#getting less rusty with humans

[emthimofnight]

More attempts at drawing human Sonadow and their daughter

[butterysalt]

Ahhh thoughts about Laios Touden who would love you regardless of who you were. Your species, your race, your gender, your sexuality, none of those things matter in his eyes. Because to him, what makes you so wonderful and easy to love is that you’re simply just you. And there’s no other combination like you.

I get especially sappy thinking about it if you’re a tallman, too. At first, it seems like Laios couldn’t care less about humans. He always talks about how boring he finds his own race in comparison to others but it’s all heavily influenced by his own experiences growing up and being ostracized and bullied by those around him.

But just think about what it’s like when he meets you, another tallman. Yes, you’re human, but when he realizes that you won’t treat him differently for the way he is, he sees you as so much more than that. So what if you’re a tallman? A little thing like that doesn’t matter to him.

It’s not just that you’re “different from other tallmen”… it’s because you’re you. And he’s him.

Nothing more than that.

In an odd unlikely twist of fate, it seems that this time, the mundanity of it all is what completely captured Laios’s heart.

Just… you.

[simplyender]

You have a way of finding sympathetic/kind of pathetic antagonists that are clearly neurodivergent and if given the chance, would totally be better people but never really got that chance

Fern and Hordak and Spot

[Identify my Blorbos!] (putting this at the top bc I made a really long post lol)

Anyway,

[Incorrect buzzer]

You were pretty close there till you said all of these guys would totally be better people but never were given the chance, especially when you said spto Gideon Graves. My man was SO down to do evil. At his best he's harmless and pathetic. But the dude still is pretty pro-doing-terrible-things, even if its not to Scott and Ramona in specific. Could he improve? Sure! But I'm of the belief that anyone can. It sucks that he wasn't treated nicely as a teenager but like. Dude, get help. You clearly can afford it. You just don't want it/don't think you need it.

Gideon actively chose to become the CEO of G-man records and he chose to use his vast power to make a girls life a living hell purely because he felt ENTITLED to her and her love. That's fucked up!!!! Hes' a sick shit in all versions and I truly do love him for that. He and Julie really are bitch x bastard! <3

Fern and Spot both are interesting ones, as they're both cases of "they made their own choices", only, the Finn part of Fern was doing something good (reviving Prismo), he just didn't know that meant he'd become the Finnsword, and the Emissary from Beyond is....Complicated.

Spot, however...

....Look, we can theorize as much as we want about his hypothetical past and what drove him to do it (bc I doubt anybody that works at Alchemax is fully stable), but before all this shit happened to him, he CHOSE to work at Alchemax, which was a morally dubious decision at BEST. I don't think he had bad intention in the slightest however, it's just that Spot....Seems to have a bad habit of not really caring about anything else that's going on around him as long as he's getting what he wants. Negligent is the word (Funny, considering that's what he accuses Spider-Man of being). Also nobody made him go back for the dark matter, and he could have evacuated like everybody else*

Either way, both Fern and Spots actions definitely come from a place of desperation and severe emotional distress. And they're both guys that really lost their entire lives due to something out of their control**, and just weere driven to go....Way too far. They also actively decided to be bad guys because villainy provided them with the validation they needed. Hopefully Spot won't get killed off in the end like Fern did. Haha!

Hordak is definitely what you described though, because we were literally SHOWN that through the existence of Wrong Hordak! He's from a cult and heavily indocrinated with horrible beliefs that he deeply internalized, especially because of his relationship with his disability and the way Horde Prime viewed him for it. This is also seen through Entrapta, who....Yes, helped him do evil thing too. But they were adorable. And ultimately, it was her that helped him realize his worth as a person and take the step towards good (although that was a personhood thing, not a redemption arc, lol). But through proper support, Wrong Hordak was able to grow and develop in a way that Hordak just wasn't given the opportunity to, so....Yeah.

Hordak never got the chance, and Fern kept getting screwed over by the universe and his own low self esteem. But Spot made his own choices in life. He is absolutely the most selfish person out of the three.

And also. Is, yknow, the most experienced in life/an adult. (I already talked about Gideon who is the worst but like I said he doesn't even come close). Yes what happened to him was horrible, yes he didn't deserve so much mistreatment for it, but still. The chain of events started because of his own decisions until it spiralled out of his control, from where he doubled down for a variety of reasons indicating that he really needs the intervention of a trained mental health professional.

I think I went way off course here.

Sorry. Haha.

* Yes it's likely that he felt like he had to go back and save the remains of his work, might have something to do with Olivia stealing all the credit for the collider and his desperate need to be recognized. Still a bad idea though.

** Spot may have done the physical aspects of his life going to shit to himself but I'm not blaming him for the way other people treat him for what is now out of his control. It's not like he asked to be what he is, or to be mocked and lose his livelihood for it.

You get a 1.3/4 because the description is correct up to a point but it entirely fits Hordak.

SO close!

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 2/?

*slips another piece into your mailbox*

_____________________

Jazz was still feeling a little woozy from his donation in the dark hours of the morning. Blaster had breakfast changed from the usual to something that felt more like a treat, probably a reward for his good behaviour, and to help his body recover. Fish heavy in proteins, fat, all that healthy stuff. Something that normally he would have tried to savour, but he wolfed it down from excitement. Too many questions ran through his head, and most he couldn't bring himself to voice.

The mer, the mer would pull through. Blaster told him about how he had saved their life with his blood. Praised him high and low. Because Blaster knew how Jazz felt about seeing blood, about how hard blood tests were for him, and that was only a tiny vial. Not three big bags of it. Jazz hadn't seen how much they had taken – because he had kept his eye closed until they left in a hurry –, and hearing about it made him dizzy for other reasons, but he honestly felt real proud of himself.

It was a new feeling, different from other moments of pride – like when he figured out the lock codes. Yeah, this gave him butterflies and the drive to help more.

Blaster laughed when Jazz offered that the vets could take more if the other mer needed it. His handler didn't think it would be, but he would pass it on to the vet team.

Jazz's morning checks were a little off, expected with having a little less fluids and feeling off-balance, but it was kept short and quick. Blaster told him that if he learned anything more, he'd tell him next time he came by and then hurried back down to the staff area. Blaster was needed elsewhere, understandably as there weren't many mer experts here, though he did leave Jazz his waterproof stereo if he wanted to play some of his favourites.

But, the orca mer was far too busy causing a whirlpool from the laps he was swimming. He was too excited to sit still, and embarrassment be damned he started practising old vocals. He didn't remember much of his mother tongue, and he was pretty sure that his pronunciation was off, that or had one hell of an accent. Echo-speech was even more rusty. And once he had gone over and over what he could recall, Jazz began to really worry. A few sentences and handful or so of words was all he had? Gods, I hope I can at least make a decent first impression. Blaster said they were just like me, so hopefully, that will give me some starting points.

More than he cared to count, Jazz would swim into the shallow waters of the medical bay and hope to see something through that window. But no one ever came close enough for him to hear any news of the mer. He couldn't even see anything on his radar, wherever they had done treatment, it wasn't in the hospital ward. It almost felt like he was being purposely kept in the dark.

And just when Jazz was starting to worry that things had taken a bad turn, a group of staff turned up around four pm. He wasn't able to ask any questions, or rather they refused to answer. Shooing him away as they got to work. Starting with closing the gate to the bay to 'keep him out'. Jazz could easily climb those walls, but that wasn't the point. Even if the gate window was closed, he could pick up that they were setting up the water hammock. But it wasn't until he heard the cautionary beeping of the hoist lift approaching that it dawned on him – the mer was coming. Now.

"Jazz," Blaster called, "… Jazz," he blew the training whistle and finally got his mer's attention. "Stop pacing and get over here."

"But–" Jazz looked back longingly up the wall.

"Jazz," his tone dropped to a firm one, and Jazz begrudgingly swam over to the pier. The human crouched and made sure that they held eye contact before he spoke. "I need you to promise me that you will stay in your enclosure."

He sunk a little, trying to play into his cuteness, but being far too anxious to really pull it off. "What do you mean?"

"Jazz," now warning him. Blaster knew full well that he was more than capable of getting into or out of places he shouldn't, bloody Houdini mermaid, "this is serious. Things are going well, we want to keep it that way. Which means keeping things calm and feeling safe. You're excited, I get it, we all are. But in about an hour, they'll be waking up and – from past experience seen with wild Mers – they will likely freak out. And the last thing we need is you hauling your tail over that wall and making things worse. Understand?"

The beeping was louder how and the hiss of hydraulics caused Jazz to look up. The arm of the lift was visible over the wall. They're here!

"Jazz," Blaster hopelessly called for his attention once more.

Within moments, a massive bundle was carefully raised, the staff calling out and coordinating. Jazz's gaze was fixed on the black and white fluke poking out, it was the only part of them he could see, and his heart began to race. Once they became hidden by the wall again, Jazz moved back to pacing by the gate without even thinking. Listening to people hopping into the water to unstrap the mer and call back n' forth. "Careful, careful! – Watch the head! – Someone give me a hand over here! – We're clear on this side! – Keep the head up!"

Really starting to sound like a broken record, Blaster chirped the whistle and called out to him again. The expression he wore must have been pretty pitiful because the look on Blaster's face dropped. "If I open the view port… will you promise me that you will wait, that you will stay in your enclosure?"

"I promise," he answered hastily, placing his hands on the gate, over the panel that would slide open.

"And that you will wait until everything is in the clear, till the staff come to oversee the integration. There will be no rushing things and no asking staff when we will open the gate."

"I promise," he repeated, trying not to beg.

Satisfied, Blaster pulled out his radio, "Blaster to Control; when the team is out of the Mer enclosure's medical bay, open the view port. Jazz's stress is mounting without a visual."

"Can do," came a quick reply.

Though, opening the panel was not. Several minutes went by, the hoist had cleared out, and much of the staff had returned to their other duties. Only two remained double-checking the mer's breathing and pulse. The moment that the last of them left, Jazz heard the lock disengage, and he retracted his hands as the panel shifted and began to slide open. The window was too small to get more than his hand – maybe up to his elbow if he wanted to push it – through, and sat just at water level– any movement sending water hopping to either side. But it gave him a clear view of the surface area inside.

Oh.

Oh. Jazz stopped breathing. While the mer's body was mostly supported by the fabric of the hammock, cradling them on their side, effectively hiding most of them from Jazz's angle. Propped up on a soft floating platform was the mer's head, face towards the gate. Sharp features and elegantly shaped finials, with flattering lines of their markings complimenting the peaceful expression as they slept. The butterflies from earlier came back stronger than ever, his heart thundering as words fumbled from Jazz's lips, "he's beautiful…"

_____________________

-GLC

Orca Prowl really is just-- too fucking pretty, omg, I'm living through Jazz in this moment like when I first saw your designs of him.

I'm more than happy to continue writing for you, you bring me so much joy. I screamed when I saw how much you liked it. If you have any requests you would like me to add to the story, leave it in the tags or comments ♡ I now plan to continue until the tsunami and a bit afterwards, maybe more, we'll see~

Upd: There is a next part!

Previous

Oh. MY GOD. OKAY ALRIGHT OKAY ALRIGHT OKA

I'M ABOUT TO START PACING IN CIRCLES JUST LIKE JAZZ OVER HERE KDLCNFJFLFB PL E A S E THIS IS SO GOOD. The tension?? You can fucking TASTE it IT'S SO GREAT GLC I LOVE YOU

The way it all starts at night and then you (as a reader) have all this additional time to boil in your anticipation?? So fucking great. Like you can really feel how little power Jazz has over the wholse situation. The plot is moving but he doesn't have any saying in it. Well. Yet heheh

Anyway haha. Im normal and I made some art>:D

[seelestia]

✦ how can you tell? (of how easily i fall at your feet.)

⎯ oh, how love bleeds from just one gesture. ( some telltale signs that they might've fallen for you. )

#STARRING. neuvillette, wriothesley & lyney ft. gn!reader. { 2.4k words }

#TAGS. sfw, fluff & crack, major pining (!!!). more: neuvi has 1 extra part bcs i realized too late, wrio is a rascal /aff, lynette is a professional wingwoman here (everyone, applaud!!), mentions of various fontaine npc's.

#P/S. pardon my rusty writing and ideas but alas, may i entice you with some fontaine gentlemen on this fine day?? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ੭

★ 〜 masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, apr 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

⎯ neuvillette's love is subtle, hidden behind a veil of formal courtesy. the iudex is the nation's symbol of impartiality; personal relationships, a common factor of inciting bias in one's judgement, are to be sifted through wisely. he can choose which he ends up keeping, yet he cannot choose which he ends up wanting. what of a relationship he desires but cannot keep? a conundrum but still, his affections for you seep through the crevices.

it's in the way. . . your name becomes a beloved among the melusines, you wonder why?

it goes without saying that every citizen of fontaine acknowledges melusines to be friendly creatures. all of them are sweethearts! ...but is it you or is there some form of hidden favoritism here?

for some reason, they always seem to go out of their ways to greet you on the streets. a “hello, mx. [name]!” from the right then a “good day, mx. [name]!” from the left. maybe a “stay safe, mx. [name]!” on days when it's crowded too... you're starting to think the quota of greetings you receive is much bigger than everyone else.

before long, even your arms are getting piled up with favors. one ticket for a seat in the opera epiclese from aeife, a slice of cake from sedene, some high-quality butter from muirne, a free beverage from menthe — you lost count of the freebies you've received already.

what's going on? it is as if there's a badge of approval from someone just hanging over your head. visible to a melusine's eyes, but not to yours. (you've heard that melusines perceive things differently than humans, though.)

but who are you to complain? you're not immune to their contagious smiles each time you pass by. on some days, you even entertain the thought that they are more familiar with you than you are with them. all in a humorous sense, of course.

ironically enough, this theory wouldn't take long to ring true: having received a bouquet of your favorite dessert from café lutece on your birthday from kiara, this coincidence only feeds into your suspicion even more.

a considerate gesture but surely, they don't do this for everyone? you don't recall ever telling your usual order and birthdate to a melusine before. your mind scrambles around for a memory you might've missed. who could've—

“oh, yes... i almost forgot,” kiara holds her chin in thought. “monsieur neuvillette says to send you his regards,” she nods, relieved that the message did not make its narrow escape from her mind. but blissfully unaware of the impact her words have left on you.

“goodbye, mx. [name]!” the melusine bids you farewell with a cheery wave. you murmur back a response but it comes out incoherent at best — you are simply too dumbfounded by the realization.

...so, that's who.

(wait a second, is arouet in on this too?!)

it's in the way. . . he begins to take longer breaks, hoping to run into you in front of the palais.

taking quiet strolls just outside the palais is, more often than not, neuvillette's idea of rest from work. although some might expect the iudex to have chosen a more 'creative' or luxurious location, but he digresses.

this place is near his office so less time is wasted on the journey back, liath also patrols here so he has the opportunity to inquire about her well-being — and occasionally, he stumbles upon you as well.

'occasionally' is the keyword: neuvillette has always preferred order and routine above chances and coincidences. but something about this idiosyncrasy — the tendency to linger beyond his usual duration, the act of stalling to hold onto hope that you might pass by today — is a indication of hypocrisy he wishes not to comment on.

sometimes, he closes his eyes so that his ears may be more attuned to the sound of your voice. sometimes, he opens his eyes so that they may look around for a glimpse of your face. who's to say if he'll ever be graced by your presence? it is all in fate's hands.

call it an odd method of manifestation, a childish one that even neuvillette scoffs at himself for. sometimes, it doesn't work, of course. not that he ever expects it to — but oh, when it does.

“...monsieur?” your voice cuts through the silence in his mind. he takes the sight of you in; a polite greeting on your tongue, several grocery bags in your arms and that beam on your face as you say, “what a coincidence to see you here.”

the iudex finds that he doesn't mind having his privacy briefly interrupted. not at all. not when it's like this, not when it's by you. alas, it seems that fate has smiled down on him today.

“yes, hello. what a serendipitous coincidence indeed.”

neuvillette smiles, he can't help it. perhaps, he might grow a soft spot for coincidences, after all.

(you sneak a brief glance at the sky with a squint. ...is it just you or are the clouds clearing up a little?)

⎯ wriothesley's love is beguiling, the kind of adventure that keeps you on your toes. a forthright gentleman; he is the type to know what he wants and he wants you. with him, you'll taste whiplash like never before. butterflies in your stomach, the urge to throw a shoe at him, you'll get it all. but an adventure isn't an adventure without breaks in between and it's at that very moment where you'll find you adore him the most... when he rests his head on your lap, momentarily free from worldly titles, breathing like the man who longs for warmth that he has always been.

it's in the way. . . he always offers you tea when really, he just wants you to stay.

everyone knows that wriothesley enjoys his tea — but that's only because he sees no need to hide his preferences; not his craving for a cup of tea when afternoon arrives nor his fondness for you either.

he doesn't conceal it, but doesn't bring attention to it either. wriothesley likes to think that only those with discerning eyes can pick up on the miniscule (???) hints he drops. that is, if saying “why not stay for some tea?” is even considered a subtle clue at all... maybe, he's mixing up polite courtesy with flirting a bit too much.

but who cares? in the grand scheme of things, the fun is seeing whether you'll figure it out or not. and let's be frank here; wriothesley is a patient man in all aspects, able to play the long game like no other.

don't worry, you may take as long as you want to — ironic since you're technically the only player in this 'game' — but hey, he has faith in your abilities! besides, you get to enjoy a cup of free tea (and with his company, preferably). surely, you can't complain about that? ...hah, he's just teasing you.

tick-tock! tick-tock!

the clock strikes twelve in the afternoon.

“ah, finally a well-deserved break.” the tone in which wriothesley pairs with that grin on his face is nothing less than devious. the glance he throws your way as he set aside the documents on his desk is something. or rather, it's suggesting something.

and frankly, you've experienced this many times enough to know what the underlying meaning is. “let me guess...” you let out a sigh, “you're asking me to have tea with you again?”

the emphasis on the last word is definitely, wholly intentional. you're sure wriothesley knows that too — “bingo,” he hums at you, sounds almost like a whistle. “you're getting more and more clever. must be all the tea i made you.”

“don't flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes at his attempted jest but you take a seat on his office couch, anyway. your own unique and adorable way of saying yes, he learned. still, wriothesley thinks that exasperated look on your face is an absolute marvel... and maybe, that little smile tugging on your lips you're trying to fight, too.

“same as usual?” he asks, pushing back his chair with a proud grin still plastered on his face that you wish you can wipe off.

but instead, you shake your head fondly at his antics. “mhm,” and rest a cheek on your fist. watching him tiredly, you realize you could get used to this. maybe.

wriothesley smiles to himself. looks like you figured out the tea has always been an excuse, after all.

(you've won the game, congrats! a subsidiary reward is a comment from sigewinne about how this tea routine between the two of you bears a resemblance to an elderly human couple's. she means it, innocently sincere.)

⎯ lyney's love can be faceted at first, one with such a smooth surface that you never imagined there would be so many layers underneath. joy and bliss, sorrow and burdens; all cramped and stuffed together behind his mask of perfection on the stage, a mask akin to a child's treasure chest almost bursting at the seams. you can unravel him if you tried, you can take off that mask if you reached out. and when you do, you'll find beautiful violet eyes staring right back at you, thankful, imploring you to go further.

it's in the way. . . his bravado dissipates around you, nerves scattering like confetti that bursts from his hat on stage.

they say that the first impression is the best impression — or at least, lyney hopes that's the case with all of the interesting impressions he has left on you so far. his instinct by nature is to impress, to bedazzle and that hasn't stopped since meeting you for the first time.

trying doesn't always lead to success, however. you stuttered in front of them twice, lynette pointed out after the first time he spoke to you. that fact spooked the poor magician so much he stayed up rethinking the conversation under the cover of his blanket. lynette isn't wrong per se, but lyney firmly believes that he will leave a better impression... one day, somehow, no matter how many times it takes!

he is a magician; charisma and charms should have or rather, already have come easily to him. his persona on the stage is no lie — just a tiny concerted exaggeration, maybe — but you've been among his audience before. you've seen what he is capable of. so surely, you'd know that lyney isn't really as demure and easily flustered as you might think he is... because no punches held back, he acts like that every time you talk to him.

he can't help it and that, exactly, is what makes it worse.

how many times have he cupped his face and mumbled nonsense into his hands for failing to impress you yet again? you're so wonderful and he's just so... miserable. this is unlike him. he has to wonder why you still look for him after each performance when you know you'll be greeted by his being a wreck.

maybe they like you that way, freminet tried to help. or maybe they like you no matter what, lynette chipped in. that had lyney pondering for a long, long, long time which translates into weeks.

will the day come where he presents you with a rainbow rose and professes his feelings for you without losing his nerves? he can only hope (and try, one day).

it never gets old.

when his feet step off the stage and the curtains have fallen, the satisfaction that spreads all the way to his fingertips never fails to disappoint. but with that, also comes the imminent feeling of anticipation.

for each performance he delivers, a visitor is bound to linger. when all members in the audience would head to the entrance of the opera epiclese to leave, one of them would stay. waiting patiently to be beckoned to the backstage. it's been a routine for so long, after all.

“lyney?”

right on cue.

your voice greets his ears, a sound that he can admit he misses only to himself. he exhales, a placating act to shush his beating heart from growing any louder.

“ah, [name]!” the magician enunciates your name with a certain type of fanfare. “here to lend a hand again, i assume?” he tries to shoot you a confident grin, but you aren't gullible enough to not see the tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

you stifle a chuckle at his (attempt at a) bold opening. “of course,“ said with a nod and a silly thought along the lines of: he's cute.

your honest and calm response takes him by surprise. he blinks a tad. oh, it seems the thrill from the show a few minutes prior still hasn't worn off. perhaps, he's still all too used to the crowd's shouts and cheers... not that he expects you to start yelling, of course!

“i see,” lyney feigns a cough to recollect his composure. now that he is cognizant of the fact it's just the two of you, he shrinks down into a more casual version of himself with a nervous chuckle.

“will you... be staying for long?” he asks, bashful. the question sounds more genuine than just a mere pleasantry. his eyes look hopeful, twinkling at the thought of having your presence around. his fingers have even come up to scratch at the side of his neck, you don't think lyney even realizes he is doing that.

who are you to say no? you smile. “well, my schedule's pretty empty today.”

his lips instantly break into a grin, brighter than one he usually has onstage. “that's actually marv—” he starts.

“that's great,” a familiar monotonous voice cuts in. lynette peers from behind you with a hum, “we could use more hands to pack up the new props.” oh, and that brief glint of mischief in her feline eyes as she watches how lyney gapes at her sudden intrusion.

“sure!” you glance back at her, oblivious to it all. “thanks for letting me in, lynette. i'll try my best to help.” even if you admit that one of the reasons you're here is for lyney, but you can't discredit his twin sister for allowing you to enter here in the first place. a free backstage pass in exchange for free labor, quite a fair deal.

with your back turned to him, lyney takes the chance to mouth his own words of disbelief to lynette. incomprehensible except for that one i can't believe you're doing this! that she manages to catch.

“no problem,” she observes her brother over your shoulder with keen interest, “everyone knows how fond lyney is of you.”

there is a series of spluttering noises behind you. a certain magician finds himself at the verge of choking on mere oxygen.

“lynette!”

but really, she has no doubt that lyney has fallen head over heels for you. hook, line and sinker.

— thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are most appreciated. ♡

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

The Prophet spoke, and the faithful knelt

Summary : You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

Pairing : Viktor x Reader

Word count : 3.2K

Warning : Explicit

You couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at you with something other than disgust.

The bumps on your skin were large and deformed, like warts on a toad's back. Dark, unnatural purple spots had consumed most of your body, your veins glowing faintly inside your flesh. Staring at them, pulsating like worms making their way through your organs, still gave you unparalleled nausea. You were the kind of monster little children of Piltover feared in the shadowy corners of their bedroom, and you couldn't remember a time when it had been otherwise

The others like you all lived in small, crummy camps, where the warmth of a teared-up blanket was something worth killing your neighbour for. If the value of human life was close to none in Zaun, here, it was worth absolutely nothing.

A wasteland inside a wasteland.

Most lived off scraps left by bars; there were few other ways to get food. The familiar feeling of hunger digging its sharp claws into your stomach had never lessened. For water, there were only the thick metal pipes, going above to supply the golden city, which sometimes leaked drinkable but rusty liquid.

The best days, the only bearable days, were those where you found half-used needles of shimmer in the trash. For a few blissful hours, you were someone else, somewhere else, and nothing in the world could hurt you. Then it was back to being cold, hungry, and alone.

You had tried to live a semblance of a life, once, when the craving for shimmer hadn't been so all-consuming. But addicts were bad for business: customers didn't like seeing them, with their empty eyes and malformed bodies, and they were a very poor investment for an employer. How many months, or days, before they would abandon their job in favour of chasing their never-ending high?

Then there were the whore houses. One could get a few pieces of copper, if their body wasn't too ravaged by the drug. Damaged goods still sell, but for a fraction of the price. And yet there it was no better either: patrons would come in, use you, and leave, without ever looking you in the eye. Like you were less than human.

But not him.

He looked at you without ever flinching, without ever shying away. There was no sign of disgust or pity in those strange eyes of his, but an endless compassion, something that went beyond your comprehension. As if a simple glance at you had allowed him to read every corner of your soul.

You could have sworn time had stopped the second he locked eyes with you. In the warm amber of his pupils swayed a reflection of pale blue, like sunset on the ocean.

You had fallen to your knees without ever willing your body to do so, pressing your forehead against the cold gravel. It feels natural, almost instinctive, to bow in the presence of a god. For what other word could describe him, his presence, his aura?

Did someone like you, ugly, broken, filthy, deserve to see beauty like this?

A gentle hand brought your face back up towards the sky, lithe fingers tucked under your chin. Soft, so soft.

His eyes were back into yours, the sunset having morphed into a pool of liquid gold. Tears had begun to fall from your eyes, rolling down your scarred cheeks and onto his delicate hands. He shushed you before you attempted to speak, like he already knew whatever words you would tell him.

“It's alright. I will take care of you.”

The digits slid slowly across your face, impossibly smooth, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the touch, revelling in the feeling of a sensation you had all but forgotten. He softly pushed the dirty hood off your face, hand settling on top of your matted hair. You closed your eyes; whatever this man was willing to give you, be it salvation or judgement, you simply knew you were ready to accept it.

And then, everything became light.

—

You saw him perform miracle after miracle following that day. He brought people back from the depths of hell, which they'd lived in for so long, with the simple touch of a hand. He brought back the smiles, the joy, and the hope all of you had given up on.

To your community, he was everything.

The familiar presence of his voice called for you inside your mind. It was so comforting, having him there, feeling him as a part of you. Knowing he would never leave you, that he would never let you be alone again.

He looked like a statue when you found him, seated in his cave, still and ethereal beyond your mortal comprehension. The gods had crafted his face from porcelain; his body from the world's most precious metals; his eyes from the sun and the sea; and his smile with the very essence of magic.

“Here you are. I was beginning to worry.”

That was not true; both of you knew very well you had heard his voice and were rushing to come to his side. Yet, the idea that a being such as him would worry about someone like you made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Herald?”

“Mm?”

He blinked, calmly, peacefully, as his eyes met yours once more. No other feeling compared. His pupils glowed inside the barely lit cave, a gentle and divine light emanating from his face.

The words were hard to get out, and you found yourself fidgeting with your hands, looking away from his perfect gaze.

Get a hold of yourself, you admonished your brain. You had practiced this moment more than once.

You were certain he knew exactly what you were about to ask him; he knew every thought going through your mind, after all. Which meant he knew of the nights you spent dreaming of him, of his body, and of the hundreds of ways you craved the touch of your messiah.

But he simply looked at you, calm and composed, the hint of a smile barely on his lips.

Briefly, you wondered if he was teasing you by letting you stew in your anxiety.

“I have come to realize,” you began unsurely, voice almost breaking, “that you always take care of others, Herald. Always take care of people like me.”

He observed you with that indecipherable gaze, still not moving an inch. You gathered all your courage to stare back at him as you pronounced your next words decidedly:

“But does nobody take care of you, Herald?”

He smiled, properly this time, yet still calm and moderate. It was beyond beautiful, his delicate features marked by soft dimples, the hint of a mole over his lips. You would have given your life in a heartbeat if it meant he would have smiled at you like this once more.

“I don't require such things anymore,” he explained serenely, fingers absentmindedly tracing the complex patterns of his arm. “This body doesn't feel cold, or hunger, or want. It is pure of all the desires the man I once was might have had.”

You swallowed with difficulty; was he rejecting your advances? You could not bear living without knowing you had done everything for him, given him every inch of your being.

“But that man,” you tried once more, moving a timid step forward, “he is still part of you, isn't he? Wouldn't it only be fair to take care of him too?’

There was not a hint of confusion in his expression; he understood exactly what you meant. Yet one of his eyebrows had slightly risen, perhaps of amusement or appreciation for your boldness.

“If you have something in mind,” he simply replied, his thick accent hypnotic, “you should show me.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You would show him what his gift had meant to you.

Gradually, reverently, you approached the frugal throne where he sat, a simple rock formation at the back of the cave. You kneeled at his feet and gazed up, unsure if you were allowed to touch him. He gave you a light nod, a glim of endearment in his eyes.

With deference, you slid the fabric of his tunic to the side, parting his knees to give you access. You felt your cheeks heat at the realization he had no underwear, trepidation bubbling in your lower stomach. Then you stopped right in your tracks.

Where there should have been… something, there was nothing.

Your mouth opened in surprise, but no words managed to find their way out. You spluttered, confused, gaping at the being above you.

A low, small chuckle.

His luminous eyes were teasing, barely enough so that someone else would not have recognized it; but you did.

“I could not resist to watch your reaction,” he admitted, “My apologies.”

His delicate hand covered the area of his groan, and a faint light shone between the cracks of his fingers. The sound of metal forming, pieces sliding with one another, echoed inside the empty cave. When he removed his hand, it was as if the member had always been there.

As you had always pictured in your dreams, the Herald was well endowed, even in a softened state. It was without question like a regular human’s, but devoid of any veins, marks, and bumps. Not a single hair adorned the base. It was all perfectly smooth, the head only distinct from the rest of the length with its thickness.

He was art, in the most primordial sense of the term, and you could do nothing but admire him.

“This body shapes to my will,” the Herald explained at your look of awe, “It had no need for genitalia, so it did not have any. At least… before now.”

Your fingertips slid timidly on the indigo skin, feeling the polished texture. The contact felt pleasantly electric, like his body brimmed with untapped energy. The first small lick was somehow nostalgic, the feel of popping candies bursting pleasantly on your tongue.

When you wrapped your lips around him, you could immediately tell his taste was unlike anything you'd ever had before. The coppery flavour of metal mixed with something so enticingly sweet it could not be anything other than the taste of the arcane itself. An encouraging hand petted your head softly, fingers threading through strands of your hair. You moaned with your mouth still full of him; a single touch from him was enough to have your core burnt with want. You sped up your pace, taking as much of him in your mouth as you possibly could. The energy pulsated against your tongue, his cock hardening to your rhythmic pace. The thickness of his tip kept hitting the back of your throat, cutting oxygen for a few blissful milliseconds at a time and making you see stars.

It was perfect.

And yet, after a few minutes, you realized something was wrong.

You'd been with your fair share of men and women before. The twitching, the moaning, the cramping of the thighs from the building pleasure and the coming release- it was all absent.

You pulled back with a soft ‘pop’, looking up at your prophet once more for guidance. The same all-knowing visage stared back at you, that boundless compassion he had for all mankind. You understood what was happening, now.

“Herald,” you said slowly, voice horse from taking him, “why have you called me today?”

Silence. It looked as though he was thinking over his next words, choosing how best to explain things to you.

“I could sense you needed guidance,” he finally answered, “Support. I merely wanted to help in the way you needed me.”

Helping you. He was helping you once again. Even now, when you begged him to let you help him, he was still only thinking of others.

“You're not satisfied,” the Herald deduced from your crestfallen expression, “Why?”

Tears of frustrated devotion prickled the corner of your eyes, and you felt like a pathetically pouting child:

“My goal was not to satisfy myself. It was to please you.”

Perhaps you had dreamed it, but a glimmer of surprise flashed in his sunset gaze, gone too soon for you to ever be certain.

“Allow me to try once again, please. I will do better,” you requested, resting your head against his inner thigh, his cock still perfectly hard against your cheek. Looking up at him from under your eyelashes, you whispered your next words like a prayer, hoping it would reach him: “It is all I want to do from the deepest part of my heart.”

The smile again, so slight and yet so luminous. Perhaps he hadn't cured your addiction to shimmer, and had simply replaced it with the profound need of him. A drug you never wanted to be freed from.

“Very well,” he acquiesced, voice low, “you may do it again.”

This time, you could tell there was a genuine look of surprise in his neutral expression when you stood. ‘So he can't tell my thoughts immediately as I have them,’ you reflected silently. ‘I can use that.’

It was without asking that you made your way onto his lap, legs bent on both sides of his thighs. The position wasn't very comfortable, rocks digging into your knees; but he was so close to you that you felt the warmth of the arcane emanating from every pore of his body. The pleased look he gave you at your initiative made you feel emboldened, and you guided his cock to your entrance, lining yourself to slowly slide down on his length.

“I do not wish to interrupt,” the Herald made you pause, thick eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “or to appear to stroke my ego, either. But I believe it would be wise to… prepare yourself, prior to taking me.”

You looked away in embarrassment, confidence fading, not wanting to reply directly. To explain how you had prepared yourself for him in your tent, in the slim hopes this moment might happen, would certainly be the death of you.

His eyebrows rose back up, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He understood.

“I almost forgot how prepared you always are. Clever girl.”

You felt yourself tighten at the compliment. You committed the words to memory, engraving them in your mind forever. You would never forget when your Herald had praised you.

You patiently lowered yourself onto him, inch by inch, getting accustomed to him. A little shamefully, there was an undeniable selfishness of wanting this moment to last as long as possible.

When you took him whole, it was almost too overwhelming to bear.

His size was an undeniable component, both in length and girth. You had to wonder: had he been so big when he was but a regular man?

‘Yes’, a familiar voice supplied in your head. Had you not known better, you could have sworn his tone was slightly cocky.

But it wasn't just his dick, either. The flow of energy running through you from the point of your connection was dizzyingly intense, coherent thoughts barely stringing together. It felt like the high of shimmer but unbelievably more potent, simultaneously cutting you open and putting your body back together. This was being alive.

“Breathe,” he reminded you, a guiding hand sliding to the small of your back. Even now, he still took such good care of you. Overwhelmed tears had begun to fall down your eyes without you sensing their presence, and you tried to regain some semblance of your senses.

For a while, minutes, maybe hours, only the sound of your panting resonated through the cave. You gripped the Herald's shoulders tightly, scrunching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. His impartial expression never changed, but neither did the way his hand held you in place and comforted you. Once it felt as though your lungs were getting air again, you began moving.

All of it seemed like a dream; the feeling of fullness between your legs, the slow drag of his cock inside you, the warm wetness of your juices slipping out with each trust. If there was no heaven for sinners, then you had found your own right here. You picked up the pace, settling into a fast and wild rhythm. You scanned his features for any sign of disturbance; the slightest hint of red coloured his pale cheeks, the faintest laboured breath coming from his lips.

So he was still a bit human, after all.

You kept moving with renewed vigour, not able to contain wanton moans of pleasure.

“May I try something?” he asked, voice low, deeper than you had ever heard him speak.

You let out a sound of approval that dissolved into nonsense when the tip of his cock hit the spot you had carefully been avoiding. This time, he moved, ramming over and over against your cervix, too deep for comfort, shaping you to him and only him. You were so close, right on the edge, begging him for release with gibberish.

He had undeniably felt your incoming demise, and with one last push inside your core, he leaned his head forward, bringing both of your foreheads together.

In that moment, you were him as much as he was you, a single mind in perfect balance. You saw everything he saw, felt everything he felt. The weight and lightness of the cosmos, the thousands of strings connecting him to his followers, the understanding of the final step for humanity.

The Glorious Evolution.

And with that, you came, body spasming uncontrollably against his. You fell into the crook of his neck in exhaustion, sobbing, wondering if you had just died in your prophet's arms. Far away, as if he was in another room, you heard his comforting voice shushing your whines, his long fingers caressing your cheek. He looked at you as if you were the one to be admired. Too much, it was all too much.

Perhaps an eternity had passed as you came back to your senses. Things felt tangible once more, corporal, the now cold feeling of your wetness drying on your inner thighs. There was a feeling of awkwardness, of embarrassment, and you hesitated between staying still or pulling him out of you. Were there proper steps to follow after something like this, or any steps at all?

“You didn't��” you commented, unsure what proper term to use to not seem crass.

You didn't cum. You didn't fill me.

“I am not certain that would still be biologically possible for me,” he answered with little emotion, seemingly neither bothered nor frustrated by that fact.

Even if he hadn't been linked to your mind, your disappointment would have been palpable. You had wanted him to experience some of the relief he had given you, to release all that could have troubled him inside you. You wanted to care for him.

Selfishly, perhaps, there had also been the want to carry your prophet's seed so no one would ever question who you belonged to.

“However, to the extent this body can still feel pleasure…” he continued, not missing a beat, otherworldly gaze deep in yours, “you took great care of me. Thank you.”

This time, you smiled.

You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

And there was nothing more important to you than that.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I simply must know, would the teenage friend groups (dead guys included) of AEIWAM and TPOFATGIF get along? Any standout crossover friendships and/or rivalries?

Ichigo and Tristan recognize the dead-eyed stare of "It's always fucking something" in each other and have a great time standing in the alley and trading their most WTF stories at increasingly loud volume.

Bakura and Orihime are immediate "autistic little weirdo into unexpectedly creepy shit" besties. The rest of the friend groups find them in the local graveyard looking up names on unattended tombstones to see what happened (and pay respects).

Chad immediately gloms onto Joey to be his Emotional Support Human who has conversations with strangers for him. Joey is thrilled to be helpful, and likewise, Chad is his "Remembering the Homework" human.

Serenity smells the violence on Tatsuki and is immediately trying to sign her up for the local SCA. Tatsuki is trying to convince her to attend Karakura High next year so she can beef up the Karate team.

Keigo already knows Rex Raptor and Weevil Underwood from the unhinged web forums they get into arguments on.

Mizurio already knows Mokuba from when Mokuba commissioned one of Mizurio's mob uncles to get one of the BEWD cards through less-than-legal means. Mokuba has immense respect for Mizurio's total disregard for conventional authority and Mizurio the same respect for Mokuba's understated willingness to do violence.

Uryuu and Duke bond over "my dad is completely insane for reasons I can't really discuss with most people" and "it's called FASHION" reasons.

The people who get along best with Seto are Rukia and Renji, because they are used to "autistic bougie severe familial trauma that is fixated on one VERY niche character" nonsense from Byakuya, and know how to auto-translate Seto into Normal People, and also subtly train him to have normal conversations.

The person who gets along with Yami is Isshin- in AEIWAM, Isshin genuinely has amnesia from 1980 onward. He doesn't remember being a captain, and hearing stories about himself is like hearing about a stranger. It's a bizarre feeling of alienation Yami understands well.

Yoruichi sees Mai Valentine and immediately knows that should they go drinking together, it will almost certainly result in major property damage, felonies, and the worst hangover she's ever had, so naturally, she asks the girl to come on a spree with her.

Yugi has always had an easier time making friends with the adults around than his peers- having friends his own age is a very recent development. Due to Grandpa Solomon hanging around the senior center with his peer group of "Old Men With Nothing Better To Do", Yugi is very acclimated to playing board games with random adults. Kisuke Urahara hasn't had anyone kick his ass at Go that hard in a long time, and the kid is strangely canny to things Kisuke *thought* he'd concealed well. Yugi thinks Urahara 's Go game is a little rusty, but whatever the hell espionage game he's playing is REALLY intriguing.

[mustardsticks]

Migyua's Stobotnik Gift Exchange

Totally forgot to post this on tumblr. This Gift was for @scaredofstyrofoam

Will also be adding details about my sonic prime stone because i got wayyy to into it. These details are not exactly fleshed out since I never really had the time beyond discord messages and me answering questions about their dynamic. Also please note that i did not watch all of sonic prime, i only got up to season 2.

Its angsty please remember that. Also please ask me any questions if you want, I will gladly share!

CW : Mentions of - violence/abuse, thoughts of suicide, loss of autonomy, and possibly more. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Please also ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes lol I typed it up and never edited it.

In the shatterverse there is only one Agent Stone that exists. He's first the Agent/Assistant to Mr. Dr. Eggman and later on extends his role to the other members of the Chaos Councils when they meet and team up. There was an incident where Stone was injured beyond repair and was just waiting to die. The Chaos Council wouldn't let that happen so they turned him into a cyborg. They had built his body as human as possible, even giving him artificial nerves.

Now that Stone was a cyborg, he's also to do more things his human body wasn't able to do. He was also more efficient and needed less time to rest. The Chaos Council began to demand more from him and started to think of him as a robot, their property, and not human anymore.

One day Stone goes to Mr. Dr. Eggman asking him to let him go and deactivate him. While Stone was devoted and loyal to the Chaos Council, he was also suppose to die and didn't want to live. The problem is that he was still human. While his body might not reflect the damage, his brain still remembers the incident and Stone has phantom pains everywhere on his body and it really messes him up. He knows the Chaos Council only saved him because he believes they cared about him as much as he does. Stone tells him that it was unhealthy for them to cling to him, to preserve a life by building it a body. Mr. Dr. Eggman didn't like that, the idea of Stone not being by his side was impossible and so he took away Stone's autonomy, basically having full control of him so he couldn't leave because Stone is theirs. While Stone no longer had control of his body and his brain was numbed. He was still able to hear, see, and feel what does council does to him but he no longer able to feel the phantom pains.

Stone doesn't get the right side of his face robotized until after his autonomy was taken. I had the idea that either Dr. Babble or Dr. Done-it did it in a fit of rage. They took their anger out on Stone and injured him, they had smashed his head in and some more around his body. They never knew that they inflected that much damage on Stone as they also took their anger out on their surroundings. Rusty Rose pulled him out of there while they focused their rage on something else. She brings him to Mr. Dr. Eggman who helps him the damage severe and almost reversable, to save time he robotizes the right side of his face. Later he punishes the two council members by revoking their access to Stone.

[fairy-lights-and-blobs]

I have someone at like a story idea where Danny is like Princess Yue from Avatar last Airbender

Danny is the physical body for the ancient of space sometimes they just form in the infinite realms and get a physical body along with it and sometimes I just get an essence and have to wait till a body comes along to actually gain consciousness

Danny is that body but the idea is the Justice League is trying to make peace with the infinite realms and the council of ancients have decided let's do a deal we give you a the high Prince of the infinite rounds he stays with you for a month and if he comes back with good news of you humans we will not go to war with you

And the Justice League trying to keep peace agree they were not expecting to see a white hair teenager wearing a heavy layer traditional Komodo with a crown that has mini planets circling around his head to go along with the crown

And Frozen bits of Lazarus water floating around him to add to the exquisite that the boy carries himself with

Danny besides to base his personality off of Dora and princess Yue so no one can connect normal human Danny Fenton to High Prince Phantom Of The Infinite Realms Young Ancient Of Space

Also I just have to crack site of Danny looking at the Lazarus pits that the bats have in the cave because he's staying with them first and going it's a bit Rusty but I can work with it

Proceeding to use the Lazarus pits to make him a pair of pajamas or Danny acting like he doesn't know anything that much about the human world and it's just going along with most things

Danny Phantom acting like a Proper Prince from ancient times it doesn't understand modern teenage things just a mess with Justice League

The Justice League trying their best to appease to a teenager well also trying to stop the US government from starting a war that they will definitely not win

Oh boy, you had a real big brain time with this one :)

The Justice League had been tasked with temporary guardianship over Prince Phantom, Heir to the Throne of All, Steward of Stars.

Adored by the consciousness of the very Realm he will eventually rule over, it would fall upon Earth's best heroes to keep him safe for one entire month, and not a second less.

In exchange, loyal Halloween, also know as Fright Knight, and the King's armies wouldn't take action against Earth as a whole for the actions of one group falsely calling themselves government agents. "Let the Justice League actually deliver said Justice" had been the Prince's comment during a meeting of the Ancients. Before the Ancient Space had been through the cycle of rebirth this last time, there had been no heroes to protect the Living. Only their many divided leaders.

As Danny Fenton, they had caught whispers of the Bat on the rise, of a little Bird to follow after. Of a human, blessed by Hermes who always arrived on time. Of many, many more to follow, taking up arms to fight for Earth and her people, in defense of Justice. As Phantom, newborn half-ghost, and rising Ancient of Space, they heard of many departed souls that sang praises of the heroes, who forgave them for not making it in time, who were happy to have met their favorite before the embrace of Thanatos took them.

If this "Justice League" truly stood for Justice as they claimed, then Phantom would take a chance and trust them.

A week after the accord had been signed by the three leading members of the Justice League, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman, gathered in a meeting room to welcome the arriving Prince and his Council.

The first sign was the way the temperature dropped, followed by the sygils painted on the wall by Constantine and Zatanna lighting up toxic green. Bleeding inwards in a lazy spiral, the glowing light swirled into a spinning rift between dimensions, out of which walked Firght Knight himself, settling to the side of the portal, and standing at attention, ready for the rest of the Council to appear.

As the light from the portal became a pale, icy blue, a hand in a white, claw-tipped glove appeared from the portal, the hand's owner following after it, while the loyal Knight moved to bring his elbow up, so Prince Phantom could grab it and let himself be led out of the portal. The fact that the Prince's Fright Knight rested his free hand against his side, instead of the pommel of his sword, was a good indicator that they expected Phantom to be welcomed and safe here. They would do their best to ensure their trust was not unfounded.

Upon first glance, as the ghost of the hour floated out of the portal, the most attention would be paid to the Crown that sat on the teenage-looking ghost's head, all iridescent metal with little miniature planets orbiting each spike.

The Prince looked around the room, evaluating each of the three League members present, almost silent, if not for the way his long,almost elfin ears twitched, making the chains attached to them jingle pleasantly, little galaxies hanging from the metal and swirling lazily. A quietly howling star filled the silence, until Phantom turned to chirp at the portal, calling in the rest of the Council to step forth.

Not all of the Ancients gathered, this time. For the handoff, only those that Phantom named as family would be present. Frostbite, Pandora, Lady Dorathea and Clockwork.

Frostbite, the Yeti and Pandora, Guardian of Hope, the main caretakers, as his parents. Clockwork, one Brother of Space, now Mentor and Grandfather. Dorathea, Cousin and confidante, who insisted that Danny arrive in the best fashion to be found in his Lair. And through all his past turns of the cycle of rebirth, Danny had accumulated fashions uncountable, for his Fraid to enjoy.

Today, Dora had insisted to dress him up in a black kimono, specifically the one that faded from black, to dark blue into pale icy blue. Snowflakes slowly fell all across the length of the cloth, turning a formal piece of attire into a moving art show, as snow fell in lazy patterns with each step Danny took.

"Batman. Superman. Wonder Woman. Thank you for your kind offer of hospitality while I remain in this Realm." A furry hand on his shoulder led Phantom to sit in the closest chair, thumb nudging gently against a freckled cheek in silent support as the Yeti almost glowed with pride for his boy.

"It is nice to see you well, Prince Phantom." Wonder Woman took the lead, as was the usual when discussions between the three main Justice League heroes involved the more divine or supernatural aspects of the world. "We have some ideas for who will host you for the duration of your time here, and were hoping you might give your opinion."

The plan was for, at least initially, to have Batman host their guest. Both Clark and Diana knew the Dark Knight of Gotham would be a better fit for a Prince's stay.

Clark, with his irregular schedule as a reporter and his sons, and Diana with her work as a museum curator, were both too busy to host him. Bruce, on the other hand, would have the space needed, the free schedule needed to care for a teenage royal, and, most importantly, other teenagers already in his care, to help the current youngest of the Ancients acclimate to the modern Era, and specifically the Gotham lifestyle.

One signed contract later, and Danny floated in front of the Zeta tubes, feeling the rumble of working machinery, the humming of electricity which Danny knew deep in his bones and Core, would always recognize what killed him in this life while keeping his face as neutral as possible.

Right now, Danny was just Prince Phantom, Heir to the Throne and Rising Ancient of Space. Fenton could take a break from his crazy parents and their fixation on ghosts, and Jazz didnt need to spend her entire day worrying about him and smothering him in affection.

Highly advanced machinery was an interest because it was new, not because he wants to take it apart and see what makes it tick.

Thus, misdirection in place, Danny's Core studied the signals coming from the portal frame, and the rift just beyond, waiting to open.

"Your Highness, are you ready to go?" Ah, that would be Batman, standing at his side and watching him. He sounded...soft. The ghosts of Gotham always spoke of how soft Batman was towards children and, Ancient or not, right now Danny was, for all intents and purposes, a teenager.

A dead teenager, and that was bound to tug at the Bat's heart.

So, with a big smile, and big, curious eyes, Danny turned to face the Dark Knight and curtsied just as Dora had taught him to.

"I am indeed ready. I wonder what kind of home Gotham's favorite Knight lives in!"

"Before we leave, I should tell you, there will be others there. My children are a chaotic bunch, but they will be curious about you."

"Of course, no Bat is truly complete without his colony. You speak of them with pride. I will trust your judgement. So long as no one asks me how I died, or anything too personal, I won't take offense to being questioned by your children."

Stepping through the now active Zeta Tube set all of Danny's ectoplasmic nerves on end for a second, a slight feeling of too much settling in his bones at the difference between this and the portal that had brought him to the Watchtower.

Stepping out of the Zeta, Danny shook the pins and needles from his hands, blinked at the lighting change, and stepped into...a dark cave, full of very advanced tech that his inner Fenton pitched to get their hands on, and several small fluffy bats chittering above, watching the newcomer with judgemental eyes for a few seconds. Chirping a greeting at the gathering of eyes settled their agitation.

Clearly, good manners worked with Bats of all kinds.

"This way, Prince Phantom." Distracted by the Bats above, Danny had missed Batman ducking into a changing room and walking out as Bruce Wayne, Beloved Prince of Gotham, and all around Himbo Dad.

Mimicking Fright Knight previously, Bruce held his own arm up so Danny could hold onto it as he was guided to an elevator out of the Cave. He even pretended to stumble just slightly over the step out of the platform, looking around at the actually quite cozy but also really big office the elevator doors opened into.

"I thought people didn't live in castles anymore? Is the Knight of Gotham the exception?"

The eye roll and fond sigh had Danny cheering internally. The man DOES have a sense of humor! Not a fruit loop, after all!

Maybe this will be a fun little vacation.

Maybe, just maybe, Danny can hope that the GIW problem will be resolved, and he won't have to go to war against the Living...

Perched in the rafters above and spying on her dad and the pretty boy they'll be hosting, Cassandra Wayne almost stumbles at the sheer force of the sudden Hope-Glad-please don't be a dream that blankets the entire Wayne manor.

[communistkenobi]

could you expand / share reading materials on "gender is a structure that mediates access to personhood"? i feel like that's an important point that i don't fully grasp. especially because it is my understanding that until relatively recently even white, bourgeois, cis-heterosexual, perisex etc women were also denied personhood, but were already gendered as women, right?

thanks in advance!

I’m so sorry you sent me this ask like three months ago and I’m only getting around to it now lol

This is going to be a long post. I will be talking a lot about citizenship and rights in this post. I’ll include citations, but two overarching texts I will be engaging with a lot are Unequal Freedom (2004) by Evelyn Nakano Glenn and The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism (1989) by Gøsta Esping-Andersen.

This is also not meant to be a comprehensive answer to your question. I am much less familiar with migration & refugee scholarship, which is obviously deeply engaged with the concept of citizenship as an apparatus for granting rights. I’m flagging this because my answer has a particular focus that is not generalisable. Everything I say is not “the answer” to your question, but an answer informed by specific domains of scholarship.

First, I think a good place to start is that when we talk about ‘personhood’ as a status that a human being can or cannot possess, we are often talking about a status that is realisable through citizenship. ‘Personhood’ is itself a legal term, and we can see this in how stateless people (i.e. people with no citizenship) are treated - because rights are granted by and administered through states, being without state citizenship means you are unable to realise any set of rights, and therefore, you are rendered as a non-person. The UN has two separate conventions on the rights of stateless people for example, as being stateless is necessarily an international issue. I think this approach helps makes sense of why “human rights” is a popular framing in discussions of how to remediate inequality (e.g. “trans rights are human rights”). The “human” part of that equation is only realised through the attainment of “rights,” i.e., through citizenship. Citizenship = personhood can also be seen when people invoke “second class citizens” as an articulation of legal, political, and societal discrimination - i.e., groups of people who have less/no access to rights compared to other groups within a state. Systems of classed citizenship often emerge from regimes of settler colonialism, slavery, and apartheid (Glenn discusses this in her book).

The basic Marxist intervention in this discussion is that this class system still exists even in places that have abolished slavery, abolished apartheid, and/or gone through formal decolonisation, because state law under capitalism is fundamentally unjust. Marx calls law the “mystification of power” (I believe he says this in The German Ideology? I'm rusty on my Marx readings lol) - he argues that law is a bourgeois system of justice that caters to the wealthy and powerful and disenfranchises the poor and marginal, but appears as neutral and fair through a liberal “theater” (Marx’s term from The 18th Brumaire) of equality and democracy, mystifying its actual effects and purpose (The Red Demiurge (2015) by Scott Newton is a book about Soviet legal history that goes into some of this. His focus is on the evolution of the Bolshevik relationship to law as the USSR developed and encountered quite literally new legal problems that emerged as a result of the formation of a socialist state). This is also part of the Marxist critique of nationalism - if state citizenship is what grants access to rights, and citizenship is classed (through your relationship to production, through white supremacy, through patriarchy, through colonial status, through religious status, through etc), then equality does not legally exist, that all equality is bourgeois equality, i.e., not universal, not equal.

Gøsta Esping-Andersen provides a really helpful theory of thinking about citizenship rights within a capitalist state (his book only focuses on Western imperial core states, so just flagging that lol). He begins by arguing that:

all markets are regulated by the state, there is no actual “free” or anarcho-capitalist market,

because of this necessary regulatory function provided by the state, the commodity of wage-labour (i.e., the process of selling your labour-power as a “good” or commodity on a market in exchange for money in the form of wages) is likewise always regulated to some degree, and so finally,

welfare should be understood as the regulatory system of the commodity of wage-labour.

This regulatory apparatus is what grants people “social citizenship rights” - sick leave, pensions, disability and unemployment insurance, welfare payments, food stamps, tax bracket placements, childcare, healthcare, education, housing, so on and so on. Within this framework, Esping-Andersen demonstrates that various welfare regimes produce different citizenship classes - Canada, Australia and the US, for example, explicitly reproduce an impoverished “welfare class” through a marginal, means-tested welfare regime that only provides benefits to the very poorest. Various European countries by contrast tend to have what he calls a “corporatist” welfare regime that often grants different social citizenship rights based on which occupation you have, which he argues emerged from feudal and pre-capitalist religious (esp. Catholic) social forms of organisation.

ANYWAY, the purpose of doing all that set-up is to contextualise how we arrive at the question of gender. Feminists make the basic point that citizenship is also classed by gender - in Unequal Freedom, Glenn talks about this in the US, where white women were legally treated as extensions of their husbands and had no access to property rights, voting rights, and so on. Black women, in contrast, were treated sexually as women by slaveholders (i.e., raped and abused) but denied any and all personhood on the basis of their slave status. Citizenship in the US was historically based first on your ability to hold property (reserved for white bourgeois men), and then on your ability to “freely sell” your labour-power on the market - white women were denied citizenship on this basis because they were consigned to managing what was defined as the “private realm,” i.e., the realm that houses free labourers (white men). This public/private distinction emerges through capitalist markets and the commodity of wage-labour, which produces a sharp distinction where productive labour takes place “out there” (paid for in wages by the capitalist class) and reproductive labour takes place “in here” (i.e., labour that is not paid for in wages* by the capitalist class and forms the social basis of reproducing the public labour pool). 

*for white women. see below

As Glenn argues, this public/private distinction in the US is fundamentally racialised. We can see this difference in the emergence of the suffragette movement, where white women appeal to their whiteness (i.e., free labour status) as the rationale for being granted the right to vote. Black women were disqualified from this movement, and did not benefit from white women’s demands for equal citizenship on the basis of them providing all this unpaid reproductive labour to their white husbands, as Black and other racialised women often provided domestic housekeeping labour for white women (unpaid during slavery and for indentured servants, for wages after its abolition). This leaves Black women without a private realm, subjecting them to a “purely public” arena that is uniquely difficult to organise for unionisation and/or improve working conditions (Deborah King talks about this further in Multiple Jeopardy, Multiple Consciousness (1988)).

Trans-feminism explicates this further - coercive sex assignment at birth classes people on the basis of reproductive capacity. “Females” are impregnated, “males” do the impregnating. This particular system of sex assignment is deeply tied to colonial population management concerns, where measuring the labour capacity of colonised subjects was a matter of managing white wealth (as well as making sure “there weren’t too many of them” compared to white people in colonies - this was especially a major white anxiety after the Haitian Revolution at the turn of the 19th century, the largest slave revolt in history. See Settlers by J Sakai). You can read Maria Lugones’ papers The Coloniality of Gender (2016) and Heterosexualism and the Colonial/Modern Gender System (2007), Alex Adamson's (2022) paper Beyond the Coloniality of Gender, and Guirkinger & Villar's (2022) paper Pro-birth policies, missions, and fertility for some introductory reading.

(Note: patriarchal gender hierarchies predate and exist outside of European colonial domination - it is a popular white queer talking point that Europe invented gender, that indigenous peoples actually all had epic radically equal genderfuck systems that were destroyed by Europe, and this is a very patronising and racist historical generalisation that I want to avoid making. Third World/Global South feminism is a necessary corrective to this - an arena of scholarship I am sadly not well versed in. Sylvia Wynter is the only scholar I’ve engaged with on this topic, which again, is a very limited slice. I welcome reading recommendations in this area).

While sex assignment is coercive for everyone, it is a particular problem for trans people, who are accused of impersonation and ID fraud if our sex markets conflict with our gender presentation, or we don’t “look like” our sex marker to cis people. Because you need a government ID to do basically anything - getting a job, applying for an apartment, getting a driver’s license, going to school, buying a phone plan, being on unemployment, applying for disability, filing an insurance claim, doing your taxes, opening a bank account, getting married, going to the hospital, buying lottery tickets at the corner store, etc - and sex markers appear on basically all government ID in many countries, trans people are systematically denied a whole range of citizenship rights (and thus personhood) on the basis of this sex assignment. Trans people are not merely treated as the wrong gender, they are ungendered, and by this process, rendered ineligible for personhood. Like just as an example, gay marriage is a luxury to trans people, as gay marriage is based on the state recognising both you and your partner’s gender in the first place. (See Heath Fogg Davis’ paper Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) for example. Butler also talks about this on a more fundamental level in Bodies That Matter (1993), and Stryker & Sullivan also discuss this in The Queen's Body, the King's Member (2009)).  

This is likewise the impetus behind anti-trans bathroom bills and sports bans - citizenship guarantees, among other things, a right to public space, and these bans are meant to deprive transgender people access to those spaces. These bans should be understood as a way of circumventing the much more difficult process of revoking the citizenship of trans people outright by using a component of citizenship (sex assignment at birth) to impoverish the quality of citizenship that trans people have access to. This is why bans on medical transition are not actually just about medical oppression, but the oppression of trans peoples’ abilities to live in society in general. An instructive parallel is abortion bans for pregnant people, who, in addition to facing medical oppression and violence by being denied healthcare, are likewise systemically marginalised through being forced into the role of “mother” (again we see how cissexualism reduces people to reproductive capacity), economically marginalising them by reducing their capacity to earn a wage, tying them to partners/spouses that now have greater economic and social leverage over them (and thus have greater capacity to assault, rape, and murder them), depriving them of the choice of alternative life paths, and so on.

It’s generally much more difficult to get the state to sign off on unilaterally oppressing a group of citizens by depriving them of citizenship completely, so attacking a group through more narrow and particular policies like healthcare or the use of public space (with the ultimate goal of depriving them of their rights in general) is often much easier and more productive. See Beauchamp's 2019 book Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and US Surveillance Practices, who talks about this in the context of anti-trans bathroom bills in chapter 3. This is also a common thread in disability scholarship, as disabled people are likewise denied much of the same citizenship rights through similar logics - the book Absent Citizens (2009) by Michal J Prince talks about this in the Canadian context. To give an example he uses in the book, in Canada, accessible voting stations were only federally mandated in I believe the 90s, meaning that disabled people were practically disenfranchised until about 30 years ago in Canada, even though there were no laws explicitly banning disabled people from voting.

As a result, any barriers put in place by the state to change your legal name and sex marker should be understood as a comprehensive denial of personhood, not only because we as trans people want our IDs to reflect who we are, but because those barriers make it difficult to do literally anything in civil society. This the basis behind the cry of “trans rights are human rights” - taking away our healthcare rights also fundamentally denies us equal citizenship (and thus personhood), because healthcare is where we get all those little permission slips from doctors and psychologists to change our name and gender marker in the first place. This is of course not remotely the same as being made stateless (trans refugees are placed in a particularly harrowing and violent legal black hole, for example) - I as a white trans person living in the imperial core still benefit from a massive range of material, political and social privileges not afforded to many others, but my transness positions me at a deficit relative to cis people who have the same state citizenship as I do. As I hope I've made clear, it's not a binary case of either having or not having citizenship, but that citizenship is classed, and the quality of your citizenship is heavily dependent on a whole range of social, political, legal, economic, and historical factors that are all largely out of your control.

So not only is gender a barrier to citizenship, it mediates access to realising the full range of personhood within a regime of state citizenship. Trans people are not the only group effected by this, as I described above, but trans people are a group that makes obvious the arbitrary, coercive, and unequal nature of sex assignment through its connection to state citizenship.

[tangerinesgirl]

Push Your Buttons

Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: pure smut, public sex, asphyxiation, sex used for information, rough sex, sexualised reader, mean boss, stranger/anonymous sex, creampie (wrap it up folks), size difference

Notes: slight canon deviation (yeah sure Kraven doesn't wear his wet button up during the Mr Tackling scene but he does now)

Totally oblivious to the man shouting at you to hold the elevator, you drown out your sorrows with your cheap, slightly on the turn, instant coffee, marinating in the same rusty travel cup you have used for years.

Even though you didn't exactly like working for Mr Tackling, you were in too deep now, you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. Honestly, you probably more know about his business than he does. Mr Tackling doesn't even see you as a human being most days, you're sure he only hired you to be his receptionist and personal assistant as a front, only wanting the eye candy, and barely thinks you do any work.

You're late coming in today. Originally on time, but sent home by Tackling as your outfit wasn't "short enough". He makes your skin crawl. But you have to obey his demands, trying not to think about what happened to the last man who did.

You're snapped back into reality by the sound of something loud hitting the door button on the elevator. Eyes widening as you immediately clock the source of the noise being a small metal knife. The doors remain open as the man slides through the gap before retrieving his knife.

Straight away, you feel unsafe being alone in the lift with him. You take in his appearance through the awkward silence, as the lift whirs upwards. Memorising him to warn someone when you are out of the enclosed space.

Young, you want to say 30s, brown hair, damp and slicked back, as if he's just been swimming. Beard, trimmed to a suitable length, but still with a wild quality to it. You can't get a good look at his eyes, his gaze furrowed, staring at the ground.

You almost double take when you glance at his bare feet. What happened to his shoes?

Black trousers and white shirt, dripping wet. Unbuttoned at the collar teasing the muscles he is hiding underneath. Rolled up at the arms, his veins and muscles nearly pop out as he clenches his fists. Angry? Or preparing for something?

You can't deny he is a handsome man, even though you are scared, you can't help but be attracted to his ruggedness. Your breath hitches in your throat, unable to help clearing it with a cough.

As you do so, the man snaps out of his trance to look at you. His brown eyes tracing you up and down. You avoid his gaze and nervously pull down your short skirt, suddenly becoming self conscious at him oggling you.

Suddenly the man lunges forward, his body towering over yours, you back into the wall as he reaches behind you to press a button on the lift panel. The lift comes to an abrupt halt, the alarm starting to ring in your ears.

The noise of your own heart beating drowns out the alarm as you stare at the man in front of you, neither of you moving even after pressing the button. His hand next to your head, looming over you as his beard statts to tickle your face. You wait for him to make the first move.

"You know Mr Tackling?"

His voice rumbles through his chest, the deep bassy notes going straight to your core. You can't help but wonder what your name would sound like with his Russian accent.

"I uh...yeah, I'm his PA."

SHIT why did you tell him that? You don't know who this man is, you fear you may have put a mark over your head now. You guess he would find out anyway, your job being common knowledge around the office.

The man hums in thought.

"Would you tell me where he is?"

You hesitate, less likely to give up that information.

"I, I'm not sur-"

He moves his arm by the side of your head to your chin, cupping it to moving your face upwards, making you look at him. On closer inspection, you start to notice blood specks on his white shirt. You doubt it is his own.

"I won't ask again", he continues.

"What are you going to do to him?", you ask, but really, you already know the answer.

"You really have sympathy towards him? The man who sends you home to change as you don't look hot enough for him?"

"How did-"

"Never letting him touch you...", his hand travels down your body, catching on your blouse, "but yet let a complete stranger do so?"

You look away guilty, blushing at his words. You do like the attention he's showing you, part of the anonymity scares as well as excites you.

His hand snaps back onto your head as he pushes your cheek, making you look at him once again. Your coffee cup falls out of your hand in shock, spilling onto the laminate floor.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

His words sting, but end up going straight to your core. You should be afraid, but your body is saying otherwise, and he knows it.

"Will you show me where he is? ...or am I going to have to fuck the information out of you?"

The damp of his shirt starts to seep into yours at the close proximity. You can't seem to find the words, taken aback by his boldness. You start to move your leg up his, saying more than what you could have done with words. Your bare legs catching on the creases of his trousers.

The man looks at your lips, hungrily, as you trail up his leg. Seems you're both just as into this. He nods subtly, picking up on your consent, before his lips crash into yours. The force pushes you further back into the wall, both his arms leaning against the glass for stability as his tongue explores your mouth. You glance at his arms, his hands steaming up the mirror, as you moan softly into the kiss. You can't help but wonder what those hands look like wrapped around other parts of your body. You start to grind your hips on his crotch at the thought, slowly starting to feel his erection through his trousers.

He pulls away from the kiss briefly to yank your shirt open, the sound of buttons popping off around the elevator. His hands immediately palming at your bra, dipping inside to caress your breasts. You melt into his grip as your hand dips underneath your underwear.

The man stops to unzip his trousers, his cock bouncing free in the very little space between you. He wastes no time as he pulls your panties to one side to slide his cock inside you. You're grateful you decided to touch yourself before he did this, making entry a little easier, not quite realising exactly how big he is. He struggles to fit himself inside you.

"Fuck, so tight", he whispers absentmindedly next to your ear.

He grips hold of one of your legs, lifting it, spreading you further apart to make room for more of his cock. Slowly starting to thrust into you, you squirm underneath him, desperate for more. The wall behind you digs into your back with each push. You wrap your leg around his waist, making him fully insert himself into you.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head feeling him stretch you completely. Looking at him, you notice he's also totally blissed out, with some small shock and impressed looks glinting in his eyes. He takes a second before continuing to thrust inside you. Part of you wonders if he's ever managed to fully seat inside anyone else before, with his reaction.

The force of his pace winds you, unable to make any noise. You somehow can hear him pant and moan over the continuing alarm. Your body goes limp as you let this complete stranger fuck you however he seem fit, your hands digging into his back through his shirt, clawing into him for stability, craving for him to be even closer to you.

His lips start to trail down your jaw, before reaching your neck, feeling him leaving bites and bruises, you wonder what your boss would think seeing them. You swear he even growls as he does so, like a wild animal. His hand instinctively pushes some of your hair behind your ear, giving him more access. But his fingers linger there, teasing the pulse point on your jugular. Lifting his head, he sees your eyes pleading with him, letting him use you however he wanted to.

His hand effortlessly engulfs your entire neck, as he gently presses the sides. You can feel him still spearing up inside of you as the oxygen escapes your throat. His other hand ghosting at your entrance, before his fingers start to rub at your clit. He watches you closely, enjoying this power over you, and the way your walls swallow his cock perfectly.

He can feel himself close to release too, he tries to pull himself from you, but your steel grip on his back lets him know to continue. Before you know it, his pace starts to stutter, pushing one final time up into your cervix. Warmth rushes inside your cunt, his seed filling you up is nearly enough to make you orgasm again. You hum gently at the feeling. His cum starts to seep out of you, onto his trousers, but neither of you care right now.

The overstimulation is enough to make you cum. The combination of him fucking into you, playing with your bundle of nerves and seeing the veins in his hands flex and control your breathing, makes you unravel. Your toes curl inside your heels as your walls clench around him, feeling every vein of his cock as your orgasm washes over your body.

There's a pause as you both come down from your high. He removes himself from you, tucking his cock back into his trousers, pressing the alarm button again, the elevator whirring back into action.

You catch your breath as you pull your skirt down, going to do up your blouse but cursing when you remember it no longer has buttons. The man can't help but smirk seeing you have no choice but to have your bra on display. You can still feel his seed drip out of you, through your underwear and onto the floor. The elevator gives you no time to regain your thoughts as you reach the top of the building.

As soon as the door opens, you're greeted to a handful of people waiting for the elevator. Various murmurs of "about time" and "what's the hold up?" pause when they see the doors unveil the two of you. The smell of coffee and sex wafts through the air as you quickly squeeze past them, avoiding the embarrassment. The man in the lift following you, quick on your heels.

One worker eventually pipes up.

"I guess I'll take the next one."

[therobotmonster]

I know I wasn't supposed to.

But I went into the woods.

Another me came out.

We seem to be equally suspicious that the other is the imposter. I keep checking him for roots and he keeps doing the same to me. Is it a double bluff? Is he gaslighting me into thinking I'm the neverwas thing and he's the human being with organs and anxiety? Is he truly unaware he's a mockery given shape? If he can be unaware of it, I can be too.

That's kind of a lonely thought, really.

-

It's been several days and the tests are all inconclusive. We both bleed normal blood that doesn't turn into a spider and jump to the ceiling when you touch it with a hot wire. We know the same trivia. We pretended to know the same stuff we forgot that we were embarrassed not to remember. We both got uncomfortable at the exact same time when we walked into the cathedral.

We arm wrestled and didn't tie somehow, but we weren't sure if winning meant he was more likely to be fake or less likely.

I worry that we don't really know anything about accursed other selves from the woods.

Wikipedia has been less than helpful.

-

Mom claims she knows which one of us is her 'first boy' but refuses to tell us on the basis that she loves us both and thinks we should get along.

He thinks she can't tell and is too embarrassed to tell us. I think its because she wants to double her chance at grandkids. The difference in opinion is interesting, but is it a sign of an imposter, or the divergence of our experiences?

-

We've decided to flip for the job. I won, so I don't have to find new work. I don't know if that's a win.

I think the curse is that neither one of us is an unnatural imposter out to kill the other. Or else whichever one of us is the monster has realized they don't think my life is worth killing to steal.

I know I think about smashing that copy of my own face open with a rusty fire axe, a gush of sea water and blasphemous screams roiling from the empty hole that should contain bone and brains, and it just seems like a lot of trouble and effort.

I think I'm going to start going by my middle name.

-

Another me just showed up on our doorstep.

He's caked in mud, sticks and twigs in his hair, babbling about harrowing experiences. I'm fixing him some tea while the other-other me hands him the pamphlet we made just in case.

Now he's telling us about the Night King. Like we don't know.

I need a bigger place.

[talesofsonicasura]

To Save A DogDay

I couldn't help but write this after seeing the constant dedication of saving the giant toy doggo. So here's something to assist you guys in the effort. I've done some research(even though Google was being an ass) and took a look at this particular post by @dafloof

First off, DogDay is surprisingly big despite being cut in half. If I have to compare his size then think of those giant plushies you win from a theme park or carnival game. Thus the only possible carry for the average person to safely escort him is bridal or hanging off like a koala on the side due to the grab pack. He might be able to shrink himself to a more manageable size if DogDay is similar to CatNap in body structure.

Although that doesn't mean the task is impossible outside of adrenaline. DogDay may be big you got to think about his possible weight. Bigger Bodies are still toys with the Smiling Critters being plushies. How much of him is stuffing and not organs?

The necessary body parts for him to still be alive are the lungs, heart, brain, stomach, and some sort of skeletal structure. Here's a weight chart for the average human. (Although these might be smaller if harvested back as a child than an adult.)

Stomach: 2-4 pounds/lbs

Brain- 2.5 pounds/lbs

Heart- 0.25 pounds/lbs

Lungs- 1.8 pounds/lbs

Human Skeleton- 15-25 pounds/lbs

Average weight here 21.05 - 31.05 lbs. His arm bones might be reinforced similar to the Prototype but they still wouldn't be that heavy. For carrying in your arms, 35- 55 lbs is what the the untrained person can hold. Body weight contributes to how much someone can carry with a 139 lbs untrained woman being able to deadlift around 74 lbs. For men it is 125 lbs for 148 lbs.

Adrenaline can help contribute to this as there have been feats done by people in dangerous situations. One example being a human mother fighting off a polar bear to protect her kids or someone moving a car by themselves to get free. We can do insane things when it comes to survival.

There's also the mental side to this. Our brains actually diminish the perception of how strong we are by 40%. If you carry something you love or cherish like a person, then they can weigh less just from that viewpoint. Sometimes thinking like the Little Engine That Could will make a difference.

Now I am not forgetting the dangerous little critters. There are ways to deal with them and have enough time to bring DogDay along. In his cell, there are two ports they can crawl out of. Blocking these whether by flares or stuffing them with nearby items can do the trick.

Second is bribery. We aren't restricted to the environment like in the game and throughout the facility there are intact vending machines. The toys obviously need to eat but seem unable get into the machines. YOU CAN.

Break the glass and stockpile as much snacks as possible. Finding bags or boxes to carry them wouldn't be hard. Offer these to the little Critters in exchange for DogDay. You can open one bag for further incentive as the chance to get a special treat is something no one will be able to resist.

DogDay might be able to drag himself so breaking the chains with the Grab Pack or a different tool is possible. They are probably rusty thus easier to break. It will obviously hurt for DogDay to drag his body so stealing something like a cushion from CatNap's hideyhole could ease the pain.

Should that not be the case then other options are available. Considering Playcare is a fun house, you might be able to find scooterboards or a platform cart to carry him. If not then a makeshift sled to pull DogDay about is the next best move.

Now there's actually another escape route. A duck ride that you couldn't access in the game due to bugs. I think Mob was planning for a chase down there as it is fully fleshed out with puzzles and an environment.

DogDay can hold onto the boat while you solve the puzzles to get out. For those who hadn't chosen bribery then flares will keep pursuing Little Critters away. Maybe set a fire as you escape since there's plenty of items to make a molotov cocktail if crafty enough.

I suggest finding some walkie talkies as someone needs to look after DogDay. The area under the statue can be a possible safe spot but being able to contact Kissy Missy and Poppy will better the chances of his recovery than just survival. Both know the factory's inner works enough to remain hidden so they might know where to find supplies. A possible ally with valuable info can sway them to help.

There is also the option of coming back to Playcare. DogDay might still be alive as you can hear his muffled cries during the chase. He might be worse for wear due to the little menaces piloting him like a bootleg Megazord. Walkie talkies can help you page Kissy Missy to help with escorting the Bigger Body safely.

It is possible to save DogDay if you are smart or crafty enough to use the environment. The factory offers a lot of potential options to help with that. Do know that you can turn a simple water gun into a flamethrower.

Why follow the rules of the game when there are ways to break them?

[xoxo-sweet-coffee]

the humanity of 'love'

Eyeless Jack x Reader

tw: blood, implied cannibalism, vaguely described death (not of major character)

have you ever wondered if love can change a monster– or, demon to be exact– into something human? maybe it can't. to fix implies that there's something wrong, so what about improvement instead? growth?

love doesn't "fix", you learned that from each other. but you grew together, in an odd, painfully human way.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you think back to the first time, he's not the first thing you remember. You remember waking up in the middle of the night, it wasn't unusual- you were a light sleeper, the summer heat got to you. You remember how cold the floor was under your feet. You remember how the moonlight made the room glow blue as you tried to find your slippers and failed. The covers half fallen off the bed, how heavy your body felt, the dryness in your throat that ached for even a drop of water, the memories rush back, uninvited, but they do.

It felt peaceful then, standing in the doorway, your back to your window, trying to remember whether you had a mug on your bedside table already. Honestly, you were so drowsy you didn't even hear it slide open. What you did hear, though, was the thud that echoed in the room. You thought you knew stillness before. If you did, then there was no word to describe the limbo of that moment. The oddest part is, you weren't even scared, you barely even registered what you just heard. But, when you did, when you turned your head and saw the dark outline of a figure, more hunched over on this knees than standing…

…You just stood there.

Flight, fight, freeze. You- no, your body had made the choice for you. Your mind raced, and your heart slowed down, shrinking away in the cavity of your chest as if it might save you. As if it knew it should remain undetected from this intruder. You thought it slowed, at least, you didn't notice how loud it thumped in your ears. Blood. The word echoed in your mind, and despite being delirious, you slowly understood why.

It wasn't the blood rushing through your veins, It wasn't your blood running cold, No, that wasn't it. The scent of blood.

It was metallic, rusty, and it made your gut churn in panic. As copper clouded your sense of smell though, you moved forward, out of nothing but instinct. Your mind clawed at you to turn and run, but you just couldn't. Was it a homeless man who stumbled in? Was he injured? If there was blood, he needed help. You flinched when the figure slumped onto the floor fully. He passed out. It was a haze after that.

You don't know if you stared at him for minute, or an hour, or more than that. But you eventually did drag him, to the best of your abilities, to the bathroom. In the dark, you didn't think to question the gray skin, or the mask, or why his blood smelled of acid and smoke, instead of that distinctive metal.

Then, you tried to clean his wounds, or so he recounted later on. You wouldn't know. The next memory was waking up on the floor of your bathroom, back against the tub. It could've been a dream, if not for the trail of crimson and black leading back to that spot on your bedroom floor.

Life felt a little less peaceful after that. The black goo - which you'd found out was tar - had stained the wood flooring of your hallway. You had to get a carpet to cover it. The blinds of the bedroom window stayed closed now. Like a child hiding under a blanket, you thought they'd keep you safe.

But then came the second time. This time, his figure was the first thing that came to mind. Looming over you, bottomless pits of black staring down, the rest of his face obscured by that stupid mask. It was still, but in another way. The same way a deer freezes in front of a car before it's certain doom, the same way a rabbit plays dead in an attempt to survive. Jack wondered if you, too, had accepted your doom, or if you thought staring up at him motionless would save you. The deer or the rabbit. You were as good as dead either way. By the time morning came, though, you were alive. Annoyingly, his scalpels blade had dulled- that's the excuse he gave, as he walked away from your house again. A life for a life, that was it. There wouldn't be a next time.

The third time, you didn't really see him. He'd been stealthy, the only trace of him that remained in your room were the indents on your windowsill. That was how you found out he had claws. Then, looking in the bathroom mirror you also found a pink line on your abdomen. Reminiscent of dragging sharp nails across skin, maybe you'd scratched yourself in your sleep. But the pain said otherwise, and the line was too precise, it was a cut.

The fourth was the first time you heard his voice. He stood there, near the window, and you laid on your side. He could tell, by how you barely kept your eyes open, that you were on the brink of falling asleep once again. It was irritating, did you not learn, not from all these nights? He came to finish what he started, but every night, something came up. That didn't mean you could still just live in blissful ignorance. "Put a lock on your window," he grumbled. You were surprised how human he sounded, because by now, you realized he was not. Some words left your mouth, in an attempt of a reply, but judging by the sigh from him… It was incoherent at best. He called you an idiot under his breath. You heard it, and protested something. Then morning came, and you realized he left the window open, on purpose. Jerk.

The fifth time didn't happen right away. Until then, he'd come every week or so. Now a month had passed. You weren't even in your room this time. Grabbing a cold drink from the fridge, you just wanted something to pass the time, you couldn't sleep. When you heard a commotion in the backyard, you figured it was neighbors or something. Thank god for your gut instinct yelling that something was wrong. 'To check wouldn't hurt', your mind echoed as you pushed the sliding door to the backyard open. Two figures, and that smell, that unmistakable smell of rusted iron, and our decay. And another scent. Smokey, acidic, it was him.

"What the fuck," the words slipped out, it was the only thing that could be said. He was standing over a man, in front of your bedroom door.

"You actually locked it," he was quiet but you heard him. Quiet, monotone, as if he hadn't just… Killed someone. "Were you going to…" "Not me, him," he sounded offended at the implication. "You've been here four times before." "You're keeping count?" His nonchalance was chilling, confusing… And oddly fitting for a someone like him. He lifted the body over his shoulder, carrying it as if it was just a bag of sand. "Your name," you found the strength to demand, even if he was already walking away. "What's your name?" Your audacity almost impressed him, but it was equally annoying. He should've finished the job, he was going to, but he also couldn't let some creep break into your house, either. At least he only did this for his own survival, not enjoyment. "Jack," he replied in a huff of irritation. Then he was gone, and you stood on your porch. How would you even get the bloodstains out of the wood?

"How did you get those stains out?" Jack's voice came a low rumble, his clawed hands running along your scalp. It's as if he knew you were recalling the events, even now. "I didn't, just painted over them," you sighed, relaxing your head on his chest. It's been one year since that last time. It was August, crickets chirped outside, and he left the window open. Not to annoy you, but because fresh air was good for you. Love was such an odd thing. It took root in the oddest places, too.

In the tar stains in the hallway hidden under a cheap rug, the indents on the windowsill, the scar on your abdomen, the painted porch. He'd stumbled his way into your life, and you, into his. His humanity was once gone. But it still slipped in, slowly. In how his instincts lead him to your house when he was injured, his mercy, his impulse to protect you. Jack resented it, but you made him human.

Not literally. Love isn't a miracle cure. It didn't undo what had been done to him. But it changed him.

"Do you still keep count?" He asked quietly. You rolled your eyes, because he was still caught up on that. But in truth, you did always cross off a day on your calendar every time he came by. And you did count, on night's he wasn't here. That wasn't often now.

"I lost count after half a year," you admitted. Because after half a year, you stopped having a chance to count. You liked it better that way, you liked not having to count. "You such an idiot," he chuckled, and his palm rested on your cheek.

He still didn't really touch you, not often, and not up close. But laying on his side, facing you, and being able to caress your hair from 'his' side of the bed… That was enough right now. You didn't need to kiss, or feel your skin against each other's. For now, this was enough.

Maybe one day, he'd be human enough to brush his lips over yours, without having to fight the hunger for flesh.

Maybe you'd actually turn him human one day. If anyone could do it, it was you.

For now, he was satisfied with just having the humanity of love, instead of his own. Maybe that was the most human thing of all.

[surelysilly]

i love your King Of Hell Danny (superphantom) au and i would greatly (very much) appreciate it if you could talk more about it (King Of Hell Danny) i love his (danny) smug cat energy (smug) in all of your drawing for it (hell is under New Management)

i hope you're ready for this some rambling but ask and you shall receive!!! yes i waited to post this for superphantom week i gotta shill for my own event, y'know :9

So. You want to know more about King of Hell Danny, is it?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Well. Well. He's certainly Danny. Or more specifically I've decided as of recent, Dark Danny. I'm waffling on whether he's Dan Dark Danny or just... Phantom sans Plasimus. The latter feels less likely as i try to flesh him out, but you never know with these guys... he does prefer to look like his 14 yr old self though.

But whatever version he is of himself... it's post-TUE, and he hates himself more than anyone is allowed to know.

Not sure exactly how he ended up in the SPNverse (portal probably!), but he'd definitely prefer going back to his own world/dimension in a heavily buried sense of self-flagellation and unreliable narrator-ness.

Everyone is waiting for him there, not here, wherever he is exactly. This implies anyone is left alive, but he never said that. People (Crowley, etc.) just assume so.

and he's the worst lil jerk you could ever meet, at a first, second, and third, glance, anyway.

Smug cat, indeed. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and taking over Hell felt right. (isn't that where he'd go? he thinks, after learning Hell is actually real.)

he's overpowered for sure, but it also comes from a misconception for what he is. Not a demon, not human, a secret Third Thing: weird ghost.

i like to think most regular ghost counter measures work on him, but no one thinks to try them because that ain't no ghost??? He plays the part really well though, pretending to be a demon (and gets mislabelled a crossroads demon for his red eyes) -- it doesn't bother him to kill people, but he doesn't go out of his way to do it anymore.

KOH!Danny having it out for the Winchesters is a very thoughtless and fun thing, and it would piss him off when they try to summon Crowley, but in all actuality, he'd probably end up begrudgingly working with them or something.

And ultimately betray them.

I also think his goal would be to fuse with Lucifer when he's freed from the Cage. That should give him enough power to bust a hole back to his OG dimension, right?

maybe. Who knows.

You can certainly find him at DIY skateparks across the globe. He's an asshole to anyone and everyone, but god have mercy on anyone looking to cause trouble while he's trying to have a good time (he feels guilty about it, though, having fun -- it's a circle of shame/guilt/fuck it we ball mentality, here for a good time not a long time).

he can 'see' Castiel's wings and if in his presense, will pluck at them because he's annoying like that.

Crowley became his lap dog though, regardless of intial beheadings because... Hell generates a lot of paperwork the way Crowley was running it, and KOH!Danny don't got the time for all of that.

eventually I'm sure someone will figure him out, ghost weaknesses and all, but it's not 1:1 SPNverse ghost: no bones to burn, no records of him being alive ever, etc., but he's definitely solid enough.

i could see a later quest like what the Winchesters did to find Crowley's remains, but they'd spiral down a hole of "where hell did this creature even come from???" and the Men of Letters/Angels/anyone wouldn't know jack about what he even is exactly.

i'm so rusty on SPN though... but those are my cobbled together ideas. I'd place him mid-ish seasons Supernatural (because ive only really seen s4 thru s8...) but i think the 'hijinks' of later seasons could be fun with the seriousness of early, early seasons sprinked in!

[locketsvault]

「 AYATO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS 」

pairing: ayato kirishima x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, human reader, relationship headcanons and scenarios, sfw relationship headcanons, nsfw relationship headcanons

warnings: angst warning for our emo boy, canon gore, nsfw content in the second half of this post, it will be marked so you can skip if uncomfortable! aged up ayato when I get to nsfw content. sexual words used in the nsfw part. not proof read.

request: hii! if it’s not too much could you write something with ayato (tokyo ghoul)? nsfw or sfw, up to you! I’m dying for ayato content ahaha ;; thank youu! (original request found here.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: I said this in the original request post but I’ll say it here too. I’m very rusty with the plot of tokyo ghoul so forgive me if he’s ooc! I’m also anime only since I’ve been having a hard time reading the manga, though I do know what happens in the manga vs the anime. (If anyone wants me to write a proper fic on how you guys met just ask, I’d honestly love to).

// how the relationship started ⌇˚.༄

⮑ The first time you two met you were walking home from school and got attacked by a rogue ghoul. This ghoul was hunting in a no hunt zone, and you just to happened to be his prey. Ayato was surveying the area when he heard you scream and smelled human blood. Knowing who’s hunting ground it was and that it was probably the rogue ghoul he went over to see what was going on. He was surprised to see that you were fighting back, despite being hold down by the ghouls kagune and seriously injured. You actually managed to injure the ghoul too.

⮑ He took care of the ghoul trying to kill you. While half conscious you heard him mock the guy for hunting in an area with a high count of aogiri members, before tearing his head off. Right after he did you passed out from blood loss. Usually Ayato would’ve killed you or just left you to bleed out, but something about you refusing to give up struck a cord with him. So he sneakily dropped you off at the emergency room and left.

⮑ Next time you guys meet is months later, you recovered fully from the attack, only having scars to show your survival. You were sitting at a coffee shop as the sun set, as a familiar blue haired boy walked inside. At first he didn’t recognize you, and after feeling your gaze on him for a while he turns to yell at you. But suddenly the memories hit him, and he notices that your look is anything but malicious. He decided to bite back his tongue.

⮑ You two would constantly run into each other at that coffee shop. You always have him a genuine smile or silent greeting as he walked by. He found you very peculiar, how you weren’t afraid of him even though he knew damn well you knew he was a ghoul. You didn’t seem uncomfortable around his friends too, and he could tell you knew they were ghouls too.

⮑ You approached him first, having memorized his order. You gave him his coffee one of the times he came in, and thanked him for saving your life. He ofc made a negative quip about how he could care less if you died or not, but you didn’t seem to care. You intrigued him even more. So he told himself he’d give you some of his time. He’d always come to hang out with you, and without realizing it he started falling for you. He hated it.

⮑ He started pushing you away and ignoring you. He stopped showing up to the coffee shop, but he couldn’t help but watch you from afar to make sure you’re safe. One night though you get attacked again when he’s patrolling. And he absolutely loses it. He tears the other ghoul to pieces like a feral animal. He almost hurts you when you walk over to try to comfort him, he’s that crazy.

⮑ He genuinely expected you to be horrified or find him disgusting. Instead you start crying and cup his bloody cheek. His kagune is fully out, his ghoul eyes bright and burning into you, his hair absolutely disheveled. Yet you didn’t seem to care. After you cupped his cheek he could feel his heart pounding, and he slowly started to calm down.

⮑ He let his head fall into your neck as you proceed to hug him, telling him it’s okay over and over. He buried his face into your neck, taking in your scent. He was surprised when he realized the desire he felt over your scent was something quite different than he was used to. He unconsciously started nipping at your neck and scenting you, hoping to protect you as tears streamed down his face.

⮑ That night you two finally come clean about your feelings. And he, reluctantly after lots of reassurance, decides he wants to try being in a relationship with you.

// sfw relationship headcanons ⌇˚.༄

⮑ At the start of your relationship he was very distant and awkward. He wasn’t used to affection and had never been in a committed relationship before.

⮑ He has a habit of stalking you, but not because he doesn’t trust you, he’s just that scared of losing you. You ofc know he does this and you let him, he’s your little protector.

⮑ In front of everyone else he’s an absolute brat, he misbehaves left and right and is very dangerous and powerful. But with you he’s an absolute puppy. Just one touch and he folds.

⮑ You’re the reason he’s able to keep it together as much as he does. You’re always there for him no matter what. Your arms are always open waiting for him when he comes home.

⮑ Speaking of home you two secretly live together once you move out of your parents house. He keeps your relationship as much of a secret as possible. But you don’t mind.

⮑ He panicked the first time you saw him eat leftovers at home. Knowing he eats humans is one thing, seeing it is another. He was scared you’d be uncomfortable or say something inappropriate. So he puffed up like a porcupine ready to defend himself. Instead, you reassured him it was okay. Surprisingly you sat down with him and started eating as well.

⮑ Now though if he eats he will sit next to you nonchalantly and sometimes rest his head in your shoulder as he does. You make him feel that safe.

⮑ He confides in you about his familial issues and all about his big sister. You do your best to help him talk better with Touka, it’s not easy though.

⮑ He’s actually very affectionate when he opens up. He loves hugging and holding you, along with giving you kisses. He tends to greet you with forehead kisses, it’s nice. :>

⮑ He’s pretty good with keeping you up to date on what’s going on in the ghoul world, and you help him with navigating the world as a human.

⮑ You balance each other very well.

// nsfw relationship headcanons ⌇˚.༄

⮑ Ghoul smut, yippee.

⮑ I think we can all agree on the ghouls and pheromones and instincts and stuff like that. I’ve actually read a bunch of stuff on ghouls on this app but it’s been months and I can’t remember so forgive me.

⮑ He’s very very verryyyy possessive. Even from the start.

⮑ He won’t act on it though, he’s not ready and doesn’t want to scare you off. But boy does he get the urge all the time.

⮑ Blood kink. He loves to taste you on his lips. Biting kink too. He will leave marks, and they’ll almost always be enough to draw blood. With consent ofc.

⮑ He actually almost lost control over himself the first time you two made out.

⮑ I should probably mention you turn him on fast. Your smile, your scent, your body language. All of it gets under his skin.

⮑ Your first sexual encounter with Ayato was in an alleyway actually. It was night time, he was walking you to your shared apartment. Somehow, you ended up pressed against the wall, holding onto your boyfriend as his fingers worked magic on you. You desperately tried to stay silent since you were in public but you struggled. Even if he had little to no prior experience he’s naturally talented and knows exactly how you work.

⮑ Your first intercourse was actually kind of sweet. It was when you first moved into your apartment, your building had rooftop access. So you two camped out on the roof to watch the stars. It started off with hand holding and innocent kisses, yet somehow he ended up between your legs pounding into you.

⮑ He prefers doing the work and being dominant when it comes to sexual activity. But sometimes he will let you on top. He can’t resist the sight of you riding him.

⮑ He’s very touchy, his hands are always all over you. No matter the position you can feel his hand sliding up your inner thighs or sides.

⮑ The first time you asked him to fuck you as a ghoul he was hesitant, worried you’d be scared. He was shocked instead when you came hard the first time. He will usually let his eyes show, but sometimes he will let out his kagune too upon request.

⮑ Ayato is average length and thick, and he knows how to use it. He loves his cock, I’m sorry but he does. He loves when you try to stroke him off, or when you get down on your knees for him instead. But most of all he loves the look on your face when he makes you cum with it.

⮑ Ghouls have extra strength so he has to be careful with you, there are definitely some times where he’s accidentally hurt you while learning your limits.

⮑ He doesn’t use protection. He knows you’re both clean, and if you’re afab since you’re human he honestly believes he can’t knock you up. That being said though, he loves breeding you.

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