeling yourself worthy enough to be loved 😔 You seem to be pessimistic, due to the intense suffering you've been through. I can specifically see suffering inflicted by male or religion here.

You may not believe it, but people feel that you're a royalty, as they can't help but admire how you go through so much shit, while still be able to remain a good person. The color you picked, which is purple, is a color of royal too. Also, 3 of the 4 queens have showed up in your reading. The only one missing is the Queen of Cup, which indicates you should try to be more open to the idea of love. Let people love you. Believe that you are loveable. And more importantly, love yourself.

Give yourself a chance, to be open to more people. This time it's not the same, as you're stronger than before, and also not all people is as horrible as those you've met before. Be open to the love and kindness of people. Let them help you, and most importantly, let us see your beauty and your glow. I feel that you're now living in a shell, but not even the shell can fully cover your brilliance, no matter how hard you try to shut it tight.

(I don't want to specify the events, but I really feel that you've been through some tough things. Songs about toxicity and violence keep showing up in this reading. Your pain is valid, but don't let it define you. Things will definitely get better. ❤️‍🩹)

🩵 Pile 2 🩵

I feel that you have a dark vibe and a retro style. Your beauty feels timeless, which reminds me of Lana Del Rey and Dita von Teese. You probably like black, and maybe blue too.

Your beauty is intimidating yet breathtaking. You make people just want to stop and admire you, and be with your vibe. The vibe of yours is dark yet very soothing, making people feels like everything will be ok if you're here. Some also find your style very inspiring. I cannot accurately describe why but I can come up with an example. It feels like people spend hundreds of dollars to buy an e-ink tablet, so that their eyes won't hurt by the light of the screen, and one day you remind them that paper book exists. 💥📕

I didn't forget about the intimidating part of your beauty. People knows that you look fine but they also know that you are not the one to be fucked with. Just looking at you, they can imagine what will happen if they make an unwise move on you 💀 You feel dangerous, but it only makes you dangerously beautiful. Must be the dark vibes that you exude. Reminds me of "Jiraikei", a Japanese style which looks really cute, but can be very destructive. As the name, "jirai", which literally means landmine suggested, people will be shred to pieces if they're not careful. But there may be some people who purposely mess with you, because they want to be screwed lol 💀💣

❤️ Pile 3 ❤️

Man. You probably an air sign. The energy is so air sign. Or maybe you aren't because I am not an air sign, and am not experiencing the air sign experience firsthand.

You feel so elusive. Looks like a fairy that doesn't belong in the human world, and is super rare. You looks beautiful, but at the same time you feels like you don't belong to anyone exclusively. This makes some people want to catch you, and own you. (And then they failed lol) Some people will try to make you commit in a relationship with them, just so they can see you more often. (I guess they also failed too lol 💀)

The way of your speech also has a charm to it. You can say something that makes zero sense at all, rambling bs, and people still listen the whole thing, or even believe in you. You may find this a bit amusing sometimes. However, there may be some people thinking that you're shallow, and untrustworthy, because of the way you speaking.

You probably surrounded by people. I feel that you're quite popular, and may even have multiple people crushing on you. They really be like moths to the flames. This makes you feel overwhelmed, and makes you want to hide from people sometimes. It also makes you a bit confused about who you should spend your time with. This makes you hop from people to people, one thing to another thing, which contributes in your elusive vibe.

Although you know that you're liked by people, you still find yourself comparing yourself to others. You make changes to yourself from time to time, which is a nice thing. However, some changes are unnecessary, especially those you made just to please others.

I heard an example that sounds quite contradictory, but if you get it then maybe it's a message for you. Some people may think that you're so hard to keep up with, and they want you to be more grounded. However, when you try to be grounded, you lost your charm and find yourself struggling. You have to acknowledge that your unpredictability is a part of your beauty, that should not be changed. You have to know that if people find it struggling to deal with you, that means that you're not for them, instead of you being the problem. 🥴

(This is one of my favourite songs. Also Prince was a Gemini. More air sign energies. He was not afraid of speaking up and changing things up. And he was always changing musically. There's a quote from him, saying that making music is like meeting a new friend, which made him want to make something he had never seen before.)

[amysubmits]

Imperfection...Or Just Real Life

Something I realized when talking to a fellow sub who messaged me recently, was how we probably don’t share “imperfection” often enough. 

I think it’s just a lot more instinctual to share the idealistic moments as those are the ones we want to linger on and document most. So I share, and I think lots of others share - the moments where their dom makes them feel perfectly submissive, perfectly helps them s hut their busy brain off, and brings them to euphoric pleasure in bed. 

I think there’s a lot of benefit in sharing the less-than-perfect experiences too though. The moments where we miscommunicate, where our doms might try to help us feel submissive but it just doesn’t quite work, or they may say something trying to turn us on that doesn’t quite push that button. Moments where we’re awkward or insecure, or don’t know what to say or do to create the feelings we’re after. I think all couples have moments like this. Nobody just decides to start D/s or explore kink and then has every sexual experience work out exactly as they’d hoped. That just isn’t real life. And I think sharing some of those experiences can be helpful. 

Especially for the benefit of others who may not know what is “normal’ or common or what the nitty gritty reality of figuring out D/s or kink can look like.

So with that in mind, here are a few of my experiences that come to mind. 

CD likes to thrust slow, hard and deep to make me squeal sometimes. It’s the type of sadism thing where he knows I don’t prefer this, but will tolerate it for him. Recently he was doing that, but rather than the regular sort of pain I experience with that, it was giving me sharp stomach pains. He only did it 2 or 3 times, and I didn’t say anything but he somehow realized I was not enjoying it - in a way that is different from the regular ‘suffering for you’ kinda thing. He commented that it didn’t seem like I was enjoying it, and I could tell that it had impacted his sexual headspace. I explained that it was giving me stomach pains. He asked why I didn’t say anything and I told him that for some reason I just didn’t really even consider saying something because I knew he was intentionally making it hurt, but I also knew that he wasn’t trying to make my stomach hurt - so I don’t really know why it didn’t occur to me to say something. It just didn’t. He told me that in the future he wants me to say something. 

CD likes to hear me beg for his cock, so sometimes he will pause during sex to encourage me to beg. There have been times where he’s paused because he needs a breather or has a cramp or something, and I’ve not realized it, and have started begging. We mostly just laugh, but it’s a bit awkward to beg and be told “hang on, I have a cramp in my calf.” lol. 

We’ve had times where CD has denied my orgasms for a few days with the intent of it building up to a really intense orgasm, but then I had a really weak orgasm instead. 

We’ve had sex where we thought I was 100% done with my period but then penetration makes a mess. 

Once CD asked me “Do you feel so humiliated?” in a tone where it was clear to me that he was turned on by thinking he was humiliating me - but I really wasn’t feeling embarrassed! 

Once while teasing me with access to his cock, Cd asked me if I ‘deserved’ it. We didn’t realize prior to that, that ‘deserve’ is a word that triggers me to feel undeserving...and finding out in the middle of sex was less than peasant, but now we know! I’ve seen people call experiences like that where you accidentally hit a limit that you didn’t know existed “discovering landmines”

I don��t really have a particular memory I can pull out as an example, but I also thought I should say that it takes a while to figure out how to effectively create specific feelings in a sub. We’ve never regularly discussed aiming for a particular feeling (like ‘I want to reach subspace, or I want stress relief, or I want to turn  my brain off, etc). Still, it’s definitely taken time, experience and trial and error to learn what does and doesn’t work for creating all of those feelings. What effectively gets me into subspace one day may not work on another day if my mood, hormones, stress levels, etc are different. Headspace can be finicky sometimes, so even if you’ve been at it a while and usually know what works...some days your usual routine may just not work. That’s just normal, this is an ongoing learning process. 

I also wanted to add that when I do share those idealistic experiences, in most cases he’s managed to create those experiences because of having years of experience and feedback from me. So it’s not that has always ‘just known” how to make me a submissive pile of goo. He’s asked me lots of questions, tried things to see what works and what doesn’t, observed reactions, and we’ve shared our feelings for years. And that’s a lot of how we’ve learned how to get really awesome experiences....but it’s still imperfect. We still get it wrong sometimes, have awkward moments, miscommunications, etc. We just keep learning about ourselves and each other as we go.  

If other D/s people on here are open to it, I’d love to see others share some of their ‘imperfect’ kink experiences too. :) 

@sccwriting

[freddie-77-ao3]

Snippets of the Travis Stoll fic because i need motivation:

“I’m mature because you left me to take care of an entire cabin of people when I was twelve.” Travis rubs his arms self-consciously. “I had to grow up. Kids would die if I didn’t.”

~~

Travis Stoll loses his virginity when he is twelve years to a sixteen year old daughter of Demeter on the grass behind the Ares cabin, and honestly, he wishes that their landmines had blown him up.

He is twelve years old and a counselor now, and Tammy is in charge of the camp store.

He's counselor now. The children shivering on the floor of cabin eleven, they're his responsibility.

But he doesn't have enough money for blankets and toiletries, and Tammy-- Tammy tells him that if he comes with her and does what she asks, she'll give both of them to him for free, so he does.

He goes with her.

He's twelve years old. He knows what rape is. Knows this isn't it, because he consented, right?

(Wrong.)

~~

Travis’ leg is bouncing up and down. It’s a bit rhythmatic, and calming, if anything could be considered calm.  He’s tense, and stiff, and the sound makes him wince every once in a while, when he forgets it’s his leg that’s tapping on the cool flooring, and not someone else’s winding footsteps. Malcolm would just pop! Into existance, scaring the shit out of Travis, but at least letting him know it wasn’t someone else, but… Travis doesn’t want Cecil, or Connor, -or anyone else really- to see him like this. 

Not now, when they’re all so scared- when he’s so scared. 

~~

“Come on,” Travis fake whines at one point in an attempt to forget everything, “Drop the illusion! Become your true self!” He pouts, as Malcolm continues to ignore him, typing something without looking, at a speed that most would probably consider fast.  “Your authentic identity! Drop all pretences in a society that worships fakeness! Embrace your realist inner spirit! Should I go on?”

Malcolm sighs, and while he rolls his eyes, he mutters, “You’ve been spending too much time in Cabin Ten.”

“Have not,” Travis scoffs.

“Have so,” but he shifts anyway, ceasing the- admittedly childish- argument (which was not cool, thank you very much, some of us have bad and annoying coping methods, Malcolm-), the short blond hair shifting to a slightly longer, curlier brown, and the grey eyes turning green. 

It didn’t change much, really- Malcolm was still incredibly short- seriously, 5’2?-  but Malcolm now had two bandages around his mouth and nose which were slightly wrinkled due to his mouth being shut. 

Travis assumed Connor put them on. Malcolm often didn’t bother with bandages, and Drew was more clinical in her approach. It didn’t matter, really, except it made Travis wonder if Malcolm was missing them. His friends. His friends Travis has taken from-

Malcolm nudges him, whispering, “Hey. You alright?”

Travis opens his mouth to respond, but the only thing to come out is a strangled sigh. 

~~

Travis is prone to wandering. He thinks it might be a Hermes kid thing, the reasoning spread somewhere in between the cabin being so incredibly small that you share bunks and sleep on the floor, and that if you ever have to go to the bathroom in the night, chances are the entire cabin knows about it because they either get stepped on, or move, or the fact that Hermes is the god of travel.

Travis doesn’t really like either explanation- he was selfish like that, wanting one thing to himself, just one thing, but, well. He was counselor, wasn’t he. Chiron always said, counselors have to share, counselors have to–

Why isn’t he allowed to be selfish?

~~

Travis started in on the waffle fries, drizzling them with syrup first. 

 “You know they’re called waffle fries,” Malcolm pointed out, looking slightly disgusted, “because of the shape, not because they’re actually made of waffles.”

“Don’t limit me.”

“It’s another cabin eleven thing, isn’t it?”

“Camp thing, really. Surprised you haven’t noticed yet- you’ve been here, what, two years now?”

“It’s not like I often go to the dining pavilion,” Malcolm retorted, and Travis gives a Cheshire Cat grin at the opening Malcolm has given him.

“So you admit you never eat? Cause you know what that sounds li-”

“I do not have an eating disorder, I simply prefer eating in the kitchen before everyone else.”

“So what problem did this come from- ooh, wait no, let me guess- it is because,” Travis waved his arms for dramatic affect, “you were having too many sensory overloads so you got permission to eat in the kitchens, come on, Mr. Pace, congratulate me!” Travis half bowed in his seat, but Malcolm didn’t seem to notice, staring at his own hands a moment too long. 

“Hey,” Travis tries. “You okay?”

[extravagantwolf]

iPad kid stance if I've ever seen one. Despite looking like an angry sewer rat, Heavywind is closer to a landmine with anime tears in his eyes. His lore is under the cut.

A prophecy swept through the dwindling numbers of CarrionClan: "The zenith of bloodshed is upon you." Shortly thereafter, more cats within the Clan perished, but several kits were brought in. Heavywind was among the Clanborn kits alongside his sister, Fireseeker, and denmate, Badgershadow.

Badgershadow was an extremist and staunch believer that CarrionClan shouldn't help the weak or filthy blooded. His father, Coalglare, strongly carried these beliefs due to his mate having been killed by a rogue shortly after Badgershadow's birth. It never helped that Badgershadow naturally had a longing for bloodshed either. Bloodthirst ran thick in his veins.

Heavywind didn't believe in the extremist values that Badgershadow did. In fact, he wanted to help others. However, every time he attempted, the outsider always met a cruel fate. It was as if his existence was a bane to life -- a curse. Even his leader succumbed to him, being killed by a badger right in front of him.

One night while wandering the territory, Heavywind found his crush killing an elderly kittypet. The cat couldn't have fought back against Badgershadow. He would have proved no threat. Terrified, he tried to back away as if he saw nothing, but Badgershadow approached. With pretty words and a confession of love, Heavywind lost himself in the joy to bury the conflict.

However, that wasn't the only murder. Several cats came after, and Badgershadow always had an excuse. A reason. An explanation. Heavywind knew it was wrong. He knew it was worse to help Badgershadow. Still, he was complicit and began somewhat falling for Badgershadow's propaganda as his mate rallied supporters.

His iffy stance was forced to bristle as Badgershadow laid down a plot to murder the deputy, Maplebreeze. Heavywind's mentor was Stormlurker, who became the mother of Maplebreeze's kit. He knew a lot of details about their unstable relationship, and he was very close to Stormlurker.

Badgershadow hadn't expected him to land the killing blow, nor to kill the deputy so swiftly. Freezing up and leading to so many cats being killed led Heavywind to develop into a formidable fighter despite his young age. When the blood hit his maw and Badgershadow's smile met his eyes, the horror sunk in, but Maplebreeze was dead.

Their moonlit stroll was hiding Maplebreeze's corpse in an active badger den, and for Heavywind, grappling with the weight of his actions.

[trekkingaroundasgard]

A Virtual World (Clint Barton x Reader)

Summary: Out on a mission, the reader is ‘unplugged’ too soon and ends up injured. Prompt: “how many fingers am I holding up?”

Gender: Neutral (nickname: Neo)

Tags: powered!reader, enhanced!reader, whump, injury, canon typical violence, established friendship/relationship (can be read either way)

Words: 1.3k

Note: I mean to post this on day 1 but didn’t get around to it. Anyway, this was requested by the lovely @captainsophiestark and I hope you enjoy it!

“How we doing, Neo?”

Clint’s words warbled in your ear, distant and distorted as he appealed to the small part of your conscience still tethered to your physical body. This deep in code, you could no longer call that plane of existence the ‘real world’. Here, now, you were a part of the digital, uploaded and integrated into the core of the system. You’d always hear when Clint called, though, whether you were separated by a table, continents or an entire virtual reality. How could you not when it was him?

Stretching your senses out, you touched the piece of code which controlled the security cameras. It was seconds that you didn’t necessarily have but… Well. There was no choice, really. The mission was important, of course it was. You wouldn’t be in the middle of a war-zone stealing back stolen missile launch codes if you didn’t believe in the cause, if you weren’t willing to die for it. But you hadn’t gone to die and you certainly wouldn’t let your partner meet that same fate if you could help it.

The lines of code warped, small in places to to start before suddenly taking on an entirely new shape. The gaps between ones and zeroes and all manner of other complex code grew wider, the emptiness giving way to something more solid. Where you’d been alone in the darkness before you were now surrounded by five figures.

Little more than visual manifestations of input data, your brain interpreting the digital blueprints in the same way a display monitor might, you knew that they could not harm you. It didn’t stop you from ducking away from a fast and heavy blow. Behind you, another figure stumbled away – the real target of their attack, a black and blurry shape, unmistakably Clint Barton.

He fought back hard. Each strike was carefully placed, controlled so to conserve energy, but they were herding him into a corner. Without backup, for all his skills, Clint wouldn’t stand a chance. Even with you physically there his odds wouldn’t have changed – hand to hand had never been your strong suit – but you had other, more useful talents.

You’d felt it the moment you had tuned in to the security cameras: a secondary wavelength interfering with the CCTV signal. Five connected nodes on the same frequency, an encrypted wavelength which rose and fell like a breath of tainted air on your peripheral. You reached for it, the warning centres of your brain lighting up as you made the connection. Wasting no time, you pushed a surge of power into the system and snapped your conscience back before the feedback loop could fry your processor.

The shadowy forms doubled over in pain, clutching their skull against the high pitched screaming in their ears. It lasted only a few seconds but it gave Clint the opening he needed, precious moments to retake control. He took the grunts down before they even realised it was happening.

“Stay focused, Neo. Get those codes.” A breath, then Clint added quietly, “But thanks.”

You’d have smiled if you had a body to control.

Spiralling deeper downwards, the source code became more and more complex. You’d never seen anything quite like it. Digital landmines limited your path, warring subroutines from a hundred different programmes all forced to work together making it difficult to find a clear route through the files you needed.

Even deeper still, the system began to push back. Firewalls weren’t hot – you were so far removed from your physical body that all concept of sensations like heat, ice and gentleness had vanished – but the strain on your mind was unimaginable. The effort to keep digging down was almost too much.

You saw it in numbers, the piercing pain your body was enduring. The strain between your biological nerves and internal wiring, the overwhelming pressure behind your eyes. You couldn’t feel it, couldn’t recall what it felt like to be bound by a physical form, much less one in pain, and yet you knew. You knew it was agony.

Time was running out.

The data packet was close. You could see it on the horizon – or whatever digital equivalent existed there. Between it and you stood a mountain of code designed to fight back, to stop you from accessing those codes. But you were close, so close that you could practically feel it. Your synapses buzzed in anticipation, clearing space, preparing to eject you from this reality as soon as the transfer had finished.

Ultimately, the defences were strong but you were stronger.

The code parted to reveal a door and you reached for the handle, ready for whatever might be on the other side. You could practically feel it underhand (though neither the knob nor your hand had and physical substance). The door was heavy and you leaned on it with all your might, forcing it ajar.

As the light from inside began to spill out, suddenly, everything went dark.

---

All networks disconnected. No external systems found. Internal systems crashed. Troubleshooting. Rebooting.

Time elapsed: 1 hour 03 minutes.

External system located. Identified. Quinjet. Faulty pathway. Unable to access Quinjet. Biological system identified. Accessing.

Access denied. Rebooting.

Time elapsed: 2 hours 08 minutes.

Biological system identified. Accessing.

Error. 3 critical biological pathways corrupted.

Seek assistance. All other systems accessed.

---

Pressure. Heat. A clammy hand on yours, squeezing it tightly.

You tried to snatch it back but your body was too slow, to weak.

“Hey, hey.”

The sound waves hit your ear drum, unwelcome input. Too loud. Too much. Your implant attempted to adjust the levels but it only made it worse. At least, until you came round enough to recognise the source of the words. Clint. Suddenly they weren’t so unwelcome.

“It’s me, Neo. You’re alright. Look at me.”

“Can’t…” you croaked, the admission like sandpaper in your throat.

Firm but gentle fingers touched your chin, lifting your face and turning you towards him.

“Hey,” he said again with the hint of a smile. “Focus for a second. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Clint…”

“Come on. How many?”

“I don’t know!” you hissed, finally able to snatch your hand back. However, the moment you did, you immediately regretted it. Without the grounding warmth of his palm against yours, without those strong fingers clutching yours, you were adrift. Lost in the darkness, drifting in the place were cache went to be wiped.

Clint hesitantly took your hand again and this time you didn’t pull away. The other cupping your cheek, he asked, “What’s happening? You forget how to count or something?”

“I can’t open my eyes.”

“They’re already open, Neo,” he whispered. “You’re looking right at me.”

“Clint…”

“You’re gonna be alright.”

You felt him begin to shift, panic rising in the back of your throat. As quickly as it came, though, Clint’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. “Hey. I’m here. It’s alright. We’ll get you back to the Compound and they’ll rewire your implant so you can see again. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“What happened at the base, Clint?”

He swallowed, guilt dripping from every word. “One of the bastards got away. Slipped right by me. Didn’t catch him until it was almost too late. He yanked you away from the terminal before you could disconnect properly and… You were out cold for hours. I thought I’d lost you.”

Leaning back into him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. Smell was apparently not one of the 3 critical pathways fried by your implant. Turning your face into his neck, you muttered, “It’s not your fault.”

“Sure feels like it.”

You pinched his side, or at least as rough an approximation as you could make. “Stop it. You said it yourself. They’ll fix this. Everything’s gonna be ok. Just… don’t leave me until it is?”

“I’ve got you, Neo. Always. For as long as you need.”

[toujokaname]

Game master / Episode 22

Author: Akira

Characters: HiMERU, Rinne, Niki, Aira, Kohaku

"But you see, Akan-san's already dead."

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[ Read on my site for a better viewing experience using Ois~su ♪ ]

Season: Winter

Location: Matrix Stage

HiMERU: Did you do all of this to return the favor of those people?

Rinne: Is that the Great Detective Merumeru's deduction? Well, if you wanna call it returning the favor, maybe?

Even now, I'm still actively working as an idol, surrounded by reliable companions.

I wanted to show off my cute little brother and my precious unit.

It's like a kid bragging to his mom about something shiny he found on the roadside.

Showing how well I've grown. Ain't that the greatest way to repay the producer who raised me?

HiMERU: When you talk about the producer who raised you, do you mean AkanP, who was in charge of you?

Rinne: Of course you'd be looking into that.

But you see, Akan-san's already dead.

Niki: Eh...?

T-Then, who was the Akan-san I just met earlier? Huh, a ghost?!

Rinne: Not a chance. Ghosts ain't real, you know that, right? Good grief, I swear, this is why middle school dropouts are—

Niki: R-Rinne-kun, you haven't even been to elementary school?!

Rinne: Right. Anyway, what I meant was that, in the eyes of the public, Akan-san's dead.

Aira: What does that mean...?

Kohaku: That really is all you've been sayin' lately, Rabu-han ♪

Rinne: There was that ghost story, right? About the staff of a paranormal TV show disappearing in the Amagi Village.

That was about Akan-san.

There was actually such a plan for a paranormal show. Akan-san pitched it, got the green light, and they went full throttle on the production.

If there's any lie in the ghost story I told you, it's that Akan-san was the only staff member involved.

She said she'd do some preliminary investigation before the actual shooting, and went to the Amagi Village alone.

And then, she disappeared.

That's how it's viewed by the public. Legally, if someone's missing for a long time, they're declared dead, right?

And so, Akan-san died. Or, more accurately, it was made to look that way.

Besides, from the get-go, the Amagi Village, like "Hoshijima" in Okinawa, was designated as a forbidden area by the God who ruled the idol industry.

So, while that might not be the case anymore, going against the rules set by God was taboo.

HiMERU: ......

Rinne: Because she violated such a taboo, no one searched for Akan-san's whereabouts—the program's project was treated as if it was never real.

No, it was as if Akan-san's very existence had been wiped out, like it was never there to begin with.

In reality, Akan-san wasn't what you'd call a great producer. Nobody would've been troubled if she disappeared.

Since any unnecessary meddling would be considered suspicious, her work history hasn't been erased and may still be floating around on the internet.

Akan-san disappeared. With just that half-baked explanation, everyone readily accepted it, and this story was forgotten. At the same time, probing into the matter became taboo.

With that in mind, I arranged for Akan-san's disappearance—her societal death.

Aira: Why would you do such a thing...?

Rinne: You get it, don't you? You've all been ridiculed as "inferior students" and "problem children."

We were lucky enough to make a comeback against all odds. But there were plenty of others who didn't.

Even in the summer restoration chaos, many vanished. We really were just the lucky ones.

By chance, we happened to win the gamble.

Rinne: Akan-san couldn't win. Thoroughly ridiculed as a useless producer, a landmine producer, she was sidelined at work, never to recover, left stranded.

Unable to continue working as a producer, the job she loved so much, she lost all hope to keep on living.

When Akan-san was in that state, I gave her a second chance at life. It was my way of repaying all that she had done for me.

Akan-san was declared dead to the public, and moved to my hometown.

She's still living well even now. She found a new job, got married, and even had a child in our hometown.

Incidentally, that child's name is Takashi, the same one Otouto-kun ran into.

Rinne: He's the spitting image of us. Or rather, of Otouto-kun, right?

It looks like we're pretty close relatives, so we look alike thanks to our strong Amagi blood ♪

Because of that, our dumbass father seems to dote on him, rambling in his sleep about wishing he could make him the next head instead of useless me.

Kid seems to be keen on it himself; there's talk he's idolizing the current head, yours truly. They should just cut it out, though, being the monarch of a village of backwardness that's slowly rotting away.

[ ☆ ]

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[fakemon-archive]

ASTRA DEX, created by DarkNe0s (2009)

Did you ever make your own pokemon when you were younger? Maybe drew them, sprited them, and then shared them on some long-gone corner of the internet?

What kind of pokemon did you make?

Today, we have plenty of guides to making fakemon that more closely match the design style and philosophy of official pokemon designs, and MANY creative and incredibly talented artists bringing these fan-made dexes to life. But even still, it's hard to say what exactly makes something a pokemon design- especially when it's something that varies so much between generations.

Good Lird. The similarities between these seems to start and end at "IT IS GREEN".

Ultimately, what a pokemon should look like is entirely subjective- but that's obvious enough, isn't it? That's just the base line of fakemon design itself. Everyone and their mother knows it.

Let's have some fun. What should your pokemon look like? Do they need to be as close to official design styles as they can be? Or can they be frightening, cool monsters? Maybe something more cartoonish? What's the weirdest you can get with them? Who's to say you can't get any weirder? What should limit you?

You can answer that on your own time. Let's look at the ASTRA dex!

SKIPPEA - LEAFALING - JETRANG

The Astra region begins with a TERRIFICALLY creative grass starter- a samara, or "helicopter seed", which becomes an actual helicopter before its final stage- a powerful grass/flying-type jet! It's a very fun and well-designed line.

There's also the more... "up-to-date" version on deviantart, or at least as up-to-date 2009 can be considered. The most noticable difference lies in the middle stage, given a much 'beakier' face. It and its first stage have also been given a lighter shade of brown, as well as dark pupils that match with the final stage.

Meanwhile, Jetrang is the perfect animal- the only change it recieved was being made just slightly more aerodynamic.

GOFLARE - SMOKOAL - BOMBURROW

How cute! It's a magma gopher with a gradually cooling shell of rock forming over it- AND it's a landmine! If this thing ends up in your golf course, you best just give up. Once again, other than slightly lighter colors, only one stage has received particularly noticeable changes- this time the final, being given clearer markings and removing the lava pit on its back to be a more solid shell.

One of my favorite bits of this line is how the middle stage is given the typical angry Sugimori eyes, while the final has those dark sweet-looking cute eyes you see on things like eeveelutions and vulpix. A very darling creature- I think I'll take it to the local golf course!

SQWIMP -CLAWDAWD - CLOBBSTER

Oh. Oh

Sqwimp

As you can tell by the complete lack of difference between the video version and the deviantart version, this is THE perfect beast. There's very little to say on it- it's a poor little shrimp that grows tough armor, and becomes practically untouchable! ... Except for its antennae, which are quite vulnerable.

Actually, it reminds me quite a bit of a certain videogame extraterrestrial... though, it's hard to say whether that's by design or pure coincidence.

Ah, this got pretty long already! As such, the rest of the post is simply going to be an image and link compilation of the rest of the dex that exists. The purpose of this is both to showcase the dex, but also to preserve its existence.

How much digital information is lost in a day? A youtube video from 2005 could be taken down for using copyright music, and nobody might even notice. An old, forgotten forum could finally shut down, throwing years of shared comments and ideas to the wind. It's insignificant to most, you don't need to cling to everything really.

My main interests lie in creature design. Both in original creations and fan-made. Not as a professional, but in general- I love seeing what fantastical things people create, and what you can learn about their own thought process through them. What they imagine makes a good design, or a cool concept, or an awesome creature- in these cases, what they imagine a POKEMON to be on their own terms.

This blog is meant to archive old and unique fakemon projects wherever I can find them as best I can, in case they should otherwise be lost to time. If you have any projects of your own that you'd forgotten, or if you know of anyone else's, please feel free to share! I have a lot of love for these things, and I'm hoping to spread that love to others.

Anyway, most images should have links to their original playlist / video / deviantart upload. Now, do note that unless explicitly stated by the original creator, these designs and sprites are not for free use in other projects.

And of course, if you are the original creator of these and have your own comments / would like the post to be removed, please feel free to speak! No need to be shy on these webpage

DarkNe0s deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/darkne0s

DarkNe0s youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@DarkNe0s/videos

[qcellbit]

while we're on that topic, I don't like how most of the fandom handles toxicity

like yes the Brazilian fandom is the one with the most toxicity but that's due to proportion. however it's one thing to acknowledge that and it's another thing to everytime there's something related to it going "oh it's the Brazilians again" when the same energy isn't kept for other communities.

The toxic part of the Hispanic community harassed pomme/pomme's admin over the landmine thing, but I never saw I single comment like "oh it's the Hispanics"

People were being aggressive in the quotes and comments of the Cellbit English update accounts when they briefly mentioned the possibility of nerfing armor, and no one cared about it.

Some people somehow twist and try to blame the Brazilian community for having ccs no longer being active in the project, when the ccs that stopped being active for a while mostly left after being harassed by the toxic part of the Hispanic community over the eggs, when there weren't even any Brazilian CCs in the project. People get mad at the Brazilians by possible situations that aren't even happening.

Again, I do agree that there's a large rate of toxicity and that's something that needs to be solved within the Brazilian community, but I hate that the energy is completely different when other communities are being toxic. I also hate the generalization of people going "oh it's the Brazilians" when the Brazilians are also the ones that triplicated Fit's sub goal and constantly help Maxo with his subs so he can keep his contract with twitch.

^^^ YUP i was literally just about to make a post about this after witnessing history repeating itself once again with spreen's comments yesterday/today. (tldr: spreen engaged in racist jokes in a video a few months ago and when prompted by brazilian fans to apologise or at least offer an explanation for his hurtful behaviour, he immaturely doubled down and blamed the brazilian community for his absence from the qsmp which is petty and false because he wasn't active well before the brazilians even arrived.)

the fact that this vitriol is always most prominent every time brazilian fans have called out racism from content creators and their communities speaks volumes of where this attitude actually comes from. the desire to actually criticise certain topics and open discussions being generalised as "toxicity" in fandom spaces isn't anything new, nor is the phenomenon of content creators refusing to apologise for jokes in poor taste/disrespectful behaviour due to ego and instead directing hate towards adjacent communities, but the unfortunate side effect of the qsmp having multiple communities split by culture and language is that people now have the ability to direct all that hate towards a specific group of people based on what country they're from and what language they speak. existing unchecked xenophobic and racist ideals from these people have resulted in fingers being pointed exclusively at the brazilian community. and for that same reason, when a brazilian content creator is being unfairly harassed for nonsensical reasons inside roleplay, it's often only ever the brazilian fans who show solidarity whilst other communities either turn a blind eye or are the ones engaging in that harassment themselves.

and while yes, there are toxic parts of literally any fanbase because fanbases are inherently made up of multiple people with differing ideals and opinions, what is often being labelled as excessive drama or toxicity by people outside of the brazilian community isn't even drama or toxicity - every time anything like this happens it's just another case of brazilian fans not exhibiting the same tolerance for bigotry that is normalised in online fandom and streaming content and demanding apologies for that behaviour.

you touched on it at the end, but yeah! all of this phenomenon is especially heartbreaking when you consider the amount of kindness exhibited by the brazilian community towards all aspects of the project, and the brazilian content creators making an effort to actively call out and minimise toxicity towards other content creators themselves. cellbit compiling a blocklist of chat members spewing hateful messages during intense roleplay to then share with fellow content creators was unprecedented in the realm of livestreamed minecraft roleplay.

the general attitude towards the brazilian community is absolutely fucking atrocious and unwarranted - just plain racism and xenophobia. an unforgivable act of using an entire ethnicity as a scapegoat for every problem under the sun. it hurts me to see comments from the brazilian community expressing fears of exclusion and that brazilian fans only have each other to rely on in times of distress - despite how difficult a lot of people want to make things, you're not alone and your presence in the qsmp fanbase is immensely appreciated. never forget that the qsmp would be nothing without you.

[gornackeaterofworlds]

Rise Boys playing/in Lethal Company

Donnie: the only one that ever gets anything done, but also has like 18 different mods installed, half of which show him where items and enemies are immediately. Completely silent when playing, but will hiss when approached without telling him you're there. Eventually might start a monologue about how he's been in the facility for ten long months, as if he's a lone survivor(Mikey and Leo are both dead). Raph tells him to cut it out cuz there's something outside and the walkie might attract it. Raph then dies to the creature from outside, and Donnie resumes

Raph: ship king, too scared to go in. Stays inside the ship but doesnt do jack shit, he does NOT know how to work the terminal. Has to walkie Donnie, each turret is a 5 minute process, and whoever he's doing it for(Leo) is already dead. Haunted by treeple and dogs nonstop. Will get in the corner near the computer, crouch, and whisper-yell "ITS RIGHT OUTSIDE HELP GUYS HELP" to the rest(only Donnie is alive. He's stealthing right outside trying to get into the ship and leave, and because raph spoke they both die. A nuclear argument ensues)

Leo: big fucking wuss. Screams constantly. Proximity chat sound byte gold mine. Puts on a brave face and attempts to go in, insists on being inside first, but makes literally every single monster angry at him. Tempts the spiders. Tries to run past turrets and fails every time. Game glitches so bad that even if he's doing good he still dies

Mikey: dead. Immediately. Sorry. Leo would scream running from a Thumper or something and Mikey would grab a shovel and lose trying to fight it. Loves the mods where he can change his suit, begs Donnie for them and it ends up crashing at least one computer. Unfortunately is kind to everything before it aggros, and believes Leo too much. "Hey Mikey go grab that beehive." "Woah is this a landmine?" "Aw omg its a little doggie!" Before the most mangled screams in existence leave his mouth. The lair is silent after. Leo promptly disconnects.

[marley-manson]

2, 6, and 10 for the MASH asks

Thank you!

2 . what’s a detail that you would consider insignificant but you like ?

Okay idk where this falls on the insignificance scale but it's not super important, it's just a good touch, so: the way Mr. Kwang is an OR extra in a bunch of season 3 episodes until he gets a subplot in Love and Marriage. Early Mash especially doesn't usually put much care into continuity so I liked this.

6 . who’s your favorite nurse ?

I'm saying Margaret doesn't count here or she'd win easily. So I'm gonna go with nurse Gaynor in The Nurses, because I feel like she's the only woman ever on the show aside from Margaret to get a non-gendered non-romantic subplot about how much living in a war zone sucks, and I loved to see it and wish we could've seen it more. She's an emotionally closed-off alcoholic because she sees too much death on a daily basis! That's the kind of character writing I want to see when it comes to women!

10 . least favorite storyline involving your favorite ( or one of your favorites ) ?

Toss up between Who Knew and Commander Pierce.

Who Knew sucks for recharacterizing Hawkeye as emotionally reticent and deflective, something absolutely mind-bogglingly obviously in contradiction to Hawkeye in every other dramatic episode he's ever been in, and in contradiction to how he's handled actual romantic relationships, and the reasons he doesn't engage emotionally with every nurse he fucks.

In Who Knew he suggests that he's scared of committment which is why he only has casual sex with the nurses, which is stupid because we've previously seen somewhere between three and five women he was down to commit to (Erika, Carlye, Kyung Soon, plus arguably Inga and Kellye if his pathetic ending in the latter ep was a willingness to date her and not just an offer for a pity fuck) and the actual thematic reason he has a lot of casual sex is because war is hell and sex is a distraction. He has previously expressed his distaste for the nurses as people because they're army volunteers a few times (eg "a woman out of any uniform" is his answer to the question of what he misses in The Interview, and he disparagingly refers to Erika's status as a lieutenant while hitting on her in Radar's Report), which is another explanation for why he doesn't want to marry them. And he also just likes to have casual sex in keeping with the show's relationship to the counter culture movement, something that was written in a positive way for the first half or so of the show (for better or worse.)

Who Knew is a total rewrite and recontextualization of all of that, and it's done badly, and I hate it. Also on top of that it revolves around invading the privacy of a woman who accidentally walked into a landmine because she was mooning over Hawkeye, which is such a godawful episode premise I can't handle it lol. If the goal was even partially to recontextualize the womanizing as a character flaw for feminist reasons, and it probably was, then woof. I'll take the womanizing over that, thanks.

And Commander Pierce sucks because it exists solely to finger-wag at the anti-authority attitude of the first half of the show and call Hawkeye a hypocrite. It contradicts Hawkeye in Carry On Hawkeye and Officer of the Day, it presents Hawkeye with a situation he's handled with grace in the past before (being in charge of a shorthanded OR) instead of even bothering to put him out of his comfort zone to try to justify his reaction, and it makes Hawkeye suddenly care about military rules just because he's stressed out, which is absurd to the point of self-parody.

It's easy to imagine Hawkeye as a bad leader under pressure lol (though not in the OR imo but sure, in a military context) but certainly not the kind of bad leader who barks out military commands and calls his friends by their last names and sulks about having his authority undermined for an entire day. It's pure bad pro-military writing that gives the impression of being embarrassed about earlier (superior) Mash tbh and it sucks.

ask meme