#and they are also two of the only people that Abe has ever actively liked…

[daisyachain]

the chemicals in the momokan are making the frogs gay.

[teatoptony]

For All the Mary Janes

summary; 'in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spider-man. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well'. what about the mary janes, then?

or, in which you're the mary jane to miles's spider-man

pairing(s); e-1610! Miles Morales x reader, e-42! Miles Morales x reader

warning(s); i didn’t have any specific gender or race for r in mind while writing, but rio calls r ‘mija’ once and i think that’s ab it

maybe some incorrect usage of Spanish? Spanish speakers who can respond to my weird questions pls hmu

maybe ooc but it’s been in my drafts so long i just wanted to get it out tbh

implied/mentioned parental issues with reader, not proofread, written (mostly) at ao3 hours

You and Miles were always joined at the hip. Your parents knew each other well, so your families were together a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Morales saw you like their own daughter, often joking that you and Miles would be engaged when you got older with the way he could never leave you alone.

At least, up till around two years ago.

You and Miles started to grow apart when you got into Visions Academy. He thought it was a stupid school full of stuck-up rich kids who only cared about making connections that would help them along further down the line. You thought it was a good school that had a good track record of producing students that had a lot of success in what they wanted to do.

Some things were said the day before your transfer.

Since then, the two of you rarely texted or called. Mrs. Morales would often come by for coffee with your mom, tell you about how her son was doing and gush over 'how much you've grown' from last Tuesday, but that was about the only way you knew the vague outline of what he was up to.

You'd admit you felt lonely for a while. After all, Miles had been your best friend ever since you could remember. But you also weren't going to go running to him after everything he'd said.

I mean, was it really that bad to want a good future?

Soon enough though, you felt like yourself again. You met new people, made new contacts, and actual friends. Because contrary to popular belief, the people there weren't all mini business men and heartless CEOs in the making. They were just kids, after all.

And then, Miles won the draw. Just a few weeks before the start of the new semester, your parents mentioned that he'd be going to your school from now on in passing.

You didn't think much of it at first. I mean, everyone has that one childhood friend that they fell apart with, right? For the first week or so, you didn't even see his face much. In fact, you didn't see him at all, not even a glimpse in the halls.

That was about to change drastically.

Short story shorter, you caught a glimpse of him walking on the side of the school with pigeons stuck to his hands. A month or two later, Spider-Man climbed through your dorm window, ripping off his mask and ranting about some villain of the week.

"I couldn't even catch the guy-"

"Miles?"

"...You're not Ganke."

The two of you made up that night. He apologized, admitting he was being unfair and was upset that you were leaving his school. It didn't exactly clear everything, but it was a start. The two of you caught each other up on everything they had missed. In the end, the sun was about to come up and the both of you realized you hadn't gotten a minute of sleep on a school night.

From then on, the two of you get closer again. He went to you for the occasional rant or patch up, and he actively sought you out in school now, relieved to see a familiar face in the halls. Gradually, you got close to the point you'd call him one of your best friends and vice versa after around a year of radio static.

Everything was great. He was cute, funny - in an awkward way, but hey, he made you laugh - he looked out for you, and when he talked to you he did this cute little thing where he would play with the strings of his hoodie which he somehow always managed to layer on with like two other jackets and—

Oh yeah, did we mention the crush you had on him?

Because there was one.

Big huge one, right here. Materialized out of thin air looks like.

Which should have been fine. You were perfectly capable of hiding a crush. I mean, come on, it's high school. You would've been eaten alive if you couldn't.

Normally, you would even be confident that you could make your crush like you back. I mean, why wouldn't he?

Two words. One person.

Gwen Stacy.

It was like he could never go even one conversation without mentioning her.

Slight exaggeration? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Oh yeah, that's cool! Y'know, Gwen told me one time that—"

"You got an A, I knew you could do it! I told you so. Did you know Gwen got A's in—"

"Oh hey, you got your hair cut! Reminds me of that time when me and Gwen—"

At first, it was bearable. Sure, she came up annoyingly often whenever you talked, but she had just left this dimension, never to be seen again. Of course he was gonna miss her.

You laughed at all his stories, listened to every one even though he told the same six or seven ones over and over again. You even grew to like Gwen, as if you'd known her for the short amount of time Miles did, too.

But then two months passed. Then six. Then a whole year. Before you knew it, a year and four months had passed since the departure of Gwen Stacy.

And he still. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

You had tried to understand. You really did.

But you can only hear the same damn jokes so many times before you get a migraine.

Pick any story. You could list off every variation of how Miles would tell it off the top of your head.

Gwen Stacy became the daughter of one of your mom’s friends, so to speak. That one girl in the neighborhood you couldn’t help but envy.

And worst of all, it was like he wished you were her.

Whenever you did something, he would tell you how Gwen could do it better. He would ask you whether or not you thought Gwen would like certain trinkets he found around town, and kept a collection of them in one of his drawers so he could give them to her one day. He was even studying quantum physics instead of art so that he could make his own multiversal gateway - a safe one, so that he could unlock the multiverse, possibly for good.

It hurt when he zoned out while you were telling him about you, thinking about her; your day, what you wanted to study, how your parents were fighting a lot again lately and you were struggling because of it, how you'd joined a new band—

"A band, huh?" Miles suddenly perked up, finally looking up from his sketchbook. "Did I tell you Gwen's in a band? It's called the Mary Janes—"

"Miles would you please stop?"

A pause, both of you mildly surprised at how you'd snapped at him.

The two of you were at your dorm, seated side-by-side on the bed with your legs folded in front of you. It was Friday, the day before Mr. Morales’s pre signing-in party.

The boy looked at you, a questioning look on his face. "What's wrong?"

And that tilt with his head - he really didn't know, did he? You couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Miles, I know Gwen's in a band," He tried to say something, but you didn't let him speak before you continued. "I know she's a drummer, I know she does ballet, I know she had to shave half of her head because you couldn't control your powers - hell, the whole school knows that—"

"C’mon, don’t bring that up—"

"—I know every single story she told you while she was here, and I know every single detail of what you two did and how you did it. And I know she does everything I can do and she does it better. I’m tired of hearing it, Miles." His eyebrows furrowed, a slightly hurt look flashing across his face. "I’m sorry you miss her and I’m sorry she’s gone, but I just can’t be around you if all you’re gonna do is compare me to her."

A moment of silence settled in the air. You hoped Miles would understand. Surely, he’d see how tedious this was getting.

"All I’m asking is for you to tone it down."

Another beat passes without a word from the boy. He’s looking into your eyes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s all there. Like there’s a world past your irises that he’s seeing for the first time.

"I- I’m sorry, y/n, I can’t do that." Miles finally says, his gaze turning away from yours and to the sketch he’d been working on for the last hour. You glanced down at it as well, the bright blue eyes of the one and only Gwen Stacy meeting yours.

"You’re the only one I can talk to on this," he said quietly, softly closing the sketchbook and tapping a finger nervously on the cover.

"Ganke?"

"Ganke’s fine, he’s great, he’s just.. not someone I can go to for these things."

You took a deep breath, the guilt of having to tell him ‘no’ building up in your chest. You knew his relationship with his parents were complicated at the moment, and he didn’t really have friends outside of you and Ganke. But still.. it was like he wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in your life ever since your initial reconnection.

It wasn’t like you expected a complete 50:50 give-and-take in relationships, but honestly you felt like you were talking to a robot with very limited audio cues.

"Miles, you don’t listen to me anymore. The only time you actually respond to anything I say is when it’s something even remotely related to Gwen."

"That’s not true!" Miles protested. You watched as he tried to find something to argue his point, only to come up empty. His shoulders sagged a little.

"But you gotta understand, Gwen - I’m not gonna see her again, at least until I figure out.. everything." He said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to someone. Can’t you understand?”

"I’m not trying to shut everything down, I’m just asking you to pay attention to me every once in a while." You sighed. "And if you’e not willing to do that… do you even think of me as a friend?"

-

Miles left your dorm not long after that little talk, sneaking out the same way he snuck in; through the window. You dug your nails into your palms, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm to push down any sadness you may have felt. It was the second time you and Miles had grown apart, this time maybe your fault a little more than his. It felt like it, anyway.

Still, you felt like you’d done the right thing.

You hoped so, anyway.

-

It was an hour before Jeff Morales’s technically-not-captain-yet-but-will-be-soon celebration. Your dad and yourself had come early to prepare everything and set up all the decorations. Your mom apparently ‘couldn’t make it’. It was the third time in the last two weeks she cancelled on plans that your dad was involved in.

You stacked red plastic cups on one of the tables, a cooler full of ice and two-litre soda bottles to your left. Miles’s parents had insisted they didn’t need any help, but your dad had insisted right on back that the two of you wanted to. You didn’t mind. You’d cleared your evening for the event anyway, so it’s not like you had anything better to do.

The one thing that made you kind of regret coming was your lack of a jacket. It’d been really sunny in the morning, so you’d figured it would be a warm night. A breeze picked up and sent a light chill through your body, causing you to just barely shiver.

"Mija," Mrs. Morales called, coming up from behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. "You’re freezing."

"Oh, I’m fine, mama," you replied, smiling at her. She gave you a look that said ‘we both know that isn’t true’.

"Miles might have something in his room," she suggested, "I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you borrowed one of his clothes."

You thanked her but refused, claiming it might get warmer once the guests started to arrive and the party was at full swing. She must have noticed something was off when she mentioned Miles, because she raised an eyebrow and shook her head lightly before asking,

"What did he do now?"

Either you’re really bad at hiding things from her or her motherly sixth-sense worked on you too. You hesitated, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her. After all, Rio had always been like a mom to you.

"We had a fight - if you can even call it that, anyway, about a girl," you said, fiddling with a plastic cup. "We’re not on real good terms right now, I don’t think…"

Rio looked slightly surprised for a moment, then something seemed to click into place. She sighed and put her hands on your cheeks. "He’s a little bit slow," she said, giving you a sympathetic smile. "But he’ll get there. Eventually."

She then squished your face before immediately letting go, making you laugh. "Now go get yourself a jacket. I don’t want my only daughter to freeze to death."

You held your hands up in surrender as she pointed to the stairs, swiftly making your way down to the Moraleses’ flat. You had a spare key that Miles’s parents had given you a long while ago, when your parents used to have full on screaming matches in the middle of the living room every other day.

Within a couple minutes you’d grabbed one of the dozen coats, hoodies and jackets strewn about Miles’s closet, pulling the soft material over your shoulders as you took a glance around his room. Everything was about the same as you’d seen two or three weeks ago, save for a few new stickers laid about the desk.

There was an all-too-familiar sketchbook on the bed, one similar to what Miles had been scribbling in last night in your dorm, just in a different color. This one looked a bit more used, so you supposed he’d gotten it and packed it full of Gwen Stacy just after she left this reality. The thought put a bitter taste on your tongue.

-

A half an hour into the party, Miles still hadn’t showed up. He was supposed to be here at least twenty minutes ago, and you could tell his parents were getting both worried and annoyed. Rio asked around for her son as Jeff chatted with some colleagues. Suddenly, an auntie shoved a mic into Mrs. Morales’s hand, drawing everybody’s attention to her by clinking her glass. Jeff looked away in what could only be described as complete horror.

"Um, hi…"

You grinned as she continued with embarrassing stories about her husband, from little anecdotes from when they were dating to how he was almost 10lbs as a baby. It was then that Mr. Morales jumped in, quickly taking the mic away from her and giving his own speech.

"—And to my son…"

You grimaced as he raised his cup, looking around for someone who wasn’t there. The two of you met eyes instead, and you shook your head to tell him he hadn’t showed with an apologetic look. He turned to his wife, only for her to do the same. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"…The reason I do any of this in the first place. So.. I love you Miles."

Afterwards, the DJ put the records on again. People are talking, laughing, congratulating, creating a warm, buzzing atmosphere. You’re dragged away by a few little kids to play with them over by a small cluster of barrels, which they’ve decided is their ‘lair’. You play make believe with them for a little while as their parents stand a bit away with your own dad, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure the kids are behaving.

It’s then that Miles finally shows up, pushing the door open with two boxes in his arms. You follow him through your peripheral vision as he tries to avoid his parents, ultimately failing. You’re not sure what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem to be going that well. He shows them the contents of his boxes, which doesn’t seem to impress them too much.

After a couple more words, Mr. Morales raises his voice, the DJ trying to divert people’s attention away by upping the volume but ultimately giving up.

"What do you got to tell me so bad?"

"You know what? Never mind."

Miles walked away, pulling his hood up as his dad yelled after him about him being grounded for two months. Must’ve been really bad, huh?

You waited for the music to come back on before you made your way to the exit, ruffling one of the little kids’ hair as he skittered away with his sister. You’re just going to check on him for a minute, just to see if he’s okay. You can do that… right? I mean sure, it might be awkward since things had ended like that last night, but still.

No one else was going to.

You let yourself into the flat once again, approaching Mile’s room with soft footsteps. You’re just outside the door when—

"Are these your drawings?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart freezes right along with you. For a moment, you felt like a deer in headlights.

A feeling crawls its way under your skin, cold and slippery. You don’t know how you know, but you’re absolutely positive.

"Missed you too."

Gwen Stacy.

-

You’re on your way home, your hands rubbing up and down your arms to try to warm yourself up during the walk. You lived a little while away from Miles’s place, but it’s nothing you can’t walk.

You’d left the jacket on the Morales’ couch, turning on your heel and leaving the moment you heard her voice.

Damn it.

When had she gotten back? How had she gotten back? What was Miles’s reaction?

What were they doing now?

…Did you really want to know?

As your brain clouded over with questions, you took a wrong turn. Maybe two. Or three. Honestly, you didn’t know. Once you realized that this definitely wasn’t your neighborhood, you stopped yourself mid-step, looking around to see if anything was familiar at all.

Your eyes settled on a building, as there really wasn’t anything other than that around here other than some roads and bridges. One of the windows were glowing.

Then the whole structure began to rumble.

The ground beneath your feet started to turn… black…?

Wha—

-

You fell.

Not for too long, but you did.

You dropped around six feet onto hard concrete, twisting your ankle in the process. You cried out in pain and surprise.

"What the—?"

"Y/n?"

You looked up at that. You knew that voice.

Except, you didn’t.

The first thing you noticed is that this definitely was not the place you were in before. This place was more narrow, more dark. Light rain pattered on your skin as your hands supported your sitting position, wondering what the hell was going on.

The person who’d said your name was at the entrance to the alley you’d been.. teleported? to.

They took hesitant steps over to you, and, for some reason, you didn’t feel scared that this complete stranger had cornered you in a place you’d never even seen before.

Maybe the voice is what made you think it was alright.

Or maybe it was his face, which made your heart stop its primary function for the second time today.

"Miles?"

But he wasn’t Miles. At least.. not your Miles. This one was skinnier, just a little shorter. His accent had more of a Spanish touch to it and, most of all, his hair was braided into two sections that reached just below his shoulders.

No. He was very much not your Miles Morales.

Nevertheless, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. There was something in his eyes — regret? Happiness? Sadness? Anger? Confusion? Probably all of the above.

He got closer, and closer, and closer. Once he reached where you were half-laying, he crouched down and tilted his umbrella until it sheltered your body more than his.

"…Are you hurt?" He asked, giving you a once-over. You just nodded, still putting all the pieces together.

Had you—

Did you—?

The boy in front of you studied your face for a little while, but then ultimately shook his head and shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to you.

"Come on. It’s cold outside."

[badaziraphaletakes]

can you please stop? screenshotting someone else’s post is extremely rude and only makes the fandom a worse place. talk about a bad take you saw, describe how it’s harmful, and vague all you want, but don’t screenshot. i agree that most of these takes are awful but that’s no excuse to do this to people. either confront the person who’s take you don’t like or make your own post. stop screenshotting, please.

Either confront the person who’s take you don’t like or make your own post.

The assumption that I didn’t try that is where you went wrong. I (mod X) started this blog only after I tried many, many times to confront people about their offensive takes directly and it didn’t work. I was subjected to appalling harassment and even bigotry. That’s what happens when you try to engage with someone who’s being offensive.

I had been throwing the idea around for weeks and what finally decided me on starting it was that I found out that I wasn't alone. That the anti-Autistic bias and the ableism and the transphobia and the victim-blaming and the misogyny (and on and on and on) that we kept seeing and being subjected to was ruining our enjoyment of this show. This was bigger than just me.

FTR, most of the takes that are submitted to us (note that I'll be switching between "I" and "we" in this reply depending on the context) don’t have a handle attached to them, but of the few that do include a handle, 99% of the time I have recognized it as someone who I have seen being so bigoted that there was no possible way I could engage with them. We don't confront people directly partly because we don't want to direct people who disagree back to the OP's blog, and partly to keep the mods safe.

You say “do this to people” like this blog is committing some kind of outrage, which is absurd. We are, at worst, being slightly rude (which I think is justified considering sarcasm and humor are one of the only weapons we have to fight back against hate), whereas most of the posts we comment on are outright hateful. They’re the ones “doing this to people”.

We are being far more considerate of the writers’ feelings and their dignity than they ever were of other people’s in the fandom. The takes are not just ‘awful’ (although, that too haha); they are actively harming vulnerable members of the fandom, and, more concerningly, are spreading messages that will poison our views on how we should treat Autistic people, ab*se survivors, and the like in broader society. Quite frankly, the people who are spouting the kind of anti-Autistic/ableist/victim-blaming/otherwise bigoted crap that forms the bulk of the content we feature here deserve to have their posts screenshotted. People who say things like that do not deserve to be handled with kid gloves in response.

(Also I don’t have time to re-type and slightly paraphrase every bad take I see. And if I did, people would throw out “no one is really saying this”. And even if it weren’t for that, I don’t think it’s reasonable or appropriate to expect me to use my time that way.)

Incidentally, nothing is stopping people from messaging/asking us or commenting if they recognize a post as their own, but only one person has ever done that, asking if a post was theirs. I replied that it was, leaving the ball in their court. So far we haven’t heard back from them about the matter, which is fine. But I digress.

As for this blog making the fandom a worse place - even though it’s only a few weeks old, I’ve had an average of two new people a day, every day, tell me how grateful they are I created it and how it makes them feel safe and how it’s the only reason they haven’t left the fandom. I’ve even had multiple people say “I was going to leave the fandom because of that specific post and then your blog called it out and I felt like I wasn’t alone”. So yeah, I'd say screenshotting is important here.

There is a subset of the fandom - many of us Autistic, Disabled, ab*se survivors, GNC, trans, and/or otherwise oppressed - who have been made to feel EXTRAORDINARILY unsafe by the Aziraphale hate (which far, far too often is thinly-veiled hate for some of the aforementioned groups of people) and the truly scary way people double down when we push back against it. So I don’t care if people are annoyed by my sharing a screenshot of their post. Not when this blog has become a safe space for so many people who otherwise would have had Good Omens ruined for them by the bigotry and general hatefulness we keep seeing.

LSS I will not stop building this tiny lil corner of the internet that is the only part of the fandom where many of us feel safe.

I actually made a post addressing almost this exact thing a couple weeks ago; if I can find it, I’ll add it here in a rb.

[thehighladywrites]

this is not a request just. thinking. ik you’re writing the boys as plugs but have we considered. the women.

elain would %100 make her own edible pastries and give them to you in those colourful baggies with a bow. she’d invite you over to “make sure the new recipe I use is good for the next batch.” the watch movies and end up napping on the couch type

feyre would be the best if you’re a newbie and ever curious about anything. %100 is a bit of a push over for you and sometimes gives you a lil gram extra and offer to smoke with you. she would probably teach you (if you dont know) why you should put ice in your bong. i just know she smokes and paints. probably does art nights with you.

Nesta is pretty abrupt, definitely a one and done we dont small talk plug, but she is there for you if you need (like if you’re a newbie and greened out or paranoid or whatever) because she knows how scary it can be to feel out of control with your body. (replace her trouble with canon alcoholism with getting high every night. she knows how it can get to you.) tells you to drink water and sleep it off but is still hanging around when you wake up ‘just in case’.

mor is the plug thats more like a friend. would end up smoking half of the stuff she just sold you because you guys wanted to sesh and hang out. probably gossips about her other customers when you two get really close

idk anything for amren she probably only uses like cbd oils idk :/

anon i dont even know what else to add, this is so perfect😭😭😭 yess i’m agreeing with everything

also amren would probs smoke joints. i imagine her having one between her long manicured nails, she probs use magic on them to make them even more strong/she mixes in some crazy shit orrrr she has a cart, a fancy ass pen with diamonds and gem stones. when she offers u a hit, ur high for hourssss her shit goes crazy tbh, it’s probably borderline venomous

elain would have her own garden where she grows her supply, i imagine she’s a girl plug who have the cutest packages, they’re all pink with cute stickers that say “thanks for supporting my small business”

feyre is the curious one, down to try literally anything. so down to earth and would get high with you and paint you naked. she has one of those loose shirts with buttons and a pair of shorts, her hair is loosely braided as she mixes her colors, she’s so hot i literally need her rn

nesta is so real, like the helping out when u green out part is so accurate. ut her fav customer and she wants to make sure ur okay, she says it’s because she doesn’t wanna loose clients but in reality she likes u. she also throws in extra g’s but doesn’t say shit ab it

mor is forsure the friend turned plug, she put you on to her supply and ever since u buy everything from her. fav activity is eating infused food in public/meetings and trying to act normal. like at the high lords meeting, you eat a shit ton of edibles and then try to concentrate but it’s very obvious bc you both look stoned and you’re paying too much attention to peoples words, it’s not natural

[sakebytheriver]

Community is a Chekhov play and the gun that foreshadows the ultimate tragedy of the Greendale study group is in the Dean's first speech with his missing card,

"Many of you are halfway through your first week here at Greendale, and as your dean, I thought I would share a few thoughts of wisdom and inspiration. What is community college? Well, you've heard all kinds of things. You've heard it's a loser college for remedial teens, 20-something dropouts, middle-aged divorcees, and old people keeping their minds active as they circle the drain of eternity. That's what you heard... However, I wish you luck! ... Okay, you know... Oh-oh. Okay, there's more to this speech. There's actually a middle card that is missing."

That middle card is Community's equivalent of Chekhov having a character hold a gun in the first act. The card is never found just the same way the study group never really escapes Greendale as anything but what the dean describes them as in his speech, the missing card is their potential, lost to time, lost to incompetence, lost on the Greendale campus never to be found again. Troy never really graduates instead becoming the epitome of remedial teens running from the world by literally floating through it on a boat, Britta remains stuck at Greendale a twenty something dropout unable to get a degree but also unable to leave and in the original draft of the pilot the dean even adds an aside that the dropouts are "crawling their way back to society" an acomplishment Britta never reaches by the end of the series, Shirley never becomes more than a middle aged divorcee with a husband that came crawling back only to leave her once again losing herself in Louisiana to play nursemaid to a man she just met, and Pierce dies the same way he lived depressed, gross, broken, and alone. Jeff, Annie, and Abed don't have equivalencies in the speech that appears in the pilot, but Annie is given an aside in the original draft in the same moment as Troy, being labeled "a young person who couldn't get into a university" and she never does make it to a real university. In the end, Annie and Abed are the only two given endings that can be read as happy, she leaving for the FBI Academy and he leaving for film school in Los Angeles, the only two able to escape the Greendale purgatory for supposedly greener pastures, but Annie's ending is to become a cog in the system, a cog that would have happily sent her younger self to jail for the rest of her life for an addiction beyond her control finally reaching the lofty goal she thought she must reach as the small overachiever Annie came to Greendale as, finally able to grow up and be a big girl. Maybe her ending was happy or maybe it was just another form of corruption. Perhaps Abed Nadir is the only one whose ending is truly everything he ever wanted, but he goes to film school alone, he reaches his dream far away from all of the people who loved him, the only people who ever loved him, Abed Nadir ends the series the same way he entered it, the same way they all entered it, alone. And of course, Jeff Winger, the man who wanted to stay at Greendale for the shortest timeframe he could possibly achieve is now stuck there, dedicated his life to teaching there, to fixing the broken school that somehow fixed him and broke him even more left watching everyone else leave him behind.

The missing card, the one that could have told them all what they could be, what they could have acheived at Greendale is never found, but it comes back in the third act in the form of Season 7, the cutaways the group comes up with in the finale of what their season 7 could look like, the missing potential that notecard used to have now inside they're own minds and as Jeff pulls the trigger, fires the only bullet left in the chamber and begs the others to please just stay with him, to stick around and make the idealic season 7 he has created in his own imagination, the gun backfires and explodes in his own hand as reality comes crashing down to steal that last bit of hope he had left

"The plays that Chekhov wrote were not complex, but easy to follow, and created a somewhat haunting atmosphere for the audience."

This quote from Chekhov's wikipedia stands out to me in a way that perfectly describes a modern sitcom and I feel it especially fits with the atmosphere Community created. It was funny, it was broken, it was irreverent, and it was goofy, but it's a show that has haunted me for years, has haunted the entire fanbase for seven years demanding a movie until the powers that be finally gave in

E. J. Dillon thought "the effect on the reader of Chekhov's tales was repulsion at the gallery of human waste represented by his fickle, spineless, drifting people" and R. E. C. Long said "Chekhov's characters were repugnant, and that Chekhov revelled in stripping the last rags of dignity from the human soul".

And these quotes, while they were striking at Chekhov's work in a disparaging way, they just make me think of the characters from Community. Is there a better description for the Greendale 7 than a group of fickle, spineless, drifting, repugnant people stripped of their last rags of dignity? Chekhov was known for being able to capture the specific sadness of an ensemble of depressed codependents trapped in the utter monatony of a working class sedentary life and his popularity was credited to his, "unusually complete rejection of what we may call the heroic values." There are no heroic values in any of the Greendale 7, they are a group of flawed indivudals who come together to create a flawed Community. The Greendale 7 don't have a perfect happy ending, the last moments of Community don't fall into place the way you want a feel good sitcom about a group of friends to end. The ending is bittersweet and broken, a show that shambled on for more seasons than anyone ever believed it could hemoraging cast members along the way feeling like it had died many years before it actually ended, but Abed delivers a speech about the nature of TV and you're crying and you're smiling and when they all leave for the last time with a tight hug that feels like the earth is shattering you're launched into one last self aware fourth wall breaking gag that jolts your emotions before credits roll and they're the last credits that play for the entire show and you don't know if that was an ending or if you should wait for something else.

Virginia Woolf mused on the unique quality of a Chekhov story in The Common Reader (1925):

"But is it the end, we ask? We have rather the feeling that we have overrun our signals; or it is as if a tune had stopped short without the expected chords to close it. These stories are inconclusive, we say, and proceed to frame a criticism based upon the assumption that stories ought to conclude in a way that we recognise. In so doing we raise the question of our own fitness as readers. Where the tune is familiar and the end emphatic—lovers united, villains discomfited, intrigues exposed—as it is in most Victorian fiction, we can scarcely go wrong, but where the tune is unfamiliar and the end a note of interrogation or merely the information that they went on talking, as it is in Tchekov, we need a very daring and alert sense of literature to make us hear the tune, and in particular those last notes which complete the harmony."

Community ends not with a bang but a whimper and a broken note that makes you question what happens next, where do they go from there, what scene fits here in the script, is this truly the end or just where the writer put down his pen. It's a Chekhov play written in six seasons and soon to be a movie

In the end, the tragedy of Community is literally written on the cards

[lastchancestardomm]

Topher headcanons

-Has a black "Dinosaurs are cool. Transphobia is not." hoodie hidden somewhere deep in his closet, which was his first purchase after he stole his mom's credit card for the first time. Bought it because it was woke, but didn't ever wear it because he didn't want people thinking he was trans.

-Constantly is on Incognito mode. He can be doxxing people on 4chan or watching cute cat compilations ;; either way, Incog is always active

-Autistic

-Hates showers. It's a sensory thing. He's forced into the shower at least every two weeks, screams like a dying cat the whole time, and shakes off like a wet dog when he gets out. Smells like sweat, piss, and every flavor of Monster Energy most of the time.

-His hair is usually greasy af. You could oil a few pans with it. After a shower, though, his hair is surprisingly soft and springy. He likes his hair when it's clean but showers or baths is just sensory overload central for him.

-Toph's roots are blonde. His crusty-ass Christopher Columbus genes ain't gonna make him age too nicely, and he's already got some gray hairs in his thick mop of floof at age 15.

-Terrible acne. And has stretch marks. Projecting a little bit here, but I feel like Toph has a body type like myself ;; his ribs show through, especially on his upper body, but he has just enough pudge around his belly area to make him look a little like The Average Redditor™. The "T-Rex Arms" way he walks only exacerbates his pudge (I love him so much /gen)

-Acts like a feral animal when he first meets someone, but he gets used to people fast. He also has a bad case of getting way to attached to someone who's nice to him to the point where he's annoyingly clingy. Abe is the only person who tolerates his incessant clinginess, which only excites his autistic heart more. Gets way too fruity about it but he's not gay, but not exactly not gay.

[sodaonskateboards]

your post ab sugarbaby! denji is just *chefs kiss* 🤌 i couldn’t stop thinking ab it!!

sugarbaby! denji who thought that his life couldn’t possible get any better until he became your sugar baby, you’re around his age and have always been so kind and welcoming to him ever since he started working at public safety<3

sugarbaby! denji who loves being able to spend his lunch breaks with you! he orders practically everything on the menu, even if he doesn’t know what it is because well…free food is free food! he truly believes you’re some sort of angel sent from above

sugarbaby! denji who goes absolutely wild when you let him use your black card to his heart’s content. he buys all sorts of manga, video games, and snacks (which never last more than a day…power def raids his snack drawer and then proceeds to blame it on aki)

sugarbaby! denji who wants to gift you things too because a lovely angel such as yourself deserves to be spoiled too!! he may not have much money but when he does he’ll buy you a bouquet of your favorite flowers with a cute heart-shaped box filled with yummy chocolates<3

Anon, we are holding hands and kissing, this is delicious <3

Sugarbaby! Denji who still wants to use your shampoo and your soap because he likes to smell like you and he just likes sharing with you!

He shared with Pochita all the time, always hand feeding him, so sharing one thing, eating off the same plate, wearing each others clothes, etc is like his only little love language. It makes him feel close to you.

Denji can be dumb, but I think he's good with numbers and money as he's able to calculate his debt and costs quickly, so he's actually good at keeping track of your money, it's just that large purchases don't feel very real to him because he could never imagine something as simple as buying a new console.

On the flip side, small purchases can make him anxious. He actually checks that he has enough for the littler purchases, but when he's done triple-checking, he gets all excited and will go wild!!

Watch out this man could probably eat cardboard fine but he will eat himself into tummy aches :[[

If you pay for Denji, you end up paying for Power (and Meowy) too, she will throw a bit of a tantrum if all three of you are together and you only get Denji and yourself something. She also tells you that it's unfair to not buy Meowy something on the way back, and that you need to get him a cat tower. She will bite and steal and claw and whine, but somehow you two don't mind.

Denji desperately needs more clothes and he finally gets to chose what to wear! Imagine him at a thrift store or simple warehouse looking at shirts and wondering what he likes and whats comfy, not what's cheapest. He dress in some god awful patterns and colours at first, but it's good for him to explore, so you encourage him

Denji probably has never even touched silk in his life, so when you want to get him some clothes with nice material, start small, otherwise he'll overwhelmed. Gift him a fancy shirt to start and he loses his mind over how soft it is, then work up and you can take him to a department store and a tailor, he looks so damn good in a black, silk dress shit with a low cut

GET THIS BOY BATH BOMBS!! My guy is happy just to bathe everyday, bubble bath, bath bombs and oils, romantic candles, flower petals, blow his mind!! Spoil him in every way!!

Speaking of, Denji also loves doing activities together!! Take him to a quiet onsen in the country for a weekend, where its calm and peaceful, lord knows he needs more of it. Denji usually doesn't mind being around a lot of people, but some venues, like a concert is a lot for him, but please also gift him experiences like theme parks, bath houses, fairs! He loves spending time with you!

When no one else is around, he'll talk to Pochita in his chest. It makes him feel a bit better about missing him. He'll talk about how you dote on him and show him yummy foods, that he's in his lover arms playing video games and so much more they didn't even dream of. Pochita loves you too for taking such good care of Denji

Most people in his life try to buy him or use him, so to be with you, kind-hearted lover you are, is a first for him. To have someone give with no expectations of giving back, purely to make him happy, its so foreign to our baby boy that he just might cry. The only relationship comparable is with Pochita, and while they do love each other unconditionally, it did start off with a deal.

Denji loves his gifts, but when he thinks of the best times with you, its because you two are together, trying out a new restaurant or cuddling in bed, or even giving him a cool rock you found, he loves it all. He always wants to be your lover-boy, money or not

[wisehearts]

(I'm sending this to all my fav spicy byler accs!)

So I just read a really interesting review of the gay WW1 novel In Memoriam, and the reviewer (in a respected newspaper) is describing this adolescent, boyish, somewhat cowardly attraction between the two boys. 

Although they later prove themselves physically brave, Ellwood and Gaunt are cowards in love. Despite being well inducted by other boys into the improvised physical intimacy widely practised at their Wiltshire boarding school, Preshute, their own relationship remains chaste and hesitant: affectionate; Tennysonian; intensely sexless. Both characters are recognisable stock figures of boyish adolescent romance.

Now, it’s well and easy to say such in today’s era when homosexuality isn’t punishable by death, but in terms of Mike and Will, they’re going to explore in fine detail in s5 how and why both Mike and Will have been so careful. But what gets my eye is the mature way of discussing sex. If anything, works are often taken LESS seriously when they are coy about sex, because they suddenly seem embarrassed or childish or Disney-ified. I cannot imagine a more opposite view to the byler sex antis on here, who say, instead, that portrayal of adolescent sex is paedophilic. Can you imagine how you would be dragged to shit by any literary or film critics worth their salt for thinking that? For thinking that teenage sex is inherently bad or paedophilic? 

The review goes on to say:

Both young men torment themselves in attempts to hide their attachment from one another and themselves. It is a losing battle, the first of many they will see as war draws close.

Oof it sounds familiar! 

But mainly, the reviewer (a man) is appreciative of the detail that the author (a female) put into the work as regards sex:

Winn has written against the grain of her “lived experience” in another way too. In addition to not being a veteran of the First World War, some quick detective work in the acknowledgments section of the book reveals that she is also not a homosexual Edwardian adolescent. In fact, she does an intelligent job here too at simulating the male imagination, and although the sex remains carefully speculative, there are occasional observations of striking acuity. (“Gaunt’s prick was a little smaller than his. Ellwood had noticed that a long time ago, at school, had found it ruinously attractive.”)

I want to point out that this last quote comes before these characters engage in any sexual activity together in the book. 

And this comes on the back of the author running the novel by her male gay and bisexual friends for realism before publishing:

‘I had one friend who was really generous and candid about how to make the sex scenes feel real, but also about how to make the characters – outside of the sex – behave more like men. I mean, I don’t want to put too fine a point on this, but I remember at one stage he asked me, “So, who has the bigger penis?” And I was like, “I don’t know!” And he said, “Well, the characters know!”’ 

- Alice Winn

So there we are! Have Mike and Will ever showered together in the gym at school? We see the high school boys do this at Hawkins in s2, but Mike and Will have never been together at high school. Either way, there’s an acknowledgement here of the fact that teenage boys think very differently about sex than girls, and that if you want to create a piece of art that not only is enjoyable and exciting and compelling, but respects its characters and source material, you must be realistic about those character’s thoughts and experiences. I can understand prudishness a little, but to go as far as to call people who are calling for sexual realism in a coming of age story paedophiles????????? What is your aim?????? Feel free to be afraid of sex until you can figure it out, but do not call others who are engaging with something natural and normal perverts and degenerates. It’s not just cruel, but completely ignorant. 

In short, Mike and Will have definitely thought about and possibly know who has the bigger penis - and yes, they’re also very interested in that topic. 

Ohhhh these are super interesting thoughts!

to create a piece of art that not only is enjoyable and exciting and compelling, but respects its characters and source material, you must be realistic about those character’s thoughts and experiences.

Respect is a great word here. Especially in the case of mike and will where you have people who either think their intimacy is dirty and weird, or you have people in the fandom and queer community deeming byler as a sweet and 'pure' ship and both are harmful mindsets. To dismiss part of the adolescent experience RE: the party and sexuality (if lucas and dustin can have references to sexuality in s4, why can't mike or will?), is to not respect characters people claim to love. Being realistic is so important given the time period, sexuality IS part of their love story. I think the whole party will have little scenes referencing their sexualities next season, even more directly this time, and hopefully how normal it is just slaps people in the face.

Anyway, I think atp mike and will have without a doubt thought about each other's dicks but I don't know that I think they've seen each other's! There's every chance that the other three in the party have now, since they started high school together and probably use those showers, but will didn't (maybe he did in lenora? 👀) so he's the odd one out there.

There's this fan script that I really love wherein will changes in the bathroom stall at school, and I think that's really realistic, both for will removing himself from opportunities to be bullied for being around other naked boys, and maybe for if he has any guilt or stress about being around other naked boys. If he goes to high school next season, I could really see that. The actual shower situation though I'm not sure! Would he have to or does anyone know alternatives to showering at school? We don't do that here so idk

@ your last point: I think the fandom is always moving the goal posts, if it's no longer a problem to discuss byler's sexuality narratively, it's now gross to 'fantasize' and explore through headcanons, or explicit posts and smut fic. Which we know isn't true, and they'll lose that leg to stand on when the party is aged up next season. Calling fellow queer people perverted degenerates and parroting conservative rhetoric, over something fictional... could not be me!

Thanks for sharing that review!

[incorrectskyrimquotes]

you are officially the strongest person alive for not just closing the askbox after some of the trash you've gotten from idiots on this site. gdspeed and good luck holy hell

I've received a lot of asks like this one so I wanna respond and clarify

I actually love getting asks and even anon asks. I prefer having anon on bc yk big boy blog and all that but also so that people can send me their silliest things.

I really do truly genuinely enjoy having this blog and especially interacting w it. I've made a lot of friends recently and it's just fun to be able to talk ab the cringe failgame from a decade ago. Both for myself and in front of such a large audience.

Ever since I became aware I'm literally in the top 10 on skyrim blogs (at #9 but still) some of my anons started making a lot more sense. The power of anonymity makes people braver, which is good for things like funny headcanons and such.

I don't really like having to turn anon off and god I hope I don't have to shut asks off entirely. Fortunately once I turned anon off my inbox became a lot more peaceful. Funny that.

If I were to compare the two I'm sure I've gotten much more love than hate, but hate is much louder than love. And I know me giving it attention doesn't help much of anything but on the other hand people can and do throw around serious words about an unserious video game on unserious posts from an unserious person.

Even if I ignored all of it, just having to see it can feel so draining. And it isn't just in my inbox. It's also in the tags. I've repeatedly tried to express how deeply uncomfortable I am, AS A JEWISH PERSON OF COLOR, with people throwing words like racist and genocide around all willy nilly over video game characters.

It trivializes those real world issues, that have affected me, my ancestors, and people like me, down to fucking. Skyrim discourse. It's extremely frustrating. And from what I can see I don't think anyone is doing it maliciously or to get a rise out of me. But I think the sheer weight of those words has gotten lost.

And not to pull another race card, but this is especially upsetting from white people. I'm not thrilled about the fact white people keep talking over me and other people of color in the fandom about what is and isn't racist.

But I do also see the love. I see the cats in my inbox and the lovely asks and people writing paragraphs to defend me (when tbh I haven't done anything wrong anyways but. Eh.) and it's genuinely very touching and sweet and even if I don't reply to it (there's a lot to reply to!) I do see it and I appreciate it.

And for the poll, I fully plan on seeing it through. Round 2 closes tomorrow after which I'll set up round 3/the semi finals and then we go to the championship!

I started this poll, also this blog, for fun. I want people to have fun. I want to have fun. And most of the time I do have fun! But with the uptick in activity that brings *gestures vaguely* what it does.

Tumblr is one of those very few websites with true anonymity. This and reddit are the only ones I can think of where it's not expected to have your name, face, or other info about you anywhere. Which is a rare blessing on today's internet but it makes people very audacious about what they can and can't say to me.

I think because of that anonymity it's easy to forget I'm a human person. I very much doubt some of things I've had said to me in the last 48 hours would still be said if it was face to face. I truly don't think someone would look me in the eye and tell me to kill myself over skyrim bullshit.

And the funny part of that is if they did, I'd probably laugh in real life. For the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. "Hey. You. End your life because of video game drama" spoken to me at the local Target would be funny to me. But with the anonymity it feels just as hurtful as I'm sure it's supposed to be.

Thanks for letting me ramble and such. I'm not really even sure what I'm trying to say with all this. Other than I'm human, you're human, we're all humans, and we'd do well to remember that. Please just be nice to each other..

And be nice to me.

[dilf-in-peril]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by: @grand-magnificent thx :3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

163.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

450,140

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Professional wrestling right now, obviously, which for the rest of the questions I pretend is the only thing I write to stay on brand. I also still write the occasional fic for my old fandoms or films you've never heard of, partcipating in exchanges makes you write a lot of random stuff.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Just giving you the ones for Wrestling:

Kayfabe (missing that old man hours, kayfabe breaking cmjf)

Top Guys. In. (cmftr DP)

He Gets Papi (rhea/dom pissfic) - wow that one's got a long tail huh?

Welcome to the BCC (yutamox hole initiation ceremony)

Making Amends (punk asks HHH politely to be allowed back into wwe)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I rarely ever have anything to say in response unless it's a question and I feel silly when I say "thank you for noticing what I tried to put down" but I like to let people know I appreciate their comments, because I very much do.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably that CMJF noncon fic which had everyone miserable and worse by the end of it. Also all of the PunkRaven stuff, which never has much of an improvement of the situation in sight.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

idk, I don't write a lot of longfic anyway and I think most of the PWP stuff that's not super messed up ends with people showering together or falling asleep next to each other which is a pretty happy ending as far as sex goes.... oh wait, it's the HHH fic where Punk implicitly returns to WWE for his efforts (I guess here too it is up to the reader whether this is a happy ending or more of a "came back wrong")

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Only once for the underage cmjf fic, and I think it was the same person grand-magnificent mentions ironically. Maybe it helps that the kind of wrestling fans that I can see being haters have been condemned to writing incest fic so they don't have much ground to stand on.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah. All of it. I also actively hate writing it most of the time. I enjoy writing mood, tension, the build and the aftermath but not much of the actual in and out.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Don't think I ever have, no. I never got the appeal of "what if Goku met Superman" and I am clearly not funny enough to pull of something like WWE meets Succession.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah but not Wrestling fandom, it was Dune.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. Actually, if you want to do that, hit me up.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

All-time ship is a bit wild if I've only been writing this fandom for a little over a year but it's PunkJoe. This bad boy can fit so much love. And kink. And H/C.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hey now, mind your words.

16. What are your writing strengths?

People have told me it's physical sensations, descriptions that give a visual image even if you've got a bit of the old aphantasia, and discomfort.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Introspection. Writing out feelings. Not using the same words all the fucking time.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

idk... don't, unless you speak the language or have a beta that does? I guess now it's easy to just google translate it as a reader but with older literature it always throws me out... am I supposed to just speak latin and french to get what you're having your characters say?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter like almost two decades ago.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I am still very proud of the Smoke and Mirrors PunkRaven fic. I could probably improve it a bit now that I actually have access to the whole feud and learned more about them but it's surprisingly on point just from my gut feelings.

tagging: @doctorworm @glamrocktrash @tache-noire and everyone else I have ever interacted with on ao3 and forgotten about right now

[vennyriz22]

Delinquent!Gudako Character Info

(Because I realized I haven’t really elaborated enough about her. Also I use Ritsuka and Gudako interchangeably but you get the gist it’s the same person)

She’s half Japanese/half Welsh. The Welsh part comes from her Father’s side of the family. Ritsuka never bothered learning Welsh before coming to Chaldea because the bad association with her absent deadbeat dad. But after some convincing, she picked up some of the language from the Knight of the Round Table (Mostly from Bedivere)

As for her mother, Ritsuka doesn’t remember much about her before she died. 1) because she was so young at the time. 2) because she almost doesn’t want to remember the only other person from family that loved her knowing she’s already gone.

Boxing is her preferred form of fighting, but the training she got from Scathach, Beowulf, and Leonidas made her more adept at Mixed Martial Arts.

Will NEVER admit that she has a massive inferiority complex about her magic circuits being kinda crappy compared to everyone else. It’s another big reason she trains as much as she does. Overcompensating for something beyond her control.

I think I mentioned before but, a massive reason why she’s so dense is because of her low self-worth. Aside from her Grandpa, there wasn’t anyone else that was willingly to give her the time of day either because they feared her or hated her. She didn’t have other people she could call friends and most people would avoid her. So the concept of anyone might be attracted to her is baffling.

That entire event in Shimousa involving Shuten really fucked with her head for a good two weeks. Waking up in the middle night, phantom pains on her abs, feeling like she’s about to vomit blood when she wasn’t. No one else aside from Musashi, Kotaru, and Dantes knew what had happened because she begged them not to speak of it. Eventually Nightingale and everyone found out about it after they pressed her for questions.

Ritsuka is still human in this AU. It’s just there are certain oddities about her that would make people second guess it. She can see in the dark without her eyes having to adjust, she’s alot more durable than most humans even before the training, and her inhuman appetite. Little things like that make you think something about her is…off

When I mean inhuman appetite, Ritsuka can eat about 2/3 of Barghest’s Valentines Day gift. ON. HER. OWN. Baffling to both Chaldea Kitchen Staff and Saberfaces alike.

A big part of why this version of Gudako is compatiable with so many servants isn’t just because she’s an average human. She’s an average human who had to learn how to empathize fast ever since Singularity F. She didn’t care about other people that wasn’t her Grandfather until she met Mash. So learning she was capable of even that small bit of empathy was new to her and something she had to work on.

Ritsuka use to hate maguses. Especially towards those that work at the Clock Tower. It’s only after she got to meet people like Olga, Romani, and Waver that had her think maybe all maguses aren’t completely awful people.

She learned Mandarin and Cantonese just she so could cuss out Yu Mei-Ren in her language. Same thing with Jalter and learning French because Ritsuka is that petty

Ritsuka actively tries to not cuss in front of child servants since she thinks it would set a bad example for them.

You can’t debate her with about G Gundam NOT being the best series because she will give you a 10 page paper on why you’re wrong.

She’s actually self-conscious about the scar on face. Not because of how it looks (although it doesn’t help), but because it’s a reminder of how powerless she was when it happened.

Thick Thigh Enthusiast until the day she dies

She is very much a Shembo (She-Himbo)

Closeted Love Live! School Idol Project fan. Liz and Osakabehime are the only other people that know about this.

If this Ritsuka was ever a servant, she would be either a Rider or a Berserker.

Gudako has a habit of repressing all of her trauma, anger, and anxieties because her everyone still needs her and dealing with it is a hassle. This will have consequences later…

Despite being a delinquent, Gudako still has a code of conduct thanks to Grandpa Fujimaru. Mostly her being against fighting the kids and the elderly even if they are servants.

Anyway that’s all I can think of right now.

[slaughtergutz]

ヽ(ຈل͜ຈ)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻ have my other Sk8 the Infinity oc

Haruko Kamiya

"S" Name: Onibaba Relatives: Kenta Kurosawa (half-brother) Affiliation: Shimano Mortuary (mortician)

Birthday: July 15 Age: 21 Education: Highschool, apprenticeship Talent: spirit communication, painting, sculpting

Gender: Female Eye Color: Pink-Purple, depending on the light Hair Color: White (natural), black/red/etc (wigs) Height: 152 Weight: 113kg Blood Type: AB

Personality: Most people see Haruko as a very quiet, unassuming, shy girl. She tends to only speak when spoken to, and tries not to stand out more than she already does. She learned to repress a lot of her personality traits because of criticism from others, who often found her "too" boisterous, "too" weird, "too" creepy, "too"...much. So she became less. But her true self still manages to come out sometimes. Especially at home, Haruko is more likely to sass her brother and be louder. S is where the real Haruko comes out: wild, crazy, and a little unorthodox. She is so different from her usual self, most don't seem to recognize her, including her brother. (In all fairness, Kenta is an idiot and couldn't tell Shadow from Hiromi, either.) Though she wears rollerblades as opposed to skates, Haruko utilizes a lot of roller derby moves and is known for body checking other skaters into the wall. She loves to roughhouse!

Appearance: When not dressed for work, Haruko tends to wear lowkey gothic or gothlic lolita clothing. She tends to buy from online independent designers mostly because it's hard to find that style in her size. She also is usually found wearing a black wig in public, to hide her natural hair. At S she switches up the color. Her natural hair has two lil cowlicks on the side that look like devil horns. Though her eyes are usually obscured by her glasses or bangs, she has nystagmus, which makes her eyes shake. She can't see shit without her glasses, so the goggles she wears at S are made for her prescription. They also have a camera feature. While Haruko usually wears monochrome black/white/grey, she is very colorful as Onibaba.

Background: Haruko grew up in orphanages with her older brother after their mother died shortly after her birth and father left. She was sick frequently as a child, making Kenta, her only family, overly protective of her. She wasn't allowed out much due to her albinism causing her to be particularly sensitive to the sun; in addition to that, she also had frequent asthma attacks and heart problems, which led her brother to prevent her from participating in many physical activities. She was bullied frequently due to her hair and skin--often called Baba Yaga--both by other kids and her brother. Because of her avoidance of the sun, and the ostracizing from others, Haruko would often spend time outside at night, especially cemeteries. Spirits became her friends, although she learned quickly to keep them to herself.

Between her appearance and "strange" behavior, Haruko had a reputation, and some were even afraid of her. So, she kept more to herself. While Kenta was busy with work, she would secretly go out and try new, physical activities, and it seemed that she generally grew out of most of her health issues. But Kenta has trust issues and wouldn't hear anything about it, so she would continue her activities in secret.

When she became of age, she began working in a local funeral home, which didn't help her reputation. But helping families see their loved ones one last time before cremation made it worth it for her. She became very good at makeup and reconstructive work and is often requested for victims of accidents or have advanced decomposition.

Haruko never went to S before, but knew of it from her eavesdropping skills (not that Kenta or his boyfriend could ever talk quietly anyway.) She started going with the hopes to see Shadow and be able to let loose. She was a little baffled that he didn't recognize her, but ran with it and loves messing with him. His nickname for her is Demon Skank (affectionate?).

Trivia:

She walks very quietly and accidentally sneaks up on people frequently.

Haruko took on a big sister role for a lot of the kids in the orphanage, and she does the same here. She is very protective of Miya, Reki, and Langa.

She is very clownish at S, letting insults and jeers roll off her back and taunts the audience by smashing their expectations when they underestimate her. If Shadow is the anti-hero, Onibaba is a straight up heel.

Haruko would sculpt something out of chocolate for Valentine's Day.

Haruko would like a surprise proposal. She would not like a grand reception. She would like 'see ya' kisses every day. She would want to go to New Orleans for a honey moon. Her spouse would have to accept her wild and creepy sides.

Haruko would be great with kids but is afraid to have her own.

Haruko would love a picnic in a cemetery for a date. She often carries a parasol or umbrella for the sun, so she would be prepared if it started raining.

If someone took her picture on the street she would make a scary face quickly and pretend not to see it a second later.

Haruko would have believed in Santa for a few years as a kid until her brother broke the news to her. She would have asked for plushies or art supplies.

Haruko wears certain lolita brands. She doesn't tend to know much about other brands but sticks with one because she knows she likes them and it can be a risk to try new things when it comes to shopping online.

Onibaba's makeup and demeanor is inspired by professional wrestler, Asuka.

And yknow what maybe she uses the Green Mist as a secret attack during S too why not

[m0ther-of-p3arl]

can't start the fire without a spark

(robert aeor high au p14)

masterpost

ROB AEOR JUMPSCARE!!! probs two more chapters after this, we are drawing to a CLOSE!!! big big chapter today, lots of things happening we're jumping allllll around pov-wise :D very very fun to write i hope you like!! ohhh and also with the addition of this chapter, rob aeor is now 60,000 words in its entirety!! pretty cooool :D

Karissa watches from the upstairs window as the same white camper van pulls up outside her house, screeching to a stop under the streetlight. It’s finished making its rounds, and she can almost see from here the essences of the people pushed into the back, bound and gagged and drugged. She smiles, fake and manufactured yet still slightly psychotic, nails drumming against her thigh as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door, eyes searching for signs of life.

or, shit is Going Down. buckle in, buttercups, because we are going for a RIDE.

(6949 words)

Karissa Major stands, poised and perfect, posture impeccable as she gazes out from her balcony. The chill of very early morning digs silkily into her skin, her very bones, and a smile stretches across her face at the knowledge that everything she’s worked for could come crashing down at any moment. It’s a manic thing, desperate and rough around the edges, nothing like the polished facsimile of human emotion she displays around others.

If this goes wrong, if any mistakes are made- her game is ruined, her life’s work is all for naught. Her eyes watch nervously (or, as close to nervous as Karissa Major can be) as an inconspicuous white camper van passes through the street. This is the final moment, and if anything deviates even slightly from her plan-

But it can’t, it won’t, and Karissa knows it won’t- she’s crafted everything obsessively, meticulously- all the details gone over with her crew at least twenty times, the plan burned into all their skulls. There’s almost no way any of them could forget it now, especially considering the consequences she has laid out if someone deviates from the plan. Karissa almost can’t wait for the day she’s strapped to the chair, wires attached to her brain, her manipulative siren magic the sole thing keeping the game going.

Third Life.

It’s Karissa’s dream to have that much power, it’s been her goal ever since she was very young- ever since she watched the life drain out of a woodmouse as she crushed its windpipe with her foot. Since Karissa’s childhood years, she’s had an idea, a spark in the back of her mind that- until recently- she simply hasn’t had the time to pursue. But her cult is really coming together, it’s gained a fair amount of members recently- and with all the funds now pouring in, Karissa finally has the money to begin developing the technology that would let her great imagination become a reality.

The technology that allows a siren’s power to be amplified by ten thousand and broadcast across many multiple people through a chip in their brain, strong enough to even wipe their memories and convince them so thoroughly that the world she’s put them in is the only one they’ve ever known. She has all the rules laid out for her game, all the plans- she’s spent countless sleepless nights developing them, deciding what combination would produce the most carnage and emotion from which she can feed.

Because Karissa’s new tech, though insanely high-quality and as perfect as she can get it, is not a perpetual energy machine. It needs something to feed it, something to keep it active and working. And what she’s found, through extensive study, is that the best way to power the mind-control mechanism is the consumption of the negative emotions of those being controlled. 

Therefore, Karissa has decided that it has to be death, the game she will have the teenagers she preyed upon play. She has the perfect plot of land, close enough to her compound that the people within will be susceptible to her control, but not too close that the players will be able to see it outside the borders.

Of course, there won’t actually be any borders- that would be silly. Karissa will simply make the players believe that there are, and they will be physically incapable of crossing a certain point. It’s genius, this thing she’s concocted, and if it goes well, she can try and arrange one every couple of months for her and the other Watchers’ entertainment.

However, despite Third Life being a death game, the people inside won’t actually die. That would be ridiculous, completely unneeded carnage- and the loss of good players for later games. Well, wait- that’s a false statement. The players of the game will die, but they’ll be brought back to life. Just like the person with the flamethrower who Karissa had hunted through the woods so many years earlier.

She has been the prototype throughout all of this, she’s been the test subject, Karissa’s little guinea pig kept in a cage. Zombie, Their name is. Or, that’s what Karissa has named her, obviously. Their real name was something along the lines of- Cora? Cleo? 

Karissa thinks it was probably Cleo.

But she’s Zombie now, they have been ever since they joined up at sixteen- a vulnerable young person, lost and alone. Of course, she was the perfect specimen- as is the typical coming-of-age ritual of traditional gorgon families, when she turned sixteen, she was banished from the home for a year to learn of life in the real world. Afterwards, it’s the custom that the child can either return home to learn the traditional ways or continue life in the outside world.

Zombie had found safety with the Watchers- but when they’d wanted to leave, to go back to their traditional gorgon roots, to return to their family…

Well, Karissa couldn’t let that happen, now could she?

And so she hunted down the teen in the woods and murdered her. They were brought back to life, of course. It’s been many years, and Zombie’s been broken and stitched back together thrice as many times since. She is, obviously, going to be one of the players in Karissa’s new game. It’s just fitting, isn’t it, that they take part in the experiment of a lifetime after they’ve helped oh so much with it.

Karissa’s thoughts eventually lead back to where she’s still stood on the balcony, outlined in stark black against the early morning sky. She shakes her head, laughing slightly under her breath, and turns with a swish of fabric, treading back inside on two-inch stiletto heels.

Her ride will be here soon, and it’s time to get ready for the time of her life.

--

Scott never did get back to Jimmy’s house.

They’re on him before he can think twice, figures in white hazmat suits descending upon him from trees and rooftops all around him, roughly grabbing and throwing him into the back of camper van. He doesn’t even have time to be confused before thick, rough rope wraps around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the wall. An oily wad of fabric is stuffed into his mouth, a strip of duct tape pressed over his mouth before he can scream.

And now he’s sitting here, half-conscious of others being piled in beside him, an arm or two pressing up against him, feet touching his. A red sweater, a black headband and green shirt, a boy covered in scars- defining features jumping out at him in bright flashes before they descend back into the numbing murk that surrounds him now.

It’s so hazy here, previously well-defined images turning to nothing but colors and shapes now through the fog in his mind. The sky is so dark here, and the ground is gray, fuzzy. Where’s the grass? Where’s Jimmy?

With his limited ability of thought, Scott sluggishly thinks that it must be the shock that’s rendered him so helpless, though a sharper part of him in the back of his mind wonders if maybe he’s been drugged somehow. The rag in his mouth does have a strange taste to it beyond the oil, a sweetness he can’t quite place. Scott’s not quite sure how much time passes from one thought to the next, each realization taking eons of time to nail down.

That’s why he doesn’t quite catalogue the tapping on his shoulder until someone’s head slams roughly into his bone, and Scott starts, eyes widening. If he wasn’t gagged, he would have yelped in surprise. He turns his head, and even fighting as hard as he can through the drug-induced blurriness, he’s only able to make out two bright yellow wings, bound alongside him. A shoulder presses into his own, and Scott’s almost certain he can hear someone crying as his eyes drip shut yet again. It’s too much work to keep them open, it would be so much simpler to just drift in and out of consciousness, the figure with yellow wings the only thing keeping him grounded to reality.

He wonders, in the back of this camper van from hell, if somehow it’s an angel.

--

Jimmy is frantic, his heart beating out of control, head throbbing insanely and his mouth filled with a disgustingly smooth texture- maybe cloth of some sort? He’s not really sure- it’s been a blur most of the time he’s been in the van. The drug (he’s sure he’s been drugged in some way) doesn’t seem to have affected him as strongly as everyone else. Maybe it’s something with him being an avian- the other avian here, a parrot, is looking around in the same frantic way that he is, and their eyes meet across the camper.

His eyes are filled with tears, waffle-colored hair swinging back and forth as he shakes his head vehemently, and Jimmy’s chest fills with an aching sadness. He’s sure he’s seen this boy at school, he’s fairly certain his name’s Grian. A traditional avian name, not like his own of Jimmy. Of course, it won’t be Grian’s true name- that’s a closely guarded secret, as well as one known instinctively.

Jimmy makes a vow that if he ever gets out of the hands of his captors, he’ll tell Scott his own true name- Solidarity. He’s been meaning to for a while, of course- but it’s hard to get up the courage, to gift someone with something of that capacity. The level of trust it takes to tell someone, especially a non-avian, your secret name- well, needless to say it’s almost unfathomable.

He’s not quite sure how long he sits in the truck, watching with bated breath as the van stops every few minutes, another figure bound and gagged thrown in with them-  but none further that Jimmy recognizes. They all seem to be in the same drugged stupor, staring straight ahead with half-lidded eyes and offering no resistance to their white-suited captors. Again, he and Grian seem to be the only ones aware of the true weight and direness of their current situation.

Jimmy doesn’t really take note of anyone else in the van- sure, he’ll notice a detail here and there, but mostly he watches Grian and the gentle tears that slip down his face. All he can glean from the other avian’s slumped posture is an air of absolute hopelessness, one that threatens to spill over onto Jimmy and leech all the life from his soul as well.

Suddenly, Grian goes rigid, seemingly honing in on something Jimmy can’t quite see. His head shaking becomes even more vehement, and though the gag is never removed from his mouth, Grian’s voice cascades over him.

His tone is desperate and broken, his words streaming in a parade of syllables, a different tongue that makes no sense to Jimmy. Grian’s voice only switches back into something Jimmy’s familiar with when another captive is thrown into the van, a tall elf with scars carpeting almost every inch of his skin. Grian’s borderline begging, and as hard as Jimmy strains not to hear the words, they’re too sharp in his ear and he can’t push them away.

NO! Please, no, you promised, you PROMISED- you said that if I came, you wouldn’t take him, you said he would be SAFE! Please, I’ll do anything, anything, just let him go- I can’t let him go through this, I can’t, you have to understand, please! You promised me, you promised me- Scar, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Scar- no, no no no, let him go, LET HIM GO- 

One of the people in white suits punches Grian hard in the skull, seemingly fed up with his tortured screams. Grian’s head pitches forward, his eyes dulling to their normal beady black and voice tapering out pathetically as he falls unconscious. 

Jimmy’s shaken- and not just because of the disembodied voice that everyone in the van could apparently hear. He’s mostly just confused about that. No, the thing that disturbs him most is the genuine fear coating Grian’s words, the desperate begging for them not to take the other boy- Scar, Jimmy remembers- and to leave him be.

That does not bode well for whatever’s going to happen to them all, and Jimmy shivers involuntarily, closing his eyes. He doesn’t open them again for several minutes until he feels the truck stop once more, the doors swinging wide and the white-suited people shoving in a new figure, right beside him.

Jimmy catches a glimpse of cyan out of the corner of his eye, and he just knows.

Scott’s here.

He looks the same as the rest of them, glazed-over eyes, seemingly undistressed. Jimmy has to get his attention. He needs to. But he’s bound, and Scott’s in no fit state to respond to the muffled grunts that happen to be the only sound Jimmy can make. He huffs, annoyed, and pushes his head back against the wall, fighting back an onslaught of tears.

Jimmy’s just a curious little bird. 

It’s been. SO LONG. Since he heard her voice, since he heard those words. But here they are, loud as anything, biting and taking and angry- no, worse than that, almost dismissive. Jimmy nearly wilts under the pressure like a wildflower when summer comes, he nearly lets it get to him, the situation he’s in. No one can blame him if he does, after all- any normal person would have broken a thousand times over by now.

But as Jimmy hears the words again, instead of hopelessness, all they spark is anger. A deep, simmering rage, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, burns through his veins like a monsoon flood. Who are these people to kidnap him, his boyfriend, and so many more presumably innocent people? Why would he even allow himself to be tied up like this, rendered so vulnerable that anything could happen to him?

Jim’s anger goes deeper than even that. He’s always balked in the face of authority, whether it be Patty, the only mother he’s ever known, or these hooded figures who stole him away in the dead of night. Jimmy has never had a shred of rebellion inside him, he’s never even entertained the possibility of doing anything other than what the present person in charge wishes him to do.

It’s one of his biggest shortcomings as a person, he realizes- and even though it’s too late to do anything to change the predicament he’s in, there is a small act of uprising that he can commit. He and Scott are bound closely enough- so close, in fact, that their bodies are pressed together, the feathers on Jimmy’s wings resting gently on Scott’s back. Obviously, Jim can’t move his arms or legs- or wings. All his limbs are out of commission, really.

But the one thing they neglected to bind was his neck, and by extension, his head.

Jimmy headbuts Scott in the shoulder as hard as he can without arousing the suspicion of the guards, which is admittedly pretty lightly. He does it again, and again, and again, but no response is received for Jimmy’s efforts and Scott stares straight ahead, eyes blank of any thought or emotion- blank of any of the things that make him quintessentially Scott. The canary almost gives up, tears of frustration and hopelessness springing to his eyes.

He headbuts Scott once more, one final time, not giving a shit about what the guards will think this time. He puts all his strength into the motion, and slowly, miraculously, Scott turns towards him.

But it’s all for naught, because when their eyes meet, Scott looks just as zombified as ever. Jimmy doesn’t even think he recognizes him.

Scott’s head drops down, back into place, and Jimmy cries.

The van moves through the night, and finally hopeless, Jimmy cries.

--

Martyn doesn’t know where he is.

He has no idea what’s happened to him, has no idea what anyone could ever want with him- he’s just a good-for-nothing twenty-year-old pufferfish seafolk who’s spent most of his life doing- well, doing absolutely nothing, if he’s honest.

And now, he’s been kidnapped.

Martyn Littlewood, ultimate disappointment to his parents and everyone else in his measly little life, has been kidnapped.

It still doesn’t really sink in, the absolute danger he’s sure he must be in. He just feels numb, brain muted and fuzzy. He knows that he’s tied up, he’s aware that he’s in the back of a vehicle of some sort, and he knows that there are other prisoners here with him. But that’s it. Try as he might, the drugs that must be on the rag that has been stuffed into his mouth have absolutely ruined his brain, normally sharp thoughts nothing more than clumsy, cankered fumbling.

It’s really quite frustrating.

Especially because all Martyn has got going for him, the only thing that’s saved him from being the ultimate loser, is his mind. Though, one has to understand that he’s not smart, per se- he’s not good at math or writing essays or any of the things that make someone excel in school or get a good job or create the next big instant messaging app or whatever. Nah, Martyn’s just clever.

Clever and really funny.

He wonders vaguely if his current situation has anything to do with that thing he’d signed up for last month, a flier on some lamp post somewhere advertising something called “Third Life” that was promising twenty thousand dollars to whoever participated. Martyn was the very first person to sign, to etch his name on the crisp lines- because for that kind of money, what wouldn’t he do? Even if he had no idea what this thing was (there had been no information given, not a single word that could’ve helped him to identify even remotely what this thing he’d just signed up for was.)

When he’d come back to the spot a week later, mainly just to check if there had been any updates or whatever, the paper was filled with signatures, cramming  into every nook and cranny, not a singular unfilled spot on the paper. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money, after all. Most folks like him would kill for that kinda cash, and he’s been struggling enough recently that he’s not surprised in the slightest others have been as well.

Martyn wonders, if this is truly what Third Life is, if he’ll get his money at all.

Martyn wonders, marveling at the words that flit quickly in and out of his slogging brain, if it’ll even be worth it.

--

Karissa watches from the upstairs window as the same white camper van pulls up outside her house, screeching to a stop under the streetlight. It’s finished making its rounds, and she can almost see from here the essences of the people pushed into the back, bound and gagged and drugged. She smiles, fake and manufactured yet still slightly psychotic, nails drumming against her thigh as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door, eyes searching for signs of life.

But it’s still and cold outside, no plausible or even remotely possible threats in sight. Karissa puffs a short sigh of relief out her lips, heels clacking along the cobbled path as she makes her way towards the van. It’s shining, gleaming brightly in the puddle of light cast  down from the fluorescent street lamp, a stylized purple symbol painted on the side- a rectangle, cut off before two corners diagonal to each other, small individual squares taking up the place where the corners would have been.

If there had been any doubt before that she’d somehow mistaken the vehicle, it’s erased now as the symbol of the Watchers glares back at her from the side of her van. Her smile only grows.

Karissa swings open the door of the van and climbs into the shotgun seat, flashing a simpering smile at Zombie- who, at the current moment, is driving the car. Zombie shoots a quick, light glare back at her, and Karissa laughs, high-pitched and ringing, even in her own ears.

“Now, now, Zombie,” she admonishes, glancing back to where her other thirteen contestants (excluding Zombie, of course) are tied and drugged, white-suited cult members looking after them, “remember what happens when you don’t show the proper respect.”

Zombie flinches, and Karissa feels a jolt of twisted pride that she’s managed to make this person break so easily that they’re terrified by any mere allusion to possible punishment. She’s just disappointed that her son has gone and been so strong-willed; he would’ve been the perfect experiment- more so than he already is, of course. 

It’s interesting, truly, to realize how the boy’s siren and gorgon traits have come out differently in combination with each other. Karissa wonders, was she to try the experiment again, have another kid- Karissa wonders if the results would be similar, or vastly different. She’s too old to bear a child by now, however, and there are some things that even one such as she will not force upon a person who does not want it.

“Zombie, stay en route to the compound. I’m going to go check in on the prisoners- make certain that Grian’s not having second thoughts about his task.” Zombie nods tersely, and Karissa pats their head condescendingly as she stands, moving smoothly through the vehicle until she’s standing aloof in the bare back compartment.

Thirteen different young adults, all drugged and tied and gagged, the perfect hamsters to run around Karissa’s proverbial maze. She smiles, a genuine expression for once, even if one of perverse satisfaction and power. Moving among her captives, Karissa takes in their appearances, the familiar yet unfamiliar face of one in particular catching her gaze. Karissa cocks her head to the side, confused, and sticks her hand roughly under their chin to tilt their head up so she can get a better look at them.

But instead of the drugged blankness she’s been expecting, Karissa is met with a glare full of pure venom. She startles, dropping their head in surprise, and scrutinizes the person further, eyes squinting as she stares them down. Straw-blond hair, golden canary wings… and the faint but unmistakable smell of rapport magic.

Ah. So unless she’s been poorly informed, this must be Jimmy.

Just as she’d instructed the guards a half-hour prior, Scott is hog-tied up right next to his lover, his snakes as limp and drooping as the rest of his limbs. But Jimmy seems alert, almost… aware. Karissa ruffles her eyebrows, flecks of dried foundation flaking off at the wrinkle. This shouldn’t be happening. But, no matter- if he’s awake, she might as well let him speak. The gag won’t do anything now, given how remote the area they’re traveling through is. Plus, it was only really needed for the administering of the drug.

Ripping the duct tape off his mouth, no consideration for the pain that might come afterwards, Karissa watches as he ejects the sopping wad of fabric out of his mouth and onto the floor, spitting out the last residue of the drug that had been soaked into the cloth with a look on his face that can only be known as disgust.

“Hello, Jimmy. My name is Karissa Major, and we are the Watchers. Welcome,” she spreads her arms, gesturing around the interior of the decrepit van, “to your new life.”

Two simple words spring from the young boy’s mouth, face contorted in a solid mask of hatred. Karissa’s eyes widen in delight. Oh, yes, he will be perfect.

--

Is that someone’s voice Scott can hear, through the daze of his own mind? It sounds like Jimmy. Scott wishes it was.

Everything’s better with Jimmy by his side.

--

“Fuck you,” Jimmy spits, lips curling up in a sneer. “You’re Scott’s mom, aren’t you? Why would you do this to me? To us? To your own son? What in all the world is wrong with you?!”

Jimmy hates the way that Karissa’s smile widens, as if he’s simply egging her on, playing into her little mind games and tricks. She doesn’t speak, just stands above and watches him as if he’s some haphazard experiment and she’s a twisted scientist waiting for results. So he screams it again, spit flying unbidden from his mouth, eyes squinted and angry, the rage building beneath him as he pulls at his bindings, tries to get as close to her face as he can.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he bellows, voice breaking in half. He pretends not to notice how, next to him, Scott stirs lightly, eyes blinking slightly open to stare at Jimmy blurily.

Karissa stares down at him, nothing even slightly akin to pity on her face.

“I noticed you seemed interested in Grian,” Karissa states, a cold hand covering Jimmy’s mouth when he tries to speak. “Are you wondering if maybe he could be a friend, a little ally for you in all this? A fellow avian to share your sorrows?”

Jimmy feels his eyes betraying him, drifting to gaze upon Grian’s unconscious form. He had been hoping that, he’s never met another tropical avian before. He’s been naively wondering, in the back of his skull if maybe, once they get out of here, he and Grian could go out for coffee, maybe hang out together sometime. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jimmy’s always been a curious little bird. 

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s correct. Karissa raises her eyebrows, as if impressed. It just makes the anger bubbling in Jimmy’s stomach increase tenfold, hatred marring his usually smooth face. Karissa keeps talking.

“Because you see, Jimmy dear- and I can tell you this because soon enough, you won’t remember anything at all and much less this conversation- Grian is not on your side. He’s on ours. He won’t have his memories, per se. I’m not stupid enough for that. He’d just throw everything away for that Scar boy.” Her head gestures to the elf slumped in the corner, and Jimmy realizes that must be Scar. A fitting name, really, when one notices the amount of long since healed over injuries covering his body.

“But, nonetheless, Grian is on our side. My side. He’ll follow our orders, keep things interesting so I can keep power. Think of it as a bit of a hazing ritual. If he succeeds, he gets to join the Watchers. If not…” Karissa lets the threat hang in midair, before presuming a cheery tone and finishing her sentence as if she was describing going to the fridge to grab a snack. “Well, if not, then we just do it all over again, don’t we?”

Jimmy feels his blood run cold. “What are you talking about? Take my memories? Grian is- he’ll be keeping what interesting? And what do you mean, do it all over again?”

Karissa hums gently, swiping a thumb over her perfectly manicured nails. “The game, darling. What you’re here for.”

“I didn’t- I’m not signed up for this, I know my rights, let me go.”

“Jimmy, dear! You really think you could do anything, even if you somehow manage to escape? You really are a misguided child, aren’t you. No, darling. We’re high in the Boatem Mountains by now, in an area so remote and unheard of that you’d never even be able to find out where we are, much less send for help. So, don’t worry your little head about escaping- because I’m afraid, at least for the moment, that you’re stuck with me.”

Jimmy feels all the air go out of him, replaced by a deep confusion. “How are we that far out of the city already?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, darling. But I’m afraid that a magician never spills her secrets.” Karissa’s eyes are dark and cold, not a speck of humanity left within the cyan irises. Hard lines form around her mouth, and she sneers.

Jimmy has a sinking feeling that she’s telling the truth.

He’s not getting out of here anytime soon.

--

Karissa is surprised that Jimmy has so much fight in him. She’s watched him from afar, of course (she’s done the same with all her contestants), and he’s always seemed almost too soft, someone who can be hurt and broken easy as that.  But then she’d come to the back of the van, and Jimmy had practically screamed in her face. It was an extreme whiplash from the kind of person Karissa had been expecting, but she can adapt.

It is, after all, the thing she’s best at. So she stuffs Jimmy’s gag back into his mouth once she bores of him and returns to the front of the van, not even bothering to buckle her seatbelt. “Zombie, drive quicker,” Karissa orders, arms crossed and staring straight ahead. For once, there’s not a trace of a smile, real or fake, painted across her all-too-perfect face.

“We’re already going twice the speed limit, ma’am,” Zombie replies, not even looking at her, hands clenched too tightly around the steering wheel. “I’d actually advise slowing down- if we speed up any more, we’ll get pulled over and rest assured they will find the people in the back, and even your siren magic won’t be able to convince them that it’s a normal thing to have thirteen drugged teenagers in the back of your van.”

Karissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t get me caught, or I swear to god I’m tearing out all your stitches at the next possible opportunity.”

Predictably, Zombie flinches, memories of an enraged side of Karissa that only they see probably streaming through their mind. “I don’t doubt it, ma’am. I will try to the utmost of my ability not to get us caught.”

“Good girl,” Karissa purrs, reclining like a queen in her chair, “this is all going so well, I simply cannot wait for the games to begin.”

Zombie nods, eyes still straight on the road, and Karissa can see their throat bob as they do so, can feel the nervous tension bathing the air in a wash of sickly greens.

“Are you excited?” she asks, more as a form of sadistic manipulation than anything else. Zombie, of course, of course, isn’t excited. It’s a death game, she’ll lose all her memories, and worst of all, she’ll have to kill people. But if she says as much, she knows Karissa won’t hesitate to rip her throat out (and then stitch it back up, of course. It’s been done before.)

“Yes, ma’am, very excited.” Zombie spares a glance to the back of the van, something like guilt flashing across their face, so briefly that none but Karissa (master of manipulation) would have caught it.

“You’re lying to me,” she slithers back, voice smooth as honey yet twice as sharp. “Zombie, don’t you know what happens when you lie to Karissa? It doesn’t end well, does it.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Zombie says quickly, eyes darting nervously to Karissa’s enraged face. “Please don’t hurt me.” The plea in her tone is pitiful, voice withering away until it’s next to nothing, miniscule and timid.

Karissa scoffs, a hand reaching up to stroke Zombie’s sallow cheek. “You’re like a daughter to me, Zombie. Every child does bad things sometimes, and I think at heart, you’re still a child. You’ll always be a child to me. But remember, if you like to me like that ever again…”

She leaves the threat hanging in midair as her hand drifts down from Zombie’s face, their eyes turned resolutely back to the road, teeth clenched sharply. Karissa almost laughs, because it’s just all too easy, isn’t it. It’s just so simple to take advantage of this lost person, lightly masked threats all she needs to get Zombie in line. Honestly, she’s growing bored of it- bored of the complacency. She misses the days when Zombie would fight.

Maybe that’s part of the reason Karissa created the game, she muses, as she stares ahead at the sky lighting up with dawn beyond the trees. Zombie became boring- so Karissa created an environment so hostile that none could hope to survive. Even if somehow, all her players decide to be peace-loving idiots (and they won’t, Grian will make certain of that) then they’ll die by natural causes eventually- and probably sooner rather than later, one of them will feel the red haze clawing at their mind, begging them to turn on the others. And they will.

When that point is finally reached, Karissa will feel power. She will feel it beyond anything anyone else has ever known. She relishes in the thought, smile snaking sadistically behind her facade. In the corners of her vision, Zombie flinches.

--

Their hands grip the wheel of the car, the feeling of teeth grating together inside their mouth the only thing keeping them sane. Why are you doing this? 

Zombie- or is it Cleo? Cleo Zombie? Zombie Cleo? They’re not sure anymore. But they like Cleo better, so they decide to stick with it. Her other self is not falling for this orchestrated distraction, however, this thought of property and names- the question springs back up, unbidden, and Cleo flinches at the sound of their harsh words inside her skull.

I said, why are you doing this?

Cleo’s knuckles are white now, white with the exertion of keeping her hands on the wheel when all she wants to do, all her other self wants her to do, is jump out of this van and never stop running. They decide to refer to their other self as Zombie, because they do have two names, and best to make use of both of them.

Zombie scoffs, and Cleo doesn’t even realize that their body had made the sound until Karissa’s smile appears in their peripheral vision, teeth too sharp and flawlessly white to be natural. Cleo flinches back, muttering stuttered apologies as Zombie hums disapprovingly inside their mind, head shaking sadly back and forth.

There used to be more of them, used to be more than just Zombie and Cleo. But their time at the cult, before they tried to leave under the thinly veiled excuse of getting back to their family, had taken a toll on all of them. When she’d come clean about the others in her mind, others who had sprung up when their father died, or when they were in an awful car crash. Sometimes, she’d even get a new person just from being super interested in something. 

But Karissa had told them, hand on their shoulder and venom in her words, that they weren’t real, that Cleo was wrong- and one by one by one, all the people had drifted away. They’re still there- Cleo can be sure of that, and Zombie even more so- but they’ve all hidden themselves away, away from the pain and misery and everything else.

Zombie is the only one who’s stayed. And Cleo is forever grateful for them, because they make everything so much easier with their snarky quips and comments at Karissa, they make everything so much more bearable than if it had just been Cleo on her own.

Oy, little sheep, I appreciate the sentiment and all, but keep your eyes on the fucking road! Jesus Christ! 

Cleo shakes herself, blinking the thoughts out of her eyes and out of her mind. Zombie reclines angrily in the back of their mind, and Cleo can feel that it’s still not happy that she’s agreed to this.

It’s not like she had any choice- Cleo hadn’t had any more choice than the people tied and drugged in the back of the van. Or at least, that is what they tell themself, frantically fabricating a panicked reasoning for why she’s doing this. 

Cleo doesn’t want to get hurt again, and she doesn’t want Zombie to leave them. She doesn’t want Zombie to be forced out of their mind by Karissa’s prying talons, and they will do whatever it takes to keep their only friend safe with them.

Cleo exhales, calming the shaking of her hands. They’re okay. They’re fine. Cleo just needs to play the game, and then she can figure out a way to escape. They just need to be a part of the game, and then they can leave.

She tell herself this even when she knows she’s lying.

It’s the only way Zombie and her could ever keep going.

--

Scott feels the truck pull to a stop. He hears doors sliding open, and feels his body being lifted underneath him. The air is crisp and clear on his face, and he blinks as the tape is ripped off his mouth, his gag removed.

Immediately, his mind clears, and all the pieces click into place. He looks around frantically, eyes darting this way and that. He’s been slung over the shoulder of one of the white-suited cult members (because of course it’s Mother’s cult that’s kidnapping him, obviously that had been their plan from the start, and Scott curses himself for not realizing it sooner.)

He sees some of the people he’d half-noticed earlier, but his eyes flick over them quickly, not seeing what he’s looking for until the last person is carried out of the van, bright yellow feathers bound tightly to his back, eyes immediately meeting Scott’s, large and scared and pleading.

Joel is also here, Scott notices sadly, he’s been tied to the roof of the truck (as he’s much too big to fit inside). He’s being wrangled by at least ten employees, his eyes ablaze with anger, tail raised up protectively.

“Get off of me,” Scott hears him yell, “this is not what I signed up for, get off of me-”

He finally notices Scott, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. “S-scott? What are you doing here? And Jimmy? What’s going on-”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the white suits jump on him, subduing him with a shot of something viscous and liquid-clear directly into the soft spot of the celestial’s neck. He howls, and drops to the floor, the last emotion on his face a potent hatred before he passes out.

Jimmy’s eyes lock to Scott’s again, fear apparent on his face. He must have no idea what’s going on, Scott realizes, and he feels such intense pain in his chest for his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers, guilt raking through his body like a hurricane of doubt. “This isn’t what I thought would happen.”Jimmy just shakes his head slowly, his gaze wrenched from Scott’s as he’s carried roughly inside the building. The sky shakes, and the world shakes, and everything comes crashing down because they got Jimmy. And, not for the first time, Scott doesn’t know what to do.

[majaloveschris]

Chris has a lot better dodger pics than this one. But why this ? Because he wants the fandom to speculate the shoes ? And why didn’t he post with AB since they are official ? And why cropped the pic? Seems like he doesn’t want to be in the same pic with her nor her friends because the internet is forever that is why he chose to post this. This is somehow PR.

I mean, it's definitely PR.

We have two options:

1. He didn't realize there was a leg in the picture. He isn't really that sign-giving, trolling type; however, if his team is truly behind everything right now, it's not that far-fetched to think they wanted to achieve something with this. But if this was actually him (or even if it was his team) posting, I don't think the caption was anything more than a caption. He or they were talking about Dodger's paw, that's all.

2. They knew what they were doing. I think most of us think that right now he isn't in charge of his social media. That doesn't mean it's not him who likes other people's posts or that he is never active there, but I think most things are done by his team. It seems pretty impossible to me that his team wouldn't take a proper look at things, especially after the failure of this PR shitshow, and that they know people overanalyze every little thing. If it was intentional, it was definitely for PR reasons. I think posting a picture like this, which would give away a clue, is way easier than doing a full pap walk. It's not that bad, and he didn't need to be around her or them.

But I don't know. Maybe it was just a picture of Dodger and nothing more. It's really hard to tell after everything.

The whole "he doesn't give a shit about them being the way they are" or that "he just doesn't care what people think" makes zero sense to me. Maybe I would understand it if he'd ever posted a picture or story with Alba, Justin, or anybody from their gang. The closest we got to this was when he posted that really bad scare video compilation, and it was only up for 24 hours; he didn't even post it as an actual post.

We almost know nothing about this whole trip. We knew they were, so the fact that he might have spent some time inside the house makes no difference. It's nothing new; it's nothing we didn't know about.

I'm not trying to babysit him. He and his team made such a big mistake, and even if they wanted a way out, unfortunately, it's not going to be that easy. But something I can say for sure is that I think they are always trying to find a loophole to do the least they can, so Chris doesn't need to be actually seen with them. I think this whole thing could've been way worse, even from the very beginning. I also want him to be done with these people, and let's be honest, it doesn't seem he really enjoys being around them or being associated with them. If he does, why doesn't he post more pictures? Why did he send them home on a commercial flight? Why weren't they in Tara's group photo? Why didn't Alba stay to be with him? Why does his team remove her tags or most comments that are about her?

I also want this to be over, but if he truly signed a contract (which I do believe he did), it's not that easy. Even if he realized he was stupid and made a big and dumb mistake, he can't say it's over. Maybe next time he won't get into things like this.

[thegreatandpowerfulversy]

Oh hello again Flechette, nice to see you're still hanging around Dolltown being as gay as ever! Ditch the heroes and get a girlfriend, that's the way to go!

Really? That's the opposite blood type I would have expected from Taylor. I would have thought she'd be type O, the universal donor, always ready to bleed for the sake of others no matter the cost to herself. Interesting that Wildbow would make her AB, a universal recipient, instead. Makes it easier to do all sorts of major surgery on her I suppose, but it's not the clean narrative parallel it could have been.

Ah yes, more Cauldron fuckery. Giving Alexandria her powers a few decades back, when there were still hardly any capes in the world. I bet the Doctor there knows what her powers can do, even if she didn't tell her patient.

And Hero bought his powers too. Cauldron really is responsible for every single older-generation high-powered cape out there. And they certainly got started quickly once powers began appearing.

Ah yes, Manton. The guy with the effect. Given he's deeply involved in early Cauldron too, I wouldn't be that surprised if he were partly responsible for how Cauldron makes the powers to begin with, and actively ensured the Manton Effect restricts each of them.

And we've got the third ever mention of alternate realities. Also very early in the timeline, like everything with Cauldron.

I guess this is how the primary Earth there got called Earth Bet? It was just Earth, and then this early cape opens up a portal to another one which gets called Aleph as the first alternate, but then I guess people realize their own reality isn't "special" in any sense so it should have a letter too and Bet is next.

Alright, who's this guy? What happened to Bill Clinton? Is he a cape on Earth Bet or something? It may be unlikely, but given the "Obama in Homestuck" situation I can't fully rule out seeing Clinton in Worm.

Him.

The Terminus Project? That's a pretty damn edgy thing to name your project, especially for an organization that's supposedly dedicated to creating heroes and doing good.

Well, that's not kidnapping from alternate realities, but it's still human experimentation and that's not good. Lots of Case 53s while Cauldron tests new formulas, and even the ones that aren't still get royally fucked over in their new lives.

So Coil is working for Cauldron too. Of course he is! Who isn't? I mean, there's a chance he doesn't actually know he's working for them, but still. He's had that "master plan" he's working toward for a while, which taking over Brockton Bay is the last component for, so that's probably a Cauldron plot.

That's probably what makes him a candidate for this Terminus, which is some kind of super-powerful cape who can take on Endbringers or any end of the world scenario and come out on top, I guess? That's the charitable option, at least. Cauldron could be trying to end the world themselves, so any other apocalypses don't matter if they have their own Terminus. If creating the Protectorate was an early attempt at the Terminus Project's goals, then presumably it's something "good" or at least minimally destructive?

You still give a damn about other people's well-being? People other than Dinah and occasionally your team and territory?

Return of the capsaicin dick! ...Yeah, I don't think you're giving much of a damn about this guy's well-being.

Coil does have a backup plan, it's called his other timeline. If he didn't want to kill Skitter and never had, then that just means the split was before he decided to do it and he only showed the benign one to Tattletale. He has two chances for everything and that includes fooling a Thinker 7 power.

[majorbaby]

ships: hawk/trap/oliver, hawk/bj, obiwan/anakin, troy/abed

i have so much to say lol

hawk/trap/oliver - yessssssssssss

What made you ship it?

specifically that scene that i believe you've giffed of hawkeye and trapper having their actual first fight ever over real estate of oliver's shoulder.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

it's really fucking hot. there are so many configurations about it i love too: oliver and trapper running a train over hawkeye and/or spitroasting him, oliver topping both hawkeye and trapper, oliver topping trapper while hawkeye lies around naked eating grapes and shouting pointers at trapper while he takes it from behind. like every cringe position you find in M/F/F porn but with these three.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

oliver is the hottest one of the three and it's not even close.

hawk/bj - also yessss, but with fewer 's's

What made you ship it?

I don't know what the right term to use is but they have.. good negative chemistry? i like to watch them fight. the best beejhawk episodes to me are the ones where they're fighting.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

it's messed up. angst and melancholy potentials off the charts. sometimes i'm in the mood for a bad ending. i'll never be as into that as i am into eventual happy endings, which i don't like for them, but sometimes i need some weird-bad vibes and they are that for me.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

all of my opinions are them are unpopular but i guess the big one that feeds all the other ones is that i think they're fundamentally incompatible as romantic partners.

obiwan/anakin - weird one, i appreciate the fanart for it, but they are too squicky for me to engage with in any other way.

Why don’t you ship it?

i don't mind saying it: it's because obiwan is in his mid-20s when he meets anakin as a child. i've seen episode i so many times and i just can't distance myself mentally from that little kid enough to where it isn't weird for me to read about them fucking, especially if it's fluffy or framed positively.

What would have made you like it?

literally if i'd never seen episode 1 i'd be all over obikin. the above reason i have for not being able to ship them is a technicality. the chemistry between hayden christensen and ewan mcgregor is undeniable, their rivalry is compelling, the possibilities for corruption kink are endless. i am annoyed that i'm squicked by them.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

the above answer sums that up pretty well.

troy/abed

What made you ship it?

to me they're the flagship couple on community. their on-screen relationship only 'ends' because donald glover left the show.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

so many great gay moments on the show. "abed, i love you" "i know" - that happens to be one of my favourite episodes of the show for other reasons, but that was a bonus.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

aheh... i'm into more toxic explorations of their relationship. to me, it's right there. there are quite a few moments where i perceive abed to be doing things that actively hurt troy. troy's not perfect either, i think his indulgence of abed's every whim could be potentially bad for abed too.

i get why people like a fluffier version of their relationship, but the show has repeatedly dealt with the issue of the group being codependent upon one another and to me troy and abed are an extreme version of that. there's even an episode that deals directly with the fact that they "spend too much time together" but iirc it doesn't actually change much.

i have to say though, that for ~political~ reasons i do want them to have their gay kiss and happily-ever-after because it seems enough people are on board with that that it could actually happen. some may disagree but i think in this case, the value of having two racialized men on a mainstream show that debuted in 2009 get together is more important to me than seeing the aspects of their relationship that i personally find more interesting be made canon. i can read about the bad version of them in a fanfic.