#heyyyyyyyy

[leolingo]

a second quacktoiles selfie has hit the building

[quiyuyuyu]

[seulgishaku]

Reyna being a constant in Jasico's relationship. She probably tells them how much they mean to each other more than they do.

She knows them both so well. She knows all their signs and tells. She'll walk in on one of Jason's visits to camp to him asleep in Nico's arms on the couch and go, "oh, he sleeps with you? He doesn't often let people see him so vulnerable, he feels safe in your arms."

Or she'll go up to Jason and go "keep an eye on Nico, he's been shadow traveling alot recently. Make sure he rests well and don't be alarmed if he's gone for a couple of days."

She's just there and gods they're grateful for her.

[baconnwaffles0-but-everywhere]

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

RATING: Explicit (Mentions of Graphic Violence) Word Count: 28k Pairing: Shenko Characters: Female Shepard, Kaidan Alenko, Jeff "Joker" Moreau, David Anderson, Nihlus Kryik, Karin Chakwas, Richard L. Jenkins, [REDACTED], and [REDACTED]

The sound of his footsteps echoing softly across the marbled floor is the only one that fills his ears as he patters his way slowly throughout the base. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of a dark jacket that’s about half a size too small for him. It’s old- he’s had it for damn near forever at this point. Or at least he thinks he has- he really can’t remember when he got it, honestly. The cuffs of the sleeves are starting to fray at the edges, and the zipper had broken a long time ago. There’s a hole in one of the front pockets that he sticks his fingers through sometimes. Other times he’ll put something he needs in it- a message, a small, hidden weapon, some item he thinks he’ll need later- only to curse under his breath when he realizes it’s now lost to the void forever.

His memory isn’t great anymore, but he can’t really remember a time when it ever was, honestly.

He ducks his way past two scientists leaning over a computer interface. He doesn’t bother to offer them or the project specifications they’re working on a second glance as they leer at him uneasily- pushing their backs against the desk as he passes by. He’s used to it, by this point. It happens whenever he comes back- the way all of their eyes follow him as he slinks through the hallways looking for the right door. Sometimes he forgets where it is, and gets lost enough that he has to stop and ask for directions. Most people working at the base are usually too scared to give them to him. Something about his eyes, or… maybe his scars. He’s not really sure, to be honest. Or maybe it’s about the things he does… the things he’s asked to do by the one in charge. He’s not supposed to ask those kinds of questions, though. It’s not proper for someone like him.

As he turns down another hallway, he stops. This one looks familiar. He’s heading in the right direction now, at least. He nods to himself with a shaky breath and continues walking as a tall, burly man dressed in black fatigues glares at him when they pass by one another. He’s holding a Vindicator, and his finger slides down towards the trigger when he comes close enough to him that he can see the logo stitched onto the arm of his jacket. It’s a white, hexagonal O, with two orange lines emblazoned on either side.

His eyes dart towards the ground as the man scowls at him. Projects aren’t supposed to share eye contact with the soldiers stationed at the base. He knows that because the one in charge told him that. His job is to do what he’s told to do- no questions asked. He’s good at following orders. It’s the only thing he’s good at, honestly. At the least, it’s the only thing he can remember being good at.

When he drifts past the man, he turns down one final hallway and stops at the bottom of a large, sprawling staircase. The steps are made of a deep, black onyx- almost the same color as his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment as another shaky breath escapes his lips. He doesn’t want to go up.

No, not yet.

He knows what awaits him on the other side of the door, and he’s not quite ready to face it yet. His nerves are starting to get the better of him, just like they always do when he comes back. He stops for another moment, trying to find something to hold onto when he goes in- something to settle them in the coming battle. It’s hard to find things to grab onto when his anxieties start to get the better of him- he can’t remember a lot of things.

But he settles on something easy this time. He picks his name.

He actually doesn’t have a name. Not one he can remember, at least. Projects, ghosts, phantoms- the ones that slink through the base and take direct orders from the one in charge… they don’t get names. They just get numbers- maybe a title or an actual designation if they’re lucky, like some of the others had been. He wasn’t lucky, though. His designation is Seven. It’s the only name he’s ever known- or at least the only one he can remember.

He doesn’t have a lot of memories, honestly. He remembers his time at a facility on a planet where it always seemed to be raining- where things were always a hazy shade of murky green out of the windows that were barred above his head. The ones in charge used to make him use his biotics to fight a girl with a shaved head and dark eyes that turned a deep shade of amethyst when she was enraged.

She was much stronger than him- it was probably why she was Zero and he was Seven. She had been there much longer than he had… or at least he thinks she had. He didn’t see her that often- only when they pulled her out of the solitary room she was in and made her fight the other kids in the ring below it. The soldiers would cheer sometimes. Other times they would make bets about which one she would end up slamming into the wall with a well-placed shockwave- or which one she could obliterate to atoms with a warp. He had only fought her twice- but he managed to hold his own both times. The soldiers had to pull them apart and tranquilize her. They seemed extremely disappointed that she hadn’t managed to eradicate him- just like she had with many of the other projects. But after the second time, they pulled him out of his bed that night, loaded him onto a transport, and shipped him somewhere completely different.

He didn’t see the facility or the girl again after that.

His hands begin to tremble as he starts to walk up the stairs. He licks his lips nervously and slams his eyes shut. Part of him is wishing he could just turn back around and go back to the transport that had dropped him off a few minutes prior. He just wants another mission. He doesn’t want to debrief about the previous one. He hates debriefing- especially when he has to do it in person. When the one in charge calls you back to base to debrief, it’s almost never a good sign.

His foot slips for a moment, but he catches himself. A second later, the sound of his boots across the onyx steps begins reverberating through the abyss of the room again. It sounds almost like... gunshots. One after another. Then there’s a flash in his mind- a face standing above him. He can feel his elbows sinking into the ground and the feeling of dirt in his palms. Grit. He gazes up at the face. Four deep, black eyes- the same color as the steps he’s walking up. It smirks back at him with a needle-toothed grin and a Predator raised to his forehead as he screams. He swears he can hear a name coming out of his mouth, but he can never remember who it belongs to.

Then a crack and the vision just... fizzles out entirely. He loses it just as quickly as he’s gained it.

He catches flashes like these sometimes. It’s not often, but sometimes. It’s not always a vision he can’t remember, though. More often than not it’s just a… picture he swears belongs to him, but knows that he doesn’t really know. It’s mostly a face, every now and again. Sometimes it’s just eyes. They’re a deep shade of sable, and they belong to a girl he swears he used to know. She’s… young. In some of the pictures she’s bleeding from her abdomen. Her hands reach out to him, and her eyes begin glowing violet instead. She’s trying grab a hold of him while she screams out a name that he can’t hear. Then the room starts glowing so brightly he has to slam his eyes closed and her face just disappears altogether.

Other times she’s smiling at him. She has dimples and dark freckles that dust the bridge of her nose. Her hair is almost black, braided back behind her ears as those sable eyes glow affectionately at him. She laughs as she reaches her hands out to him. The sun is blaring brightly across a field he doesn’t know… surrounded by sights he doesn’t remember… smells he swears he can almost-

But then that one fades out too, and he loses sight of the girl altogether.

He hates her. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, she plagues his thoughts more often than the other faces he catches glimpses of sometimes.

There’s an old man with a stubbled beard and hazel eyes. His fingers are wrapped tightly around a paintbrush as he’s arched tirelessly over a canvas streaked with colors he tries to commit to memory. Each time he sees the man, the colors on the canvas are different- but they’re always beautiful. He wishes he could remember them more, but they slip away every time he tries to think about them. The only one he ever managed to commit to memory is a vague streak of a sun and a moon- and even that’s hazy most of the time.

Other times it’s an old woman. She wears a jumpsuit stained black with oil. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal elaborate mandalas that twine their way up her arms until they disappear under the fabric. Her skin is wrinkled, and her eyes are cerulean- like the pictures of the sky he sees on occasion. They glow brightly as she grins back at him. She’s holding a wrench as she slides out from the underside of a sky-car. Sometimes the girl is with her, watching her with wonder in her own sable eyes. He doesn’t see the old woman as often as the others, though.

The only other face he can remember is a middle-aged woman. Her hair is dark, and it curls loosely around her cheeks. Most of the time she’s hunched over a plot of dirt- at least from the pictures he can remember. He’s usually there with her, and sometimes he can feel the grit under his nails. He likes the feeling this time- it’s different than the picture of the thing standing above him with the gun. She grins at him as she hands him a bowl filled with strawberries. He can’t tell what she’s saying, but it eases his mind, regardless. Her presence is a reassuring one in his head.

He wishes he could see her more often.

He stops as he reaches the top of the stairs and his breath hitches in his throat. The one in charge wouldn’t like it if he knew he was thinking about them- the faces he sees when he closes his eyes. He never told him about them after he began working for him when they brought him here from the facility. Part of him was nervous that they would try to take them away from him when he came here. He knew there were things from before his time at the facility he couldn’t remember- things they had probably taken from him for his safety. They had done that before… or at least he thinks they had. Making sure his focus remained on the mission was what was important. His biotics needed to stay in control- that’s what the one in charge told him. And he was right. His biotics could be… problematic sometimes.

He raises his hand to open the door, but then he freezes again. His mind turns back to the faces. Maybe he should tell the one in charge about them- the people he sees when he closes his eyes and tries to drift off on the rare occasions he gets to sleep. Sometimes they reassure him, but more often than not they torment his mind with names that allude him. He doesn’t remember most of his dreams- he really never has. But he remembers their faces- because sometimes he’ll see them when he’s awake, too. It’s not often- not usually as often as he’ll see them in his dreams. Usually, it’s triggered by a fleeting image, sometimes something else- a smell, a touch, or a feeling he thinks he used to know.

But then he remembers that projects… that phantoms slinking through the hallways like shadows tucked against the walls... they don’t know things. That he doesn’t know things. He just knows what he’s told to do. That’s what matters.

Not the faces of people he doesn’t know.

He takes a deep breath and nods to himself before he grabs the handle and pushes it open, slipping inside as he pulls it closed gently behind him.

He takes two steps forward as his eyes land on the window in front of him. The room is bathed in a pale orange glow emanating from the nova on the other side of the glass. It mirrors and dances its way across the marble before it settles on the toes of his boots. His eyes glance very briefly at the chair settled in the middle of the room. The one in charge is sitting in it, with his legs crossed. He’s facing into the nova, his arm resting on the edge with a cigarette perched between his fingertips. He’s dressed in a deep, navy suit and his graying hair is slicked back. He pulls the cigarette up to his lips and takes a puff, but doesn’t turn his chair to face him. His heart begins racing.

He knows the one in charge is glowering at him from the backside of those icy, cybernetic blue eyes- even if he isn’t looking at him. Maybe a small part of him is glad he didn’t turn around when he walked in- looking into them always sent a chill down his spine.

“Subject Seven.” His voice is quiet, but it’s pensive. The one in charge is thinking, but he’s upset… he’s frustrated. He’s angry. “Your last mission went… poorly.”

His fingers start to tremble again at his side. He begins picking aimlessly at a loose thread in his pocket as he taps the tips on his other hand against his jeans anxiously. He swallows the knot in his throat as his leg starts shaking and he closes his eyes. He needs to figure out how to respond.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. An apology? He shouldn’t apologize- the one in charge hates when he does that. “I lost control… It won’t happen again.”

He can hear him snort as he pulls his cigarette up to his lips to take another puff. He presses his eyes closed again, and grips the fabric of his pants so tightly his knuckles start to turn white.

“That’s the exact same thing you told me last time.” He exhales the smoke in a small streak that begins to trail towards the other side of the room before it just as quickly dissipates out of view. “It doesn’t seem like you know how to maintain control.”

He bites his lip bottom lip, chewing on the skin aimlessly. He’s not wrong. His biotics became stronger after the experiments… after his time at the facility. But that came with the unfortunate side effect of losing his control sometimes. It was worse when he saw the pictures. The flashes of their faces. Sometimes they’d cause him to flare out... make mistakes he didn’t want to make. He’d end up doing things he shouldn’t have done because he couldn’t stop himself from doing them.

This last mission had been no different. The job was meant to be simple- all he needed to do was speak to the Batarian and collect the package for transport back to a facility. It was something he’d done a thousand times before- something so easy he never should have made a mistake in the first place.

But then he sees those eyes staring back at him. And they look just like the ones from the picture in his head. The ones that belong to the one that was glaring at him… mocking him… pressing the gun against his forehead while it laughs in his face and he screams a name he can’t remember.

And he just snaps. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t the same Batarian- that all he was seeing was a picture that didn’t belong to him anymore. The Batarian is nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground as heat pulsates from his skin and violet light twines around his arms.

But now there’s no way to pick up the package for transport back to the facility. The pictures taunted him into making a mistake that cost him the mission- and now he has to suffer the consequences.

He shakes his head again. He needs to let the pictures go- stop trying to remember the faces that belong to people who don’t matter to him. He can’t afford to lose control anymore- he wants to be able to remember things.

“I can maintain control. It won’t happen again.”

He bites his lip harder, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth as he feels the taste of iron in his mouth. The one in charge barely moves, but then he leans back over the armrest to put his cigarette out in an ashtray. He folds his hands in his lap and sighs deeply. A moment later, he nods curtly.

“Very well, Seven. I’m willing to offer you another chance.” His voice is still quiet, still pensive- but it’s less frustrated now. Maybe the apology worked this time. He makes mistakes, but not often. Maybe the one in charge sees that. He was good at following orders- he has to be. “I have another mission for you. This one is… different from the others. More… personal. I need someone I trust on this.”

His hands finally stop trembling. He trusts him. He exhales a quiet sigh of relief as the one in charge begins detailing the brief of the mission. Part of him isn’t really paying attention- he knows the details will be sent to his omni-tool after the meeting anyway. But he watches the way his body shifts in the chair, making absolutely sure he never makes a move to turn back around. He doesn’t want to see his eyes. He remembers the last time he had to see them- but he can’t remember anything about the mission he went on before that.

As the one in charge finishes talking, he waves his hand at him- indicating that he wants him to leave. The only thing he does remember after their conversations.

He follows suit quickly- he doesn’t want to frustrate him again. As he spins back around on his heels, he pulls the door open, slips back out of it, and shuts it closed behind him. He leans against it gently- pressing the back of his head against the cool metal frame with a shaky sigh.

His eyes slam shut and he sees hers again- the girl’s. They’re sable this time. She’s huddled over a computer interface with a few empty mugs situated at her side. She has a blanket tossed loosely over her shoulders. Her face looks as pensive as the man in charge’s as her eyes gloss over a screen filled with maps. It looks like… stars. Constellations? Charts of some kind, if he had to guess. He can’t tell. She seems tired, but she turns to look at him and grins, pointing to something on the screen.

He pushes it away this time. Forces the image to disappear back to whatever corner of his mind it had previously been locked away in. He doesn’t want to remember it anymore- there are so many other things he’d rather see than a girl he hates. So many other things he’d rather remember than the faces of people he doesn’t know… The memories that don’t belong to him… The pair of sable eyes that haunt both his waking hours and his nightmares.

He begins walking down the steps again and stuffs his hands back into his jacket. He sticks his fingers through the hole in the pocket and exhales sharply as he listens to the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the abyss of the room. Today, he has his name. That’s more than enough.

But then he remembers how he sees it sometimes. How it’s become an itch in his brain he can’t quite scratch away. How he’ll notice it when he looks in the mirror and catches himself staring for just a moment too long.

Sometimes it hits him like a truck before he swallows the feeling and shoves back down to the deepest part of his skull. The way he tries to bury it so far down that he never has to think about it again. Fuck, he wishes it would work- but then that feeling comes back all over again the next time he manages to catch even the slightest glimpse at his reflection.

One of your eyes is sable, too.

[emoji-ijome]

Hey what’s up my boi?

heyyyyyyy

[mundmutter]

@helltrick / sc

―  🜛  ―  "  The  scent  of  you  ―  Do  tell,  doooooo  tell  ―  "      a  twirl  of  tip  toes  moves  the  lady  along  the  chorus  of  song,  triumphant  trumpeting  that  accompanies  the  frisky  violins  her  only  partner  for  the  past  few  moments.  or  perhaps  hours.  Who  knew  that  she  might  entertain  a  partner  in  this  chorus  of  bloody  romping?    " How  far  away  have  you  come  that  you  would  not  join  a  Lady  in  her  dance?  Are  you  shy? "

[bookishfeylin]

Btw I’m not dead or anything guys I’m just not caught up on my Godzilla show and I DONT WANT TO SEE ANY MORE SPOILERS so I’m avoiding tumblr

[backyard-bear]

shout out to my irls. sorry.

[dykewhxre]

⭐️🌟⭐️

men do not interact

[affidecrystal]

Genuine question for the Reylo community. Maybe someone can answer this but I remember very clearly on Tumblr in the Reylo fandom when TROS was released that the general consensus was that if Ben was in the World Between Worlds when being written out of the franchise, he would not be able to leave without Rey traveling through time and space to save him. In the same conversation, the same Reylos said “but Anakin didn’t need that and could come and go as he wanted according to The Clone Wars show”. How do you have one but not the other, especially when Ben is part of the Dyad that the Force favors since no other couple in the GFFA has that distinction? Ben only has supernatural skills as Kylo and once Kylo is dead, Ben loses his abilities? That’s how it reads. Why would the favored Dyad half be punished that harshly, except by SW fans and writers who hated Ben? Based on witnessing that experience within the fandom as self proclaimed Reylos in 2020 who disowned Ben said they refused to acknowledge any other version of the World Between Worlds if they even claim it to exist, it seems very hypocritical at minimum for those same people to say “praise be to The World Between Worlds” and “we now have seen that The World Between Worlds is real” now as is the current fixation. If nothing else, it shows that people didn’t respect Ben then or now because it’s an anti-Ben/Kylo (also anti-Adam) fanboy viewpoint. As if they didn’t already win by having one of their own retcon the movies with their screenplay of TROS via online petitions, which in turn retconned the entire GFFA to fit the live action Disney+ spinoffs. The universe in the many tv series is not what existed in the 11 film’s leading up to TROS because the events and characters in the original films don’t exist now except in a parallel universe.

…anyone want to take a stab…? My head hurts.

[margaritaville]

hey...... :3c

[uglybug0]

me when i oh no im bored And then me when i oh wait its t-t-t-t-tumblr time !!!!!!!

[inunobogyo]

ORG.    EST.    12/2022.    ||    A  very  Private  +  Selective  SESSHOMARU of INUYASHA     ||    Triggering  topics  present  and  tagged  +  Multiverse  friendly    ||    semi  active  --    AS  ADORED  BY  COSMOS    25+. a heavy wip.

anti yashahime. Significantly manga-based with slight headcanon liberties taken here and there. ship friendly + heavily plotted only

[flapjacksimmer]

reviving my simblr!

Hello all! My name's Eli and I'm ★~reviving~★ my simblr! I'm an older simmer (29!), black, bi, and nonbinary. Pretty chill player who loves plants, clutter galore, and sometimes making recolors. Check out some of my custom content here. Thinking about starting a lax story/legacy gameplay series too soon!

This is also a sideblog of @honeyedflapjacks, so if you see likes from there, its me!

Stay hydrated, stay cute, stay awesome sim family~