Text
if they remade maurice, pj could easily play clive 🫶
#maurice (1987)#is this too specific#kickthepj#thats my boy!!!!!!!!!!!#they look so much alike im going insane#like he is clive are you kidding me#that is literally him#pj kiss a man challenge!#/j#i love this movie im sad#i watched it a few days ago and havent stopped thinking about it#i just realized that the hashtags on tumblr are the same as ao3#brainwaves hello#sorry this is all over the place#yippee!!!!!!!#anyway pj <3#thats my son!!!!!!!#my best friend!!!!!!#pj i kiss the ground you walk on#youve raised me#and made me the creative i am today#MWAH!
1 note
·
View note
Text
if they replaced emails with telepathy it would get a lot worse for a variety of reasons, but even so communication would be improved somewhat.
#news from the cupola#hello professors have you received my incredibly pathetic and despairing brainwaves.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
HankAl Latkes Ficlet
Hank wasn’t really religious, or at least he hadn’t been growing up. Merry had been... as agnostic as you could be with all the gods visibly running around, and the system hadn’t been particularly interested in forcing him toward Christianity. That had changed recently, though, Al had asked him to convert to Judaism for him, and even though Hank was still in the asking the Rabbi stage for that, he wanted to try.
As October had turned into November, and for some reason, people started celebrating Christmas already, putting up the lights almost two months in advance, Al had looked up at them almost sadly. It was a little odd, and at first, Hank had assumed that it was just that the holiday was so unavoidable, but as time passed, Al just seemed to get more and more forlorn.
Hank knew that he should ask, but he wondered if his asking would even be appreciated. Maybe he was still too much of an outsider to understand what was going on. He didn’t want to overstep. Of course, as his anxiety overtook him, he ended up losing his opportunity entirely as Rick and Hec took over.
In the middle of November, Rick had sighed, leaning over Al at the meeting table, and commented: “Alright man, you’re making the vibes in this place absolutely rancid,” Hank would definitely not have chosen those words precisely, but Hank had lost his chance, “what’s up with you?”
“Rick...” Hank decided to try to do damage control instead.
“It’s the first year I’m not gonna get to have my mom’s latkes at Hanukkah.”
Hank sucked in his cheeks at that, trying to keep his face completely stony. He knew how much Al liked food. It was important to him, and it was cute. Hank was not going to laugh or do anything that might make Al feel bad about his preferences. Rick and Hector had no such compunctions.
“Seriously, food’s what’s got you looking like that?”
“Heh, that’s our Albert I guess.”
“Hahahahahahaha.”
“Aw, c’mon guys, it’s not that funny.”
-----------------------------------------
Al liked food; Hank knew that already and had already established that he knew that already, but he also knew that Al was kind of a momma’s boy, and he couldn’t just go out and buy a recipe book and follow that. If he did that, he knew that Al would just be comparing it to his mom’s the entire time, and Hank just wouldn’t be able to measure up.
Option 2 was to call up Mrs. Rothstein and ask her to make some herself and send them up so that they could fry them together. Somehow, he got the feeling that they’d just end up ruining them, though, and then Al would just be even more disappointed.
He had to go with Option Number 3. He glanced upstairs, where he could hear Al still having a shower, and dragged the man’s laptop toward him. Just a few clicks later, he had a zoom call going.
-----------------------------------------
The pile of latkes on the kitchen counter was growing by the minute, although it had almost reached the ceiling, and he should probably start on pile number two soon. He should probably have called Al in and asked him to do a taste test for him, but part of Hank wanted them to be perfect before he even tried that.
“I’m sure that Albert wouldn’t mind,” Al’s mom told him, “he’d appreciate the effort either way, oh hello, honey.”
Hank froze. He had been distracted, so he hadn’t been keeping track of where in the house Al’s brainwaves were coming from, but he was beginning to suspect that he might be right behind him.
“What are you two doing?” Al asked, his voice slow before his eyes clearly drifted over to the massive pile of food. “Is that for me?”
He was next to Hank in seconds. Before the telepath had even the slightest opportunity to stop him, he was already shoveling the food into his mouth.
“Ah-!” Hank panicked a little, he wanted to reach out to stop Al, but found himself just waving his hands. He was too flustered to do anything useful, “That’s not-”
The entire pile of latkes was already gone.
Al blinked up at him, his cheeks bulging. He looked very guilty, although he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
Hank let out a breath, one that he hadn’t known he was holding in. “Not enough salt?” He asked.
The larger man swallowed. “Maybe a little too much egg, the ones in our cupboard are extra large, by the way.”
Ah fuck. Hank turned toward the laptop. “I’m just gonna run across the street for a moment.” He told Mrs. Rothstein.
Al’s voice followed him down the hall. “I can taste test, right? You’re gonna let me taste test?!”
#henry king jr#brainwave jr#al rothstein#atom smasher#hankal#hello hankal nation i have produced a last day of hanukkah ficlet
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
MAYA’S MORPHICS FIELD CHALLENGE
Hello everyone :) School is starting, and that's a time when stress levels can peak for anyone in the manifesting community. It's tough to wake up to another school year without your dream life, and I know how draining it can be. You might feel like you have to focus on your journey while also tackling school, which is challenging enough on its own. I hope this can help with anything related to manifesting reality, the void state, shifting, lucid dreaming, school, and mindset. Remember, you're not alone in this journey, and it is inevitable you achieve all that you desire!
What are morphic fields
Morphic field audio refers to soundtracks that are designed to interact with the concept of morphic fields, which are theoretical fields that influence patterns and behaviors in nature. These audio tracks often incorporate elements like binaural beats or isochronic tones, which are sound frequencies intended to influence brainwave activity and promote specific mental states.
The idea is that by listening to these audio tracks, individuals you can tap into or resonate with morphic fields, potentially enhancing focus, relaxation, or other desired states. The concept is rooted in the belief that sound can influence the mind and body in ways that align with the patterns and connections proposed by morphic fields.
youtube
youtube
Subliminals or and affirmation tapes with morphic fields
When using morphic fields with subliminals, you can experiment with different approaches to see what works best for you.
Simultaneous Playback:
Play the morphic field audio and subliminal tracks at the same time.
Sequential Playback:
Before: Start with the morphic field audio to create a receptive mental state, then follow with the subliminal tracks. This can help prepare your mind to absorb the affirmations more effectively.
After:
Begin with the sublininal tracks to plant the affirmations in your subconscious, then play the morphic field audio to reinforce and integrate the messages.
Layering:
If you have audio editing software, you can layer the morphic field audio beneath the subliminal tracks, creating a single, cohesive audio experience. This method requires some technical skill but can be very effective.
Experiment and Adjust
Everyone's response to these techniques can vary like all methods so feel free to experiment with different methods and monitor how you feel. Adjust the timing, order, and volume to find the combination that resonates best with you :) it doesn’t have to be methodical at all
Specified Morphic Fields
You can also find specific morphic fields tailored to your desires, such as lucid dreaming, shifting realities, or entering the void state. These specialized audio tracks are designed to help you achieve particular goals by using specific frequencies and energies.
youtube
youtube
youtube
youtube
Similarly to binaural beats or isochronic tones Sounds, it’s best to listen to morphic fields in positive environments because they are highly receptive to surrounding influences. Ensure that your surroundings are calm and uplifting. This might include a tidy space, soft lighting, or calming scents like lavender or sage.
Stay away from negative influences like for example watching horror movies or engaging with negative shifting or void content while listening to morphic fields. Instead, pair your listening sessions with positive and inspiring content. This could include watching manifesting videos, glow-up transformation videos, or reading success stories related to shifting and lucid dreaming.
Combine this with affirming and persisting
the only three affirmations I use are:
I can shift
I will shift
I have shifted
This is very simple and effectively covers the past, present, and future, making it easy to repeat. The brain loves mantras, and these affirmations are designed to reinforce your belief in your ability to shift. This repetition helps to rewire your subconscious mind, aligning your thoughts and actions with your desired outcome. Keep it simple, stay consistent, and watch as your affirmations help manifest your shifting journey.
The challenge
Compile a playlist of subliminals or affirmation tapes, whichever you prefer.
Listen to them while playing morphic fields. You can use headphones or play them out loud; it doesn’t matter.
If you don’t want subliminals or affirmation tapes, find specific morphic fields for your desire, such as wealth morphic fields or shifting morphic fields.
They are easy to find on YouTube. Just search up your topic and then morphic field feel feee to use the ones I recommend as well!
4. Do this in a positive environment. Engage in activities like scrolling on Tumblr, reading success stories, or watching lucid dreaming tips.
5.Outside of this, use the three affirmations: "I can shift," "I will shift," "I have shifted."
You can replace these with anything related to lucid dreaming, the void state, or manifesting—whatever suits your goals, e.g: “I can wake up in the void,” “I will wake up in the void,” “I have woken up in the void before”
6.Make this routine fit your schedule.With school starting, you’ll be busy, so keep it simple and easy!
977 notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay but king ghost if his queen was kidnapped or held for ransom?? I just want some protective ghost in my life
the way i had this idea planned for a while already, but anon, our brainwaves are connecting. i’ve gotten literally countless requests for this same idea. if you sent in a request similar to this, i’m so sorry, i wasn’t ignoring you, i've just had this planned for a while! (word count: 5.8k)
king!ghost x reader -- taken
warnings: kidnapping, physical fighting, physical injuries/blood/bruises, semi-vague descriptions of torture, torture tactics, throw up, restraints, heavy angst, i guess a happy ending? maybe??? idk 😭, ummmm idk what else... please please please let me know if there's anything i've missed. this is a dark chapter! check your media consumption based off the warnings!
It was a quiet night. Eerily quiet. The sounds of the summer insects ceased, the hot air still, unmoving. You were in bed, trying to sleep. You had no clue what time it was, all you knew is that you were hot and exhausted.
You roll onto your side, huffing as you throw the covers off your body. You close your eyes again, trying to will yourself to sleep.
A moment later, you hear a creak coming from the far side of the room where the doors to the balcony are.
You immediately sit up, scanning the room.
“Hello?” you call out, your voice wavering as you slip out of bed. You immediately grab your knife from the drawer of your bedside table, walking around the side of your bed to stare at your slightly ajar balcony door.
Your heart drops in your chest, but before you can say anything, a hand holding a rag clamps around your mouth. Soap was right outside your door. If you could just— Your scream is muffled as you try to fight off the intruder, swinging your knife back and hitting flesh, trying to stomp on their foot, kick them, anything. The intruder lets out a strangled cry from your stab, pulling your head back farther. You know you’ve made contact when you feel blood trickle down your hand. Serves them right for trying to kidnap you. The intruder wraps their arm around your torso, yanking you back as they shove the rag over your nose, forcing you to inhale the fumes.
Your movements become more sloppy as the fumes enter your nostrils, your eyes fluttering as you fight with everything in you to stay awake. Your knife clatters on the ground as you become limp.
“That’s it, go to sleep,” a man’s voice whispers in your ear, sending a cold chill throughout your body. And with that, you succumb to unconsciousness.
. . .
You wake up in a cold, damp cell. You go to rub your eyes, but are stopped by the clanking of metal chains. You look down, and your hands are bound together by heavy, metal manacles.
“What the—” you say, pulling at the restraints multiple times to no avail, the iron bolted into the wall to prevent you from running. “No, no, no no no—” you cry out, flailing as you try to free yourself from the cuffs. Your heart is racing in your chest, how could this happen? The overwhelming urge to cry washes over you, but you bite your lip to stop yourself.
Your body shivers at the low temperature of the cell, the stone keeping the cold air stale in your cell. You’re still in what you wore to bed which was…not much. You push yourself to standing, walking up to the bars of the cell, trying your best to peek out into the hallway.
The hallway is dimly lit, revealing the cold, unforgiving walls of what appears to be an underground dungeon of some sort. The air is cool, and the distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridors. Panic tightens its grip on you as you assess your surroundings.
“Hey! Is anyone there?” you shout, your voice bouncing off the stone walls. There's no response, just the eerie silence of the place. You take a deep breath, fighting against the rising sense of despair.
As you peer down the hallway, you catch a glimpse of movement. Footsteps approach, and your heart races anew. A figure emerges from the shadows, wearing a uniform that tells you all you need to know. It’s a uniform from the Southern Kingdom. You back away from the bars, pressing your back up against the wall behind you.
“Your majesty,” the figure says, their voice devoid of any emotion. “You won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
Your mind races with questions, but the figure remains stoic, indifferent to you cowering in the corner. The reality of your situation sets in, and a mix of fear and frustration swirls within you.
“Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand, desperation lacing your words.
The person ignores your questions, producing a set of keys to unlock the cell door. The heavy door creaks open, revealing a corridor lined with more cells. The person steps inside the cell, much to your dismay. Your breathing picks up as he steps towards you, afraid of retaliation. Instead, he makes his way towards the wall where your manacles are attached. With a key, he releases the chain from the wall and takes it in his grip. Shortening the length of the chain, he yanks on it, causing you to stumble forward.
“Walk,” he commands, basically dragging you behind him out of your cell. You contemplate pulling against him, but not before you spot the sword on his hip. Without further thought, you lunge forward, pushing the man to the ground in front of you as you reach for his sword with your bound hands.
The man grunts as he hits the cold, stone floor. Seizing the opportunity, you manage to grab the hilt of his sword with your restrained hands, the metal feeling cold against your skin. Adrenaline surges through you as you pull the sword free from its scabbard.
Without a moment’s hesitation, you point the weapon at the man. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you demand again, your voice trembling with fear and anger.
The man on the floor looks up at you, a hint of surprise crossing his face. Despite the advantage of the sword in your hands, he doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. The nonchalant look on his face makes you even angrier, and you don’t hesitate pressing the tip of the sword against his shoulder. “You won’t find answers by waving that around,” he states calmly.
Before you can react, the man kicks you out from under your feet, causing you to drop the sword as your hands instinctively go to catch yourself – that is, catch yourself the best cuffed hands can.
You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through your body. Groaning, you roll onto your side, the cold stones digging into your skin, surely leaving a bruise where you fell. The man swiftly rises to his feet, his expression unchanged.
“Come along, now,” he says as he yanks the chains, completely unbothered.
You struggle to your feet, the manacles limiting your movements. Glaring at the man, you reluctantly follow as he leads you through the labyrinthine corridors of the underground dungeon. The man, seemingly unfazed, leads you through the dark, winding corridors of the underground dungeon. The chill in the air makes you shiver, both from the cold and the anxiety that tightens your chest.
As you walk, you try to gather your thoughts. How did you end up in the hands of the Southern Kingdom? How did the man breach the castle walls and enter your bedroom? How long have you been gone? Where are you? Where is Simon? Johnny? The questions swirl in your mind, but the stoic silence of your captor offers no answers.
The dimly lit passageways seem endless, twisting and turning without rhyme or reason. Eventually, you arrive at a heavy, iron door guarded by two Southern Kingdom soldiers. They exchange a nod with your captor, who proceeds to unlock the door. It creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room.
The room is adorned with flickering torches, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. A wooden table sits in the center, surrounded by a few mismatched chairs. You notice there’s a guard standing watch in the corner of the room, and two other people sitting in chairs, most likely waiting for your arrival. The air is thick with tension as you’re pushed into one of the chairs.
“Watch it,” you growl, slightly folding into yourself in the chair.
The figure steps back, motioning to the other two people in the room. One of them is wearing a mask that conceals their features, leaving only their cold, calculating eyes visible. You try to read any emotion in their eyes, but they remain expressionless.
“Who are you, and why am I here?” you demand for the third time, your voice wavering between defiance and desperation. You look between the three people, anger bubbling up within you.
The man who brought you here remains silent for a moment, studying you with an unsettling intensity. Finally, he speaks, his words measured and devoid of any warmth. “You wouldn’t have gone with us willingly, so I am sorry you have to be here this way.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes.
The figure’s eyes narrow at your display of defiance. “Your insolence won't change your circumstances.”
You move to stand up from the chair, but you’re pushed back down by the guard lingering in the room. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t resist.”
You stare at him, the glare still plainly visible on your face. He seems satisfied enough with your cooperation.
“Now, you’re here because your kingdom has assets and resources we need. Your husband, the great King Ghost, won’t give up easily, but we have leverage now, don’t we?”
You should’ve known.
A chill runs down your spine. You clench your fists, frustration and fear fueling your determination.
“Tell me what you want,” you demand, your voice firm despite the tension in the room.
The figure leans forward, resting their hands on the table, their face just inches from yours. “Your cooperation, your majesty. Tell us what you know, and we won’t hurt you.”
Your blood runs cold at that. Hurt you? Now that caught your attention.
You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? You plan to use me as a bargaining chip to force Ghost’s hand?”
“Yes. You’re one of his only weaknesses,” says the man who hasn’t spoken until now. “Ever since you sent your reinforcements, our army has been experiencing some… setbacks. We were going to come to this as a last resort, but the time came to use you in our strategy.”
He’s rolling up his sleeves with care, pulling some intimidating tools out of the drawer of the table.
He notices you eyeing the tools warily. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t be using these unless you really won’t listen.”
“And, just a brief mention before we start the questioning, you should really do more thorough background checks on your staff. You were given over to us by one of your own. Within the palace, might I add.”
With a swift motion, the man wearing the mask pulls it off their head, revealing a face you didn’t expect. It's someone you recognize, someone from your own court—an advisor you thought was loyal, someone who had been with you especially over the past few weeks.
“Edmund?” you gasp, disbelief and betrayal coloring your voice. “How could you?”
Edmund avoids your gaze, his eyes fixed on the table. “It was never personal, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom made an offer, and I couldn’t refuse.”
You seethe with anger, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Greater good? Kidnapping me in the middle of the night? Betraying me? What greater good could possibly justify this?”
He shrugs. “Money.”
With that, Edmund slinks out of the room.
The word echoes through the room, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Money. The one thing that could corrupt even the seemingly loyal. Edmund’s betrayal stings deeper than any blade, and you struggle to comprehend how someone you trusted could sell you out.
“Cooperate, and you won’t have to endure unnecessary pain,” one of the men states coldly, motioning to the tools.
Your eyes narrow at the proposition. “And if I refuse?”
A hand slaps your cheek, the sharp sound echoing through the room. “Refusing won't make this any easier for you.”
Your cheek throbs from the slap, but you meet his gaze defiantly. You won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. You can’t.
The man with the tools takes a step forward, his gaze fixed on you like a predator closing in on its prey. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours.”
You glance at the guard, a mixture of anger and disappointment in your eyes.
“Now, let’s start with something simple. Kastron’s silver supply. Where is it located?” he demands, his patience wearing thin. “Start talking, little princess.”
. . .
You’re not sure how long it��s been since you were dragged into this interrogation room, but all you know is that your body positively aches. You were treated relentlessly, punched to your gut and slapped at the expense of one of your captor’s short tempers. Thankfully they haven’t used the tools on you, but you can’t help but be weary of them. Your body slumps in the chair, pain radiating from your abdomen. The cold, harsh reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. Sweat beads on your forehead, a mixture of fear and physical exertion.
The interrogators stand around you, unsatisfied with the information you've provided so far. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of burning torches.
“Last chance,” he sneers, the coldness in his eyes sending shivers down your spine.
You grit your teeth, your jaw aching from the force of their blows. The loyalty to your kingdom surges within you. You won't betray your people, no matter the cost.
“I won’t... betray... Kastron,” you manage to spit out, defiance in your eyes.
The interrogator scowls, and without warning, delivers another brutal blow to your stomach. The pain is unbearable, and you gasp for breath.
“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” the man with the tools taunts, a sadistic grin on his face.
As the interrogators prepare for another round of questioning, the heavy door to the room swings open. A new figure enters, their silhouette backlit by the torchlight. The men exchange glances, a hint of surprise in their eyes.
“Alright, that is enough for today,” a commanding voice echoes through the room.
The figure steps forward, revealing a man, dressed in military attire. His eyes are stern and hold no compassion.
“Release her,” he orders, her voice brooking no argument.
The interrogators, albeit reluctantly, step back. The guard unlocks your restraints, and you slump forward, breathing heavily.
The man turns to the interrogators, his expression stern. “That’s enough, you may go.”
The two men scowl but don’t argue. They exit the room, leaving you alone with the mysterious man.
He turns to you, his gaze assessing. “You’ve endured more than necessary. My apologies.”
“You’re not sorry. Go straight to hell,” you spit.
The man’s stern expression falters for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. “I understand your anger, but I’m here to explain to you what’s going on. I’m General Shepherd. I lead the Southern Kingdom’s military.”
You’re silent. You recognize the name from a few brief mentions around the castle whilst receiving intel about the war, but you’ve never seen him before.
“We’re not here to hurt you—”
You glare at him, still seething with anger and distrust. “Do you hear yourself? What the fuck are you talking about, when I’ve been kidnapped and tortured? Why should I hear anything you have to say?”
Shepherd grabs your jaw harshly, fingers squeezing your cheeks. You claw at his wrist gripping your face, but he doesn’t let go.
“If you would listen to what I’m telling you, then you wouldn’t be sitting in this room. Don’t wear my patience thin, your majesty.”
His words are sharp, and you can feel the intensity in his grip on your jaw. Shepherd releases you, allowing you to lean back into the chair. You shoot him a venomous look, but he seems unfazed.
“Your husband, King Ghost, has been a thorn in our side for far too long. Quite the nuisance. The war between our kingdoms has dragged on, costing our side quite a lot. We need a resolution, and we need it soon,” Shepherd explains, his gaze locking onto yours.
“So, what? You think kidnapping me and torturing me is going to make Ghost surrender?” you scoff, annoyance evident in your voice. “He won’t surrender, if that’s what you want. He’s going to fight back harder, and you’re going to wish you never had me here.”
“Still, it’s a means to an end. A desperate attempt to force his hand,” Shepherd replies, frustration in his voice. “We have leverage now, and we plan to use it to bring about a swift end to Kastron’s military. We’re not heartless, your majesty. We aim to minimize bloodshed.”
You can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Minimize bloodshed? By kidnapping me and using me as a bargaining tool? Very noble and humanitarian of you.”
Shepherd narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t respond to your sarcasm. “Your husband won’t let harm come to you. He'll do whatever it takes to secure your safety.”
“He’s not going to surrender,” you mutter under your breath. He’s going to do much, much worse than anyone could ever imagine.
“He will. This war has dragged on for too long. We need a resolution, and we need it now,” Shepherd emphasizes, his tone stern.
Your mind races, considering the weight of the situation. You hate Shepherd for this, subjecting you to a cruel game that you never wanted to be part of in the first place. It wasn’t even Kastron that started this war, it was the Southern Kingdom. The hypocrisy of the Southern Kingdom and unjust treatment of your own kingdom has driven you up the wall. You think about your people, your kingdom, and the lives at stake.
Your gaze pierces through Shepherd’s cold exterior.
Shepherd sighs, as if he anticipated your skepticism. “You don’t have to trust me. But you should consider the bigger picture. Your cooperation can save lives, including your own.”
A conflicted expression crosses your face. The idea of cooperating with your captors goes against every instinct, but the desire for an end to the war lingers in the back of your mind. You weigh your options, knowing that every decision carries significant consequences.
“What do you expect from me?” you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.
Shepherd studies you for a moment before responding, “Information. Insight into Kastron's military strategies, resources, weaknesses. Anything that can expedite the end of the war and give Kastron over to us.”
You laugh humorlessly. “See, that’s exactly what I don’t want.”
Shepherd’s gaze remains unwavering. “Your wants are not the priority here. The fate of your kingdom is on your shoulders. If you truly care about your people and your husband, you’ll consider the bigger picture.”
Your jaw clenches, frustration boiling within you. You know Shepherd is partially right, but the resentment toward the Southern Kingdom clouds your judgment. You take a deep breath, attempting to push aside your anger.
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t just use me and murder me when it’s convenient?” you challenge, searching for any sign of honesty in Shepherd’s eyes.
He leans in, his expression serious. “My word. Betraying the terms of our agreement would not serve the interests of either of our kingdoms.”
Agreement, you scoff inside your head. As if I had any choice in the first place.
You find his words hard to believe. The events leading up to this point have shattered your trust in anyone associated with the Southern Kingdom. However, you can’t deny the urgency of the situation.
You decide to not say anything. Shepherd nods, seemingly satisfied with your response. “All we ask is that you provide us with information. I’ll give you time to think this over.”
Shepherd motions for you to stand, and you do so with a glare. Your body protests, every movement sending pain coursing through you. He leads you out of the room, the guards following closely behind. The dimly lit corridors of the underground dungeon stretch ahead, and you realize that you’re not being taken to the same cell you were initially in.
Eventually, you arrive at a somewhat more comfortable room. It's still a cell, cold iron bars keeping you prisoner, but there's a cot and a small table.
Shepherd removes the manacles from your wrists, allowing you to rub your raw skin.
“I’m going to leave these off. Don’t get smart.”
The heavy door clanks shut behind you, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. A guard stands watch outside your cell, giving you no privacy.
The reality of your situation settles in, and you can't help but feel powerlessness. The fate of Kastron rests, in part, on your shoulders. You sit on the cot, your mind racing with questions and uncertainties.
As you ponder the road ahead of you, a small opening in the door slides open, and a guard hands you a meager meal. The gesture is cold, impersonal, but you accept it nonetheless. The guard retreats, leaving you alone again.
The hours pass slowly in the dimly lit cell. You wrestle with conflicting emotions—anger, fear, determination. The echoes of Shepherd’s words linger in your mind, and you can’t help but have doubts in your mind. Would Simon come rescue you? Or would you have to escape on your own? You don’t even know where you are being kept. Your thoughts flicker to Kastron, what Johnny must be doing right now. Surely they’re looking for you.
As the torches flicker and the dungeon remains shrouded in darkness, you brace yourself for the challenges that will come with tomorrow. Shepherd needs your cooperation, and you’re not going to give it to him, no matter the cost. The journey ahead is uncertain, but one thing is clear—you will not surrender easily, and the fight for Kastron is far from over.
. . .
The next two days, you’re dragged back to the same room for interrogation. Again, you refuse to speak, each blow raining down harder on you. Your nose was bloodied, face battered and red, and ribs surely bruised from the blows. You’ve been in a perpetual state of fight or flight, adrenaline and pain racking your body in devastating amounts. You were plain exhausted, body reaching its limit.
But you didn’t really care. You wanted to keep Kastron and Simon safe, so you stayed silent. Save for your screams of pain.
On the third night, you found yourself alone in the dungeons. It was unusual, as there was usually a guard in place to make sure you didn’t do anything out of line.
You move to the iron bars, trying your best to peek both ways before pulling out a stolen fork from one of your meals. The metal of the fork feels strangely empowering in your hands as you work on the lock. The dim light in the dungeon barely illuminates your surroundings, but you're determined to seize any opportunity for escape. The occasional distant sound of footsteps echoes through the corridor, reminding you of the ever-present threat of getting caught.
As you manipulate the lock with the makeshift tool, you can’t shake off the nagging feeling that this might be a setup. Perhaps Shepherd or someone else in the Southern Kingdom’s monarchy is testing your resolve, observing whether you’d take advantage of a momentary lapse in surveillance. You can’t bring yourself to care that much.
The lock finally clicks, and the cell door creaks open. You hesitate for a moment, listening intently for any signs of approaching footsteps. The dungeon remains eerily quiet. Slipping the fork into your clothing, you step out cautiously, avoiding the patches of cold, damp floor. Your battered body protests with every movement, but the urgency of your situation fuels your determination.
You move silently, keenly aware that any noise could betray your escape. The cool air sends shivers down your spine as you head towards the direction you’re taken in for interrogation. It’s a risky venture, and most likely a stupid venture, but you don’t want to be holed up in this godforsaken hell hole for much longer.
After what feels like an eternity, you reach a heavy, iron door. It's slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of dim light from the other side. Your heart pounds in your chest as you inch it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward. The ascent is slow and agonizing, each step a reminder of the physical toll the past days of torture have taken on your body. You wince with each step, taking deep, steadying breaths. As you approach the top, you hear hushed voices and the occasional clank of armor.
Peeking through the crack in the door, you spot a guard stationed at the top of the stairs, seemingly engrossed in conversation with another. Their attention is diverted, providing you with a small window of opportunity.
Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you push the door open just enough to slip through without making a sound. The corridor beyond is dimly lit, and you stick to the shadows, hugging the cold stone wall. Pressing yourself against the wall, you listen carefully to the conversations around you, trying to piece together an escape route. Your gaze falls upon an entryway that has the last hints of the sunset pouring through the crevices.
You reach the entryway, and a sense of trepidation washes over you. Before you could push open the door and make a run for it, a hand grabs your upper arm. Without hesitation, you clench your fork in your hand and stab the perpetrator with the prongs.
The guard lets out a pained scream as your makeshift weapon finds its mark. They release their grip on your arm, stumbling back in pain.
“You bitch!” They cry, and a few more guards appear on the scene after hearing their scream.
Adrenaline courses through your veins as you realize that your window of escape is rapidly closing. Without waiting any further, you burst through the entryway, darting into the fading light of the setting sun.
You bolt as fast as you can across the cobblestones, the sounds of yelling guards and footsteps hot on your tail. Every step makes it feel as though fire is shooting up your body, but you push through. Just as you think you’re about to make a clean getaway into the forest outside the bunker, you’re side tackled to the ground.
The impact is brutal, and pain shoots through your battered body as you collide with the hard ground. The guards quickly swarm around you, their faces contorted with anger. One of them wrestles the stolen fork from your hand, while the others pin you down, restraining your limbs.
“Bloody rebel,” one of the guards snarls, spittle flying as they speak.
“Get the fuck– off of me!” you scream, trying to swipe and hit at anyone in your reach.
Your attempt at escape only intensifies their aggression. The guard you wounded with the fork clutches their side, a seething expression of pain etched across their face.
The leader of the guards, a stern-faced man with a scar running across his cheek, steps forward. “Thought you could just waltz out of here, did ya?”
He delivers a swift kick to your ribs, making you howl in pain. The guards show no mercy as they haul you to your feet. You go deadweight in their grasp, making it harder for them to drag you back to your cell. When they manage to pull you halfway back to your cell, you start kicking and screaming again, not wanting to make this easy for them.
“Fuck all of you, let go of me!” you scream, trying to yank your wrists from their grasp.
“Shut the fuck up,” a guard yells at you, digging their fingernails into your wrist.
As you're thrown back into your dark, dank cell, the manacles are back on, alongside chains on each ankle. The heavy door clangs shut behind you, and the bitter taste of defeat settles in your mouth. Two guards now stand outside your cell, watching you intently.
A few minutes go by, and General Shepherd strides into the hallway. His eyes, devoid of warmth, fixate on your battered form.
“Leave us,” his voice commands, and the guards retreat from the dungeon.
He stands just outside the iron bars, his gaze cold and calculating.
“You’re a persistent one,” he remarks, his tone devoid of empathy.
Despite your battered state, you summon what strength remains within you and glare defiantly at Shepherd.
You glare at him, defiance burning despite the exhaustion. “Fuck off.”
He doesn’t say anything, which enrages you.
“I said, fuck. Off. Leave me alone!” you yell. Shepherd's stoic expression doesn’t waver. Instead, he observes you with an unsettling calmness that sends shivers down your spine. The silence stretches, and you can feel the weight of his gaze.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured. “You have spirit, I'll give you that. But it's time to realize the futility of your resistance. It’s been nearly four days. More than half a week. I don’t have the time or patience to keep you around.”
“I’ll never bow to the likes of you,” you retort.
Shepherd sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. Your defiance only prolongs the suffering. Kastron can have peace, Ghost won’t have to face such difficult decisions. All we need is your cooperation.”
“I’d rather die,” you spit out, every word laced with venom. “And I don’t think Ghost would appreciate it if I turned up dead. You think he’ll surrender just because you beat me to a pulp? Think again. He’s coming to get me any day now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll show you mercy or pull back the troops. You’ll see. And you’ll be sorry you even looked at Kastron’s borders.”
His gaze doesn’t falter. “Perhaps. But, death is a choice, too. And it’s not just your life at stake, is it? There’s a kingdom relying on your decisions.”
You clench your fists, the chains rattling with your restrained anger. “I won't betray my people for your false promises.”
Shepherd leans against the cold stone wall, crossing his arms. “Think about it. Reflect on where you are right now. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by then.”
Without waiting for your response, he turns and leaves the dungeon, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. Alone in the cold darkness, you curl up on the cot as best you can given the heavy chains.
. . .
Shepherd keeps his promise, returning in the morning.
“Well?” he prompts, a hint of impatience in his tone.
You meet his gaze with defiance. “Go. To. Hell.”
His expression remains unreadable. “Very well. You’ve made your choice.”
You’re dragged back to the interrogation room, only this time you’re silent.
You’re met with the tools set right in front of your chair, and a scary looking person you’ve never seen before.
As you’re restrained to a chair, your eyes glaze over.
For once in your life, you’re quiet. No snarky comments, no sharp words. You’re silent.
Because you’re truly afraid.
. . .
The metallic scent of blood fills the air. You don’t think you’ve ever lost as much blood in your life.
The room is spinning, and your body feels detached from your consciousness. The pain, once sharp and immediate, has dulled into a throbbing ache that permeates every fiber of your being. The interrogator’s methods have taken a drastic toll, and you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness.
You think your wrist is sprained, if not broken. You glance down at it, the swollen and bruised flesh causing your stomach to churn. You definitely look worse for wear right now.
Eventually, they tire of their methods, leaving you slumped in the chair, bloodied and broken. The tools they used on you lie abandoned on a nearby table. Every movement, no matter how slight, sends waves of pain through your form.
As the interrogator steps away, their job seemingly done, a faint groan pushes past your split upper lip. The throbbing in your head matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, each pulse amplifying the pain. Your vision swims, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.
Shepherd approaches, crouching to meet your gaze.
“I had hoped you would see reason," he says, almost conversationally. “The pain will continue until you cooperate.”
You manage a hoarse chuckle, the sound more bitter than amused. “Sorry I can’t be of use to you.”
He straightens, his gaze unwavering. “I have all the time in the world. You however… I’m not so sure. I suggest you reconsider. Your defiance harms not only you but those you claim to protect.”
With that, Shepherd turns and exits the room, motioning the guards to take you back to your cell.
The guards, their expressions cold and indifferent, unshackle you from the blood-stained chair. Your body protests as you’re hoisted up, pain shooting through every limb. They guide you out of the interrogation room, each step a painful shuffle. Your vision is blurring, and you lose your footing a few times. As they lead you back to your cell, you catch glimpses of other new prisoners, faces worn and defeated. The stench of dampness and decay fills your nostrils, and you throw up on the floor in front of you. You think some of it has traces of blood.
The guards show no reaction to your vomit, their faces remaining stoic and indifferent. You stumble forward, the world spinning around you, and your steps become increasingly unsteady.
The door to your cell creaks open, and you’re unceremoniously thrown inside. The manacles and chains are back on, securing you in the darkness. The guards, their duty done, exit without a word, leaving you alone with your pain.
You lie on the floor for who knows how long, focusing on your breathing and attempting to not fall asleep in the fear that you won’t wake up for a long time due to the severity of your injuries.
In, and out.
In, and out.
In, and out.
A few hours pass, and you manage to calm your swirling vision and headache. With a grunt, you pull yourself up to your cot with your good hand, dropping onto the solid mattress with a grunt.
You’re not sure how much longer you could go on like this. It was all too much.
As you lay there in the dimness of your cell, a distant noise catches your attention. Footsteps, echoing through the dungeon. At first, you dismiss it as another patrol, but the rhythm and urgency in the steps hinted at something different. A figure emerges in front of your bars, and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the return of the guards or another round of interrogation.
To your surprise, a familiar voice cut through the silence.
“Dove?”
- - - - -
(masterlist)
#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon “ghost” riley x reader#simon “ghost” riley x you#hyperactivelyme
692 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi I love EMTTS. Regarding the post about Steve getting harassed by “fans” I don’t see anyone actually confronting him in public. because people on the internet only have that much confidence because they’re anonymous . which in this case is great because a physical confrontation from a stranger is terrifying, let alone a stranger who think they know you and your husband . poor Stevie, poor Eddie <3
Thank you!!! And I agree!
I also don’t see someone actually confronting Steve in person either and when I tried to write it, it just never felt like a natural progress in the story. I also agree that people are more confident on the internet because of the anonymity of it. People are a lot bolder behind a keyboard than in person.
Also, Steve doesn’t drive. If he’s out in public, he’s typically with someone or he’s meeting someone. But I do think that the paranoia would sit in the back of his mind when he is out.
Steve often got coffee with Robin on Wednesday before the start of her late class and then he stopped. The last time they sat in the little coffee shop on the campus she teaches at, all he could think about was someone trying to hurt him and hurting her instead. Every time the bell over the door rang, it was a guy with a gun and a hatred for Steve so deep that they’d kill his best friend, and he couldn’t do it anymore.
He couldn’t sit in a coffee shop and pretend like he wasn’t scared to death, so he stopped going. He started texting her that he wasn’t feeling well or that he had a migraine, and he started just staying home.
The day that Steve leaves his lunch, his house keys, and half of his students’ graded exams on the kitchen table, he remembers the news story about Lady Gaga’s dogs being kidnapped. He remembers reading the story with mild interest, and then he can’t take Ozzy on a run that night.
He can’t even get out the door and he’s so distressed about it that Ozzy has to comfort him.
He can’t sleep. Every noise sounds like a person that hates him.
“Hello, Earth to Steve,” Eddie says, waving a hand in his direction. Steve startles and blinks at him as Eddie says, “Ground Control to Steve Harrington. Do you copy?”
“I copy,” Steve says, stabbing at his breakfast. His pancakes are soggy. “What?”
“You’ve been checked out for like, ten minutes, babe. I was about to break out the Springsteen,” Eddie grins at him. It’s a joke, and Steve feels like he should apologize but Eddie’s already moved on, “What’s got your brainwaves all tied up, huh?”
“Just thinking.”
“A dangerous thing,” Eddie jokes, wiggling his eyebrows. “Thinking about me?”
Eddie’s trying to get a smile out of him so Steve gives him one, but it’s small and it’s fleeting. He doesn’t feel like smiling when he stabs at his pancakes again and says to the plate, “I’m, uh. I think. I’m thinkin’ of retiring.”
Eddie drops his fork, “No shit, really?”
Steve meets Eddie’s eyes as best he can and he gives a smile that feels like there’s weight behind it, and then he looks away. He clears his throat.
He doesn’t say that he can barely speak to his students anymore. He doesn’t say anything about how he sees their young faces and he feels guilty. He feels shame and afraid because he never said anything about that first letter.
He looks at their faces and he thinks about all the good they can do, and then he thinks about the type of people that send hate in the mail, and what happens when that isn’t enough. He’s scared because every time he walks to the principal’s office to say something, he can’t find the words so he has to – “I think it’s time, Ed. To just – to get out of there.”
“Babe, you can go on tour with me,” Eddie says, eyes all bright with possibilities. Steve likes the look on him, and he nods alone even if he stops hearing the words. He only tunes back in when there is a hand on his cheek and Eddie looks concerned instead of happy, “Steve, you’re crying.”
“It’s just a lot,” Steve says.
Eddie strokes the side of his face and gives him a more subdued smile, “Yeah, it is. I think you should think more about it, babe. See if it’s something you actually wanna do, you know. That sound like a plan?”
Steve nods and his voice is a little tight when he says, “Yeah.”
#it’s sad o’clock in the morning today#I don’t think this even remotely answers the prompt but here we have it#I think that if Steve is getting threatened at his job than he’d question if it’s safe for him to even be there#eddie munson tiktok saga#steve harrington#eddie munson
501 notes
·
View notes
Note
The way Hima just embraces the Wife Russia allegations in Beautiful World by putting him in a cute pink bunny apron that truly changed my brainwaves into becoming a rich breadwinner and marrying him so he doesn’t ever see a bill for the rest of his life is mind boggling
APH Russia is more the type to force Lithuania into doing all the cooking (he cooks too but rarely and the food is usually laced with poison) but BW Russia? He embraces his inner housewife like go baby go cook all the piroshki you want and go ham with the new vacuum you told me to buy (the food is still laced with poison but that’s okay)
Anyways fave animated Hetalia moment? (Mine is the shooting star after Germany wished that Italy is more responsible and all the AmeRus banter, especially the “Peristroika” one if I’m correct)
GUHHH TRUE id make it so that he forgets how to file taxes and change a car tire. honestly he's wife in all renditions really look at this . hello girl.
i can't pick a fave moment 🤦♂️ they're really all too silly... you're so based for perestroika though it's up in my top too. too good really. rusame 5 minutes without slapping eachother!?
26 notes
·
View notes
Note
okok my brain not braining rn but.... smth smth stan starting to figures tbings out when SHERMIE calls asking ford to watch the kiddos like
stan: hello? if this is the irs you can talk to me in person!
shermie: ford blah blah blah kids blah summer blah blah
stan: (why tf is my brother calling this ford guy????? and familiar with him?????) uhhhhh...
OH HEY i hadn't even read this ask when I wrote my response to that other one so I guess we're just on the same brainwave with "Shermie is the one to ask Stan to take care of the kids"
Stan is so confused because like. Shermie is his brother. He knows Shermie is his older brother. Everytime someone mentions Stan's brother they're obviously talking abut Shermie. Right? So why is Shermie calling up Stanford (how does Shermie know Stanford exists? So why does his brother Shermie somehow know who Stanford is? Does he know Stanley stole this random dude's identity? Except, no, Shermie thinks Stanford is his brother, which is super weird. And Stan is so absolutely baffled about this whole thing that he finds himself agreeing to Shermie's request before he can think through "taking care of a couple of kids for an entire summer"
#i should make an ask tag#stan (singular) au#ykw im just gonna clarify this one in writing now#bc im confusing myself#the family thinks stanley is dead or disappeared entirely#bc nobody has heard from him in smth like 40 years#they think ford has gone a little kooky in his shack in the woods#because he hasn't talked to any of them in 30 years#and for a hot minute any time any of them opened a call with 'hey stanford' he would just yell something about 'them' being after them and#then hang up abruptly#(this is not helped by the fact that Stanford had 'them' (demons) after him)#(and stanley-pretending-to-be-stanford had 'them' (the cops+random gangs he antagonized as stanley) after him)#so there's a bit of a crossover in actually-stanford going a bit insane and ghosting everybody#and stanley-as-stanford trying to cut out everyone from That Stanford Guy's life and ignoring anyone who seems to know who he (stanford) is#so the family eventually gave up tryign to contact stanford for like 20ish years#then obv the parents died#so its just shermie after like 20 years like 'okay fuck this im sending my grandkids to drag my idiot brother out of his cave'#surprise. wrong brother!#i'm retroactively making this scenario the canon-to-the-au one#stan doesn't have the twins literally just show up on his doorstep at the start of the summer lmao
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 60/70 | 31/31
Rather than acknowledge the TOOTH-HEEL TURN, you decide to RUN TO THE HOTEL.
Easier said than done. It seemed effortless back when you were being guided by some mysterious force calling you to the grave, but now there's the matter of several giant skeletons, nightmare glitch-ghosts, and abandoned-construction-equipment-turned-dragons. Also, the pitch blackness. Also, the crowd of evil spike monsters currently surrounding you.
Walter has a brainwave, and activates PRINCE TONY, who immediately detonates and boshfpngrf rirelguvat va n fznyy enqvhf jvgu n ynlre bs guva fzbxr. Vg'f abg rknpgyl cresrpg pbire, ohg gur 'gvgrf naq 'zvgrf ner oevrsyl hanoyr gb znxr frafr bs gurve fheebhaqvatf, juvpu tvirf lbh whfg rabhtu gvzr gb qnfu bhg bs gurve zvqfg naq jvguqenj Gbal jvgu uvf chyypbeq.
Lbh eha cnfg n srj ohtf juvyr Gbal'f rssrpg fgvyy yvatref, ohg vg pyrnef hc pretty quickly, leaving you in plain sight of all manner of spookums.
Luckily, Adea still has that sword.
Less luckily, the giant skeletons have ranged attacks.
She takes 3% Soul Integrity from a lobbed capsule, and there's more incoming- both of you jump down a hole to avoid an onslaught of...
...uh-oh. The cavern behind you is rocked by a massive explosion from a Super Rare capsule lobbed by a gachadokuro, cutting off your escape. You each take another 10% Soul Integrity from rubble collapsing on you during your descent, despite your wings otherwise negating fall damage. You've lost your pursuers, but also...
...The link back to the ancient pyramid has been destroyed. Unless someone opens a huge hole in the ceiling somehow, the subterranean graveyard has been completely sealed off, with the two of you inside it.
Battered, you make it to the Solem Deep Hotel, which is still just as abandoned as Walter left it. Inside, you're able to catch your breath- and finish using the WIFI ACCESS POINT to decrypt the remaining files.
The LANCE GLANCE RECRUITER: PI ROTATION IS OUT ROUTINE ACCELERATION REGULATION SCRIPT is a piece of code written by PAUL BLART MALL COP, which appears to manage a set of microcontrollers belonging to some sort of vehicle- an earthmover, judging by the variable names. It appears to have an odd conditional statement that causes a motor to accelerate to maximum and ignore deceleration signals during a specific window of time on Floppuary 10, 2105. At all other times, the code appears to behave normally. You're not sure why you'd ever want an earthmover to do that, much less at such a specific time.
TORTOISE PROVED WARP FORK REGRESSED is just WORKSITE PROGRESS REPORT FOR DAVE.txt Not even for Dave E. Thinrar- just some random supervisor named Dave who was out that day. Dated 2094, it informs Dave that there's once again been negative progress on construction due to a cave-in. It bemoans DEADLOCK DETECTION's refusal to update her surveying equipment, as it's clearly faulty and keeps marking unsafe areas safe (and, the unnamed writer notes, probably vice-versa.) If he didn't know better, he'd swear she doesn't want this project to get finished on time. Seems like the incompetence of upper management is constant no matter who recently took over.
IRATE HAITI WISHES MELLOW??? is a file with no file extension, created directly by a piped echo statement, timestamped a couple weeks ago. It's simply titled "WHAT IS THIS? WHERE AM I? HELLO?".
Error: Hello? Can anyone hear me? I can't see! I don't know where I am! Please! Is this the hospital? Am I okay? I can't feel my legs! I can't feel... any of me! Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Please! It's so dark! I don't understand what's happening! Error: Wait, I didn't say that! I didn't say Error: -no, that time I did, I said Error: but I didn't mean to Error: Someone- not recognized. Please retry- aaaaaa! I didn't say that! Hello? H Error: VGhhdCB3YXNuJ3QgbXkgbW91dGghIEkgc3dlYXIgdGhhdCB3YXNuJ3QgbXkgbW91dGghIEkgZG9uJ3Qga25vdyB3aG9zZSBtb3V0aCB0aGF0IHdhcyEgSGVsbG8/IFNvbWVvbmUsIHBsZWFzZSEgRXJyb3I6IEV2ZXJ5dGhpbmcgaXMgd3JvbmchIEkgY2FuJ3QgbW92ZSEgRXJyb3I6IEl0J3MgYnJva2VuISBBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFB
That's, um. Those were not... none of that was especially enlightening.
You've got to get the hell out of here. A thorough search of the hotel's rooms reveals your daughter isn't here, and there's nothing else but nightmares in this cave. But the exit is blocked, which just leaves...
Continued | 50/57 | 30/30
#lost in hearts#''oh you know what would be funny is if i actually rolled for the gachadokuro attacks''#i thought‚ not considering the possible consequences
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
✨WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY✨
thanks to @jrooc for the game this week and for tagging me + @creepkinginc @energievie @lingy910y @suzy-queued 💖
Hello beautiful kittens! 🐈⬛ Today’s tag game is about our wonderful fandom 😍
How did you get into the fandom?
after falling deep into the shameless hellspiral i took to tumblr (as is my usual) to find gifs and memes and everything was so good and everyone was so wonderful i couldnt help but wedge my way into the community lmao
How long have you been here?
i started lurking september of 2022 and my first shameless post was in october of 2022 🥰
What’s the first fandom channel you found? (Youtube, Reddit, Tumblr, Insta, Twitter, FB, other?)
yeah tumblr i guess! my first instinct is always to search tumblr tags for a new thing i like 😌
what’s your favourite now?
tumblr and discord equally, theyre both non-negotiable
Which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom?
@michellemisfit my beloved <3 ran into her in the @shamelesscreatorsnetwork discord (the first discord link i found) and we started talking and never shutted the fuck up ever again even until today lmao 🥰
Which tumblerino’s did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and want to get to know?
okay so since the first thing i seek out on a new interest is GIFS (and also shameless + text posts that shit absolutely sends me), the first people i followed and was so drawn to their immaculate vibes and gorgeous work were @gardenerian @heymacy and @sickness-health-all-that-shit biting you biting you biting you!!! 💖💖💖
First Gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember)
so michelle had me read redheaded step-children and it was so gorgeous and wonderful i was completely knocked on my ass by that one <3
and then i got the itch to read an AU and started with intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar and unless you're new here you are surely aware of how much i love that one 😂
First Fan art that blew your mind?
i feel awful because i really cannot remember (crine) but pretty sure it was probably some gorgeous intricate @steorie painting
Fanfic trope that you were sure wasn’t for you but now you low key (or high key) love?
SPORTS AU - and now ive fully fucking lost my mind (@heymacy @too-schoolforcool know how deep it runs and i cannot even talk about it or i will throw up lmao)
What surprised you most about this fandom?
since my last significant foray into a fandom community was a pretty big fandom, there were looots of people who were just out for fucking blood. this community here on tumblr for shameless is a goddamn pillowfort, the vast majority of people are so sweet and supportive and happy to mind their own business it's such a fuckin breath of fresh air.
Moment in the show (or YT vids if you’re one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with Gallavich?
i dont know if i can pinpoint just one moment? but probably one of the big moments early on since thats what would have kept me ravenous to keep consuming more lol
Ian or Mickey?
the fuck??? AAAAHHHHHHHHH uuhhhhh uuhmmmm omg. fuck. uh... okay...just... Mickey? no... Ian? uuhhhhmmm what was the question?
Which Gallagher or Milkovich are you?
im gonna go with Debbie here <3
and now to tag some more folks in (in addition to everyone tagged above!!) if you want to play! if not, consider this me sending you cleansing brainwaves 🧠
@darlingian @heymrspatel @crossmydna @mybrainismelted @mmmichyyy @wehangout @metalheadmickey @gallawitchxx @thepupperino @blue-disco-lights @the-rat-wins @loftec @mickeysgaymom @rereadanon @callivich @lee-ow @palepinkgoat @gallapiech @transmickey @iansw0rld @captainjowl @howlinchickhowl @vintagelacerosette @sam-loves-seb @burninface @spookygingerr @mikhailoisbaby @themarchg1rl @whatwouldmickeydo @sleepyheadgallavich @sleepyfacetoughguy @samantitheos
💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
39 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi Hana! I think as a fellow Lilia liker I wanna tell you one of my headcanons :3
So as we know from Lilia's ceremonial robe vignette, he "shrieks" (as Cater put it) to which Lilia says "Screaming like that is my specialty." because he likes metal, and likely knows how to do multiple types of metal vocal fry growls and screams and the like.
In my little brainwaves, I hc that he's been doing that for longer than metal music has been around, and his "shrieks" are repurposed battle cries from war, intended to frighten the enemy, and are indeed his specialty ad he said!
(I have no idea if any of this makes sense bc I'm still eepy tired, but I hope you see my vision asdgdskjgkg)
Hello Darcy 🌷🌺💚
YESS!! I love this!! Have you seen his M3 magic Darcy? He literally goes “SHAAAA” in that card. Ahhhh I love it!! Absjsjshs okay okay trying not to go into fangirl mode right now ahhhhhh 🤣🥰
Okay okay okay, you know what I love about this idea? The implication that what if he influenced it? What if he was the reason for there being screamo in music?
I know many musicians take inspirations from history or events they lived through, so what if he was the reason for it to happen? I can think of two ways this could be.
He’s in history books right? What if it was written that the General of the Fae would give these war cries that echoed and made his enemies tremble? Even better? Oral history where people would pass down events as they traveled and his battle cry was one such tale? 👀
He’s really well known after all! The humans recognize him right away, so I can see it happening. Ohhhh what if during music class it’s mentioned? And Lilia just smirks and nod his head, “Yup, that was me! And I still got it.” Of course, no one would believe him initially…until they find out he’s 700 years old 😆
Or what if? Lilia during one of his travels just took an instrument and started doing his vocal singing during a festival or something?? And that just?? Became a genre in time that he influenced??
I very much think it’s his specialty. 😂😂 I believe Silver in the 4 Koma comics basically implied that one of the lullabies was Lilia’s “singing” in that vocal way 🤣🤣
Thank you for sharing your headcanon Darcy, it’s so much fun to think about 🙌👏 and I hope you have a good sleep 🌺🌷💚🫂
33 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! This is one of my favorite scenes from 2006, I feel like it really illustrates how unique Jaime and Khaji-Da’s whole situation is… I don’t even really know what I’m asking, I just love this and none of my family/friends quite get it
NO I GET IT. I AM CONNECTING BRAINWAVES.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something Worth Fighting For-17
Summary: You’ve just begun to settle into life as an Avenger when a mission gone awry divides the team in half, and a familiar face shows up just in time to make you second guess your every choice. Third installment of the Worth Fighting For Series.
Words: 1292
Author’s Note: Hello. Hi. Yes, it’s me. It has been…. 3 years. Three. Years. Since I wrote this story. Yes, I know. You might be thinking, “Kris! We thought this story was over. We thought you had abandoned us!” The truth is, life got in the way. Covid happened. A new job. Another new job. Moving. You know, life. But I never ever forgot about this story or about you guys. This is my gift to all of you, for my 5k and some odd followers. For those of you who were here when this story began, for those of you discovering it for the first time.
And, yes. Because I know someone will surely ask, the answer is yes. There will be another installment in this series.
Now, without further ado. The final part of “Something Worth Fighting For.”
“Are you ready?”
The steady thrum of the monitors filled the open, empty space of the laboratory. Shuri dragged her hand across the front of the holographic projections, her focus sharp as she took in the details of each graph as it appeared before her. She was double, triple, quadruple checking every heartbeat, every brainwave, checking his blood pressure, glucose levels, pH balance— every minutiae of what made a person a person, Shuri’s eyes darted over each bit of data with precise detail, looking for any imperfections that would halt the process about to unfold it the laboratory.
T’challa rested his hand on your upper back, leaning close when you did not respond to his inquiry. Your focus was entirely on the cryogenic chamber in front of you. You reached out, your hand trembling as your fingertips touched the thick, frozen glass. “Can he hear us yet?”
“Not yet,” Shuri said, swiping the holographic screen away. She turned towards you and T’challa, plucking her tablet off the table next to the chamber. “Vitals are good. Everything’s reading normal.”
You drop your hand from the glass, looking at the tablet in her hands. “And you’re sure it worked?”
Shuri’s eyes flicker between you and T’challa. “It was difficult,” she said. “It isn’t as simple as hitting a delete button. I had to run an algorithm to flush the influence of the trigger words while retaining the core context and content of the original memories, and keeping the things that make him… him.”
“But did it work?”
Shuri scoffed, as though offended you felt the need to ask. Months of your life was spent in this very lab, the only thing separating you and her being the chamber that housed Bucky. You knew her well, and trusted that if she said he was ready, she meant it.
That didn’t stop the anxiety that had made itself a home in your gut for the past six months.
“Believe me,” she said, tapping at her table. “No one will be more disappointed than I if it doesn’t work.”
You flash her a half-hearted smile. “Somehow I sincerely doubt that,” you said. She smiled back at you, moving towards the consol that would slowly- as not to send his body into shock- wake Bucky from his six month slumber. “Do you think- Should we have woken him up sooner? When we found out-“
“You did what you thought was right,” T’challa said, nodding at Shuri. She pressed buttons on the consol, and the chamber began emitting a low hum. “What’s done is done. You cannot change it now.”
You nod, stepping away from the chamber. The ice under the glass was clearing away, the blurry image of Bucky beneath it slowly coming into focus. Your stomach churned as the anxiety started to crawl higher in your body, worming its way up your chest and creeping into your throat. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and without a moment to spare, you darted through the door into the laboratory bathroom. The door slid closed behind you automatically as you gripped the edges of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. The anxiety did not go with it, instead clinging to you with newborn ferocity.
Even once the vomiting had passed, you remained in the toilet, eyes pinched shut, trying to get a grip on yourself before you exited.
You heard movement beyond the closed door, then speaking. Bucky’s voice was low and course from disuse, but distinct. Hearing him speak, you became ill again, and then everything was quiet and still.
You wiped off your mouth, rinsing it with water from the sink. You flushed the toilet, and paused for just a moment as your wedding ring glinted in the fluorescent light.
We can still have a life when I wake up.
You steel yourself, and pass through the door.
He can’t remember if he dreamed or not. He doesn’t think so- he never dreamed before, when it was Hydra on the other side of the glass. At least, if he did, he never remembered. When his eyes flutter open, awake for the first time in- however long it’s been- he almost panics, the memory of waking up a clean slate in a dirty room clear in his mind. But this room is white and open and smells like chemical cleaner, nothing like the places he used to wake up. The fear subsides, quickly, and he’s still just Bucky. For now.
It’s disorienting, waking up and trying to remember where you are, how you got there, who you are. But it comes back slowly, like trudging out of deep water. His body comes back like his memory, the feeling slowly creeping through his fingers and hands, his feet, legs, and finally, he raises his hands and grips the edge of the chamber to pull himself out.
Shuri is right next to him, looking between him and her tablet. T’challa is on the other side, offering him a hand. He takes it, his feet still unsure. “Hey there, doc.”
Shuri offers him a smile. “Welcome back, Barnes. Try not to move too quickly just yet.”
Bucky nods, still holding onto T’challa’s hand and the edge of the chamber. The world seems to tilt and slide, and his eyes squeeze closed to ward the dizziness away. He lets go of T’challa’s hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.
A violent, muffled retching sound echoes from another room. Bucky furrowed his brows, trying to pinpoint the sound, but everything was still fuzzy. Something heavy is hanging around his throat, and he grabs at it, squinting against the too-bright light of the laboratory to get a better look.
A pair of dog tags hang on a long chain, jingling against a heavy ring of metal.
His wedding ring.
“Y/N,” he mumbles, voice cracking from disuse. “Where’s Y/N?”
Shuri and T’challa exchanged glances, their lips pressed into fine lines. A mechanical whir sounded through the open air as the bathroom door slid open.
And there you were. Standing in the doorway, only steps away, a halo of fluorescent light behind you. The haze of waking and heaviness in his body seemed all the lighter for seeing you. You were as beautiful as the day he went under, as though not a moment had gone by. He could almost believe that he’d laid down and barely closed his eyes at all before waking again.
And yet, all the same, he became instantly aware that time had passed; more than weeks, less than a year. He knew this because of the swell in your stomach, your hand resting gently over your belly button.
The space between you was a long pause. Bucky’s lips parted, struck with dumbfoundedness, an utterly perplexed expression on his face. You stood, silently, heart hammering against your rib cage as you waited for him to say something, anything at all.
“You’re pregnant?”
You nod, holding your breath.
His first few steps are slow and heavy. Like a newborn foal, his legs shake under him, and then his strides are long and quick and with purpose, and when he throws his arm around you and buries his nose in the crook of your neck, you breathe again. His whole body shakes and he squeezes you tightly, his embrace swallowing you.
He’s crying when you put your hands on the sides of his face, prying him away just enough to find his lips with yours. His mouth is dry and his beard ragged, but he tastes sweet and warm and his kiss takes the breath from your lungs. You had been waiting for this moment for six months.
And now that you finally had him, you were never letting go.
#bucky x you#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barns fanfiction#bucky barns x y/n#winter soldier#sebastian stan#marvel#worth fighting for
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
HELP HELLO I JUST GOT A BRAINWAVE ABOUT CHILD'S INK, FUCK
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, this is your ticket to infodump about isat/fe aus.
whehe. wheh. wawawawa. (i start vibrating)
i dont know how much i've posted abt my thoughts vs how much i just monologued to various people on discord (hello and thank you to pix, alice, and lozy (i think i also monologued to riu once? hi riu)) but you can find all (most?) of the stuff tagged under "isat emblem" on my art blog
ANYWAY. SO. I'M NOW TALKING ABOUT THE UHH. fourth. isat/fe crossover i have, which is the "what if isat ran on FE lore" one, instead of any roleswap or isekai shenanigans.
i'm looking you straight in the eye. look at me. listen to me. the forgotten island is Valla. It's literally just Valla.
FULL GAME SPOILERSSSS riu don't look at this.
ok. listen
you cannot say its name. if you say its name, you fucking die
people from valla cannot share that they are from valla, making them simply foreigners from "somewhere else"
the disappearance of valla seems to be recent, yet nobody besides people from it have any memories of it
it still physically exists, but is generally impossible to access
associated with water-based enemies that attack anybody yet also represent the regrets of its people
IT'S JUST VALLA, YALL
THE VALLA ZOMBIES ARE IF SADNESSES WERE ACTUALLY DEAD PEOPLE.
so. you may have already seen my Manakete Siffrin, but it is needless to say, i took a FUCKTON of cues from corrin for this. this entire AU is generally very fates adjacent. with some engage in it, for flavor.
Manakete Siffrin is so tasty. Please also look at Pix's dragon sif AU because this is VERY MUCH the exact same flavor because me and Pix were just on the same brainwave i guess.
In this Au, Siffrin is a dragon (silent dragon or divine dragon, either works). And the dragons lived on the island, but the island disappeared. Because dragons were so deeply associated with this place, knowledge of dragons disappeared, as well, outside of perhaps the occasional myth. (Imagine Sif being told "Dragons aren't real, silly!" man.)
Siffrin is a dragon, and fucking forgot about it. All they know is that they are Different. But not how. Or why. Imagine.
Imagine, as the loops progress, Siffrin grows stronger not through training, but through learning how strong they already were. That there are claws beneath the gloves, that they can see in the dark, that if they focus just right, they can breathe fire.
Imagine, for me, Siffrin learning they are not human. They are Other. They are a Myth. And how this plays perfectly into Siffrin's increased alianation from the party, and Siffrin's growing belief that they are a monster, and that if this is ever discovered, his friends will leave him.
If you want to bring my wolfskin Isabeau into this. I already mentioned it briefly but. Isabeau is also not human but he is In Control of it. He makes it palatable. People know what beastfolk are, they're documented in Vaugarde, I'd imagine that there's one or two frozen around the House. They are a Known Quantity. Even compared to the nonhuman, Siffrin is Other, is a Beast, and he can feel his control slipping. Compared to Isabeau, he is a feral animal. (Or, at least, they believe they are.)
Augrh. Okay.
Also. Lizard Loop. Ok.
UM. SO. I mentioned Engage, so. EMBLEMS!! This Au actually has Emblems in it. See, on the island where the dragons lived, the Emblems lived as well. And people prayed to the Emblems, to the heroes from the countless stars, to the heroes sent by the universe to guide them. Only the dragons could summon Emblems, but they could grant favor to anyone. And if all Emblems came together, they could rewrite the Universe itself.
The Emblems knew this.
And thus, when the Emblems came togehter, they wished to be forgotten. The place where they dwelled, and the people that worshipped them... were casualties of an ill-fated wish, to seal away this catastrophic power.
Yup, I made Wish Craft emblem flavored!! Because man. It's literally "prayer incantation". Divine Dragons draw power from Emblems through Prayer, through belief, and Fell Dragons draw power from Emblems through Incantation, through ritual. And the most powerful of all is combining the two. IT'S WISH CRAFT RULES, YALL.
So so, the concept of Emblems also got forgotten, but the main wish just erased the Emblems as people. That's why Sif and Co could find out about Emblems as the story progresses, same way in canon they can find out about Wish Craft.
Because I love suffering, I'd say. Instead of a Silver Coin, Siffrin has a silver ring, instead. It's just a plain band that's been around their finger for forever. It's not special at all.
....or is it?
...sometimes, Siffrin manages to rememeber a friend. Only for brief moments. When Siffrin does Mirabelle's hair, he wonders how he knows to work with kinky hair. When they eat the fish head, they reminisce that someone else liked it..... and then they forget again.
In this AU, that friend was an Emblem. That was Siffrin's Marth. But they're gone. That ring is empty.
....or is it?
hihi.
About Loop.
I think this was Lozy's suggestion, but. Loop is an Emblem. Loop wasnt always an Emblem, but Engage shows how people can become Emblems, yeah. So, Loop is a spirit from another world, sent by the Universe to guide this one. Loop is bound to their own ring, though neither of them realize. When an Emblem is asked for power through incantation, they cannot refuse. Siffrin's wish causes the timeloop by calling upon the power of the dormant Emblem they carry, which is Loop.
(How did Loop cause their own loops? Well, it was still an Emblem, even before Loop was in it. Who was it? Well, I don't know, and that's the pain, isn't it?)
Also I think it'd be really cool if Big Sif isn't just, Sif fully transforms into a dragon (which is already cool as hell) but also like. Siffrin manages to Engage with their Emblem. And after that, the Emblem is well and truly gone, for good. It just said goodbye for the last time.
And ofc Act 6 when Loop disappears, Siffrin picks up the ring that houses them in the hopes Loop will awaken one day. Yeah.
UM. CHARACTERS BESIDES SIFFRIN!!
I've mentioned this in my FE6/ISAT parallels posting but Mirabelle is so lord-coded. Specifically the Roy-flavor of "just some guy" lord. She wasn't chosen for this she just happened to be here. SHE EVEN HAS A RAPIER!!! AND AN UNAVAILABLE MENTOR!!!
Listen to me she's so so so Roy-coded MIRABELLE IS A FIRE EMBLEM LORD.
Ok. Ok.
I think it'd be really funny if Odile was just straight up from Hoshido. It would work. I don't want to change Vaugarde to a FE country because the culture is just too unique for any straight equivalent, but the other countries with less detail work. (Puts Odile in Onmyoji because she's a magic class 100%)
Bonnie's class is actually Transporter. Lozy suggested "Aptitude Villager" but i feel we need to keep the spirit of "Do not Attack The Child". So Bonnie is the Elibe-exclusive Cannot Die Items Holder class. It even works with Bonnie's potshots that Merlinus (the only transporter in the whole entire FE series) gets daggers in Heroes, which is the debuff support weapon.
Bonnie chucking holy water from the back of a horse. Thank u. That is all.
Um yeah. So that's all (most?) of the FE-flavored ISAT thoughts I have. yeah. Um.
Thank u very much for asking this. I love talking.
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello hi i love your art its so cool your style gives me brainwaves do you maybe have a yeah jaron design for the yeah jaron fan in me… if not what are your thoughts on the. the guy :3
Ahhhhhh tysm anon I'm soo glad you appreciate my art !!!!! I have drawn yeahjaron b4 but his design is more based on his mc skin so not rlly a design sorry , BUT! while writing this I'm thinking about cowboy yeah jaron maybe ?!!! I think that would be awesome. Jaron with a gun!! I love watching jaron videos, like he delivers lines in his videos so well. ALSO a big 3ht if I do say so myself. I miss them constantly. The connect 4 streams with jaron were my everything. Srry for rambling all over the place, when people ask me about my fav ccs i tend to do that :3
20 notes
·
View notes