#i need to work more on writing...

[nixotinix]

Dementophobia: Page 10

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Chapter One: Nosocomephobia Page 4/13

planning on having a little bonus section after the epilogue where an adult Jonny goes back to the house in Georgia. but as i usually do, i'm thinking way, way ahead in the future.

any interaction is greatly appreciated ♥♥

[asgardian--angels]

Planet's Fucked: What Can You Do To Help? (Long Post)

Since nobody is talking about the existential threat to the climate and the environment a second Trump term/Republican government control will cause, which to me supersedes literally every other issue, I wanted to just say my two cents, and some things you can do to help. I am a conservation biologist, whose field was hit substantially by the first Trump presidency. I study wild bees, birds, and plants.

In case anyone forgot what he did last time, he gagged scientists' ability to talk about climate change, he tried zeroing budgets for agencies like the NOAA, he attempted to gut protections in the Endangered Species Act (mainly by redefining 'take' in a way that would allow corporations to destroy habitat of imperiled species with no ramifications), he tried to do the same for the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (the law that offers official protection for native non-game birds), he sought to expand oil and coal extraction from federal protected lands, he shrunk the size of multiple national preserves, HE PULLED US OUT OF THE PARIS CLIMATE AGREEMENT, and more.

We are at a crucial tipping point in being able to slow the pace of climate change, where we decide what emissions scenario we will operate at, with existential consequences for both the environment and people. We are also in the middle of the Sixth Mass Extinction, with the rate of species extinctions far surpassing background rates due completely to human actions. What we do now will determine the fate of the environment for hundreds or thousands of years - from our ability to grow key food crops (goodbye corn belt! I hated you anyway but), to the pressure on coastal communities that will face the brunt of sea level rise and intensifying extreme weather events, to desertification, ocean acidification, wildfires, melting permafrost (yay, outbreaks of deadly frozen viruses!), and a breaking down of ecosystems and ecosystem services due to continued habitat loss and species declines, especially insect declines. The fact that the environment is clearly a low priority issue despite the very real existential threat to so many people, is beyond my ability to understand. I do partly blame the public education system for offering no mandatory environmental science curriculum or any at all in most places. What it means is that it will take the support of everyone who does care to make any amount of difference in this steeply uphill battle.

There are not enough environmental scientists to solve these issues, not if public support is not on our side and the majority of the general public is either uninformed or actively hostile towards climate science (or any conservation science).

So what can you, my fellow Americans, do to help mitigate and minimize the inevitable damage that lay ahead?

I'm not going to tell you to recycle more or take shorter showers. I'll be honest, that stuff is a drop in the bucket. What does matter on the individual level is restoring and protecting habitat, reducing threats to at-risk species, reducing pesticide use, improving agricultural practices, and pushing for policy changes. Restoring CONNECTIVITY to our landscape - corridors of contiguous habitat - will make all the difference for wildlife to be able to survive a changing climate and continued human population expansion.

**Caveat that I work in the northeast with pollinators and birds so I cannot provide specific organizations for some topics, including climate change focused NGOs. Scientists on tumblr who specialize in other fields, please add your own recommended resources. **

We need two things: FUNDING and MANPOWER.

You may surprised to find that an insane amount of conservation work is carried out by volunteers. We don't ever have the funds to pay most of the people who want to help. If you really really care, consider going into a conservation-related field as a career. It's rewarding, passionate work.

At the national level, please support:

The Nature Conservancy

Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation

Cornell Lab of Ornithology (including eBird)

National Audubon Society

Federal Duck Stamps (you don't need to be a hunter to buy one!)

These first four work to acquire and restore critical habitat, change environmental policy, and educate the public. There is almost certainly a Nature Conservancy-owned property within driving distance of you. Xerces plays a very large role in pollinator conservation, including sustainable agriculture, native bee monitoring programs, and the Bee City/Bee Campus USA programs. The Lab of O is one of the world's leaders in bird research and conservation. Audubon focuses on bird conservation. You can get annual memberships to these organizations and receive cool swag and/or a subscription to their publications which are well worth it. You can also volunteer your time; we need thousands of volunteers to do everything from conducting wildlife surveys, invasive species removal, providing outreach programming, managing habitat/clearing trails, planting trees, you name it. Federal Duck Stamps are the major revenue for wetland conservation; hunters need to buy them to hunt waterfowl but anyone can get them to collect!

THERE ARE DEFINITELY MORE, but these are a start.

Additionally, any federal or local organizations that seek to provide support and relief to those affected by hurricanes, sea level rise, any form of coastal climate change...

At the regional level:

These are a list of topics that affect major regions of the United States. Since I do not work in most of these areas I don't feel confident recommending specific organizations, but please seek resources relating to these as they are likely major conservation issues near you.

PRAIRIE CONSERVATION & PRAIRIE POTHOLE WETLANDS

DRYING OF THE COLORADO RIVER (good overview video linked)

PROTECTION OF ESTUARIES AND SALTMARSH, ESPECIALLY IN THE DELAWARE BAY AND LONG ISLAND (and mangroves further south, everglades etc; this includes restoring LIVING SHORELINES instead of concrete storm walls; also check out the likely-soon extinction of saltmarsh sparrows)

UNDAMMING MAJOR RIVERS (not just the Colorado; restoring salmon runs, restoring historic floodplains)

NATIVE POLLINATOR DECLINES (NOT honeybees. for fuck's sake. honeybees are non-native domesticated animals. don't you DARE get honeybee hives to 'save the bees')

WILDLIFE ALONG THE SOUTHERN BORDER (support the Mission Butterfly Center!)

INVASIVE PLANT AND ANIMAL SPECIES (this is everywhere but the specifics will differ regionally, dear lord please help Hawaii)

LOSS OF WETLANDS NATIONWIDE (some states have lost over 90% of their wetlands, I'm looking at you California, Ohio, Illinois)

INDUSTRIAL AGRICULTURE, esp in the CORN BELT and CALIFORNIA - this is an issue much bigger than each of us, but we can work incrementally to promote sustainable practices and create habitat in farmland-dominated areas. Support small, local farms, especially those that use soil regenerative practices, no-till agriculture, no pesticides/Integrated Pest Management/no neonicotinoids/at least non-persistent pesticides. We need more farmers enrolling in NRCS programs to put farmland in temporary or permanent wetland easements, or to rent the land for a 30-year solar farm cycle. We've lost over 99% of our prairies to corn and soybeans. Let's not make it 100%.

INDIGENOUS LAND-BACK EFFORTS/INDIGENOUS LAND MANAGEMENT/TEK (adding this because there have been increasing efforts not just for reparations but to also allow indigenous communities to steward and manage lands either fully independently or alongside western science, and it would have great benefits for both people and the land; I know others on here could speak much more on this. Please platform indigenous voices)

HARMFUL ALGAL BLOOMS (get your neighbors to stop dumping fertilizers on their lawn next to lakes, reduce agricultural runoff)

OCEAN PLASTIC (it's not straws, it's mostly commercial fishing line/trawling equipment and microplastics)

A lot of these are interconnected. And of course not a complete list.

At the state and local level:

You probably have the most power to make change at the local level!

Support or volunteer at your local nature centers, local/state land conservancy non-profits (find out who owns&manages the preserves you like to hike at!), state fish & game dept/non-game program, local Audubon chapters (they do a LOT). Participate in a Christmas Bird Count!

Join local garden clubs, which install and maintain town plantings - encourage them to use NATIVE plants. Join a community garden!

Get your college campus or city/town certified in the Bee Campus USA/Bee City USA programs from the Xerces Society

Check out your state's official plant nursery, forest society, natural heritage program, anything that you could become a member of, get plants from, or volunteer at.

Volunteer to be part of your town's conservation commission, which makes decisions about land management and funding

Attend classes or volunteer with your land grant university's cooperative extension (including master gardener programs)

Literally any volunteer effort aimed at improving the local environment, whether that's picking up litter, pulling invasive plants, installing a local garden, planting trees in a city park, ANYTHING. make a positive change in your own sphere. learn the local issues affecting your nearby ecosystems. I guarantee some lake or river nearby is polluted

MAKE HABITAT IN YOUR COMMUNITY. Biggest thing you can do. Use plants native to your area in your yard or garden. Ditch your lawn. Don't use pesticides (including mosquito spraying, tick spraying, Roundup, etc). Don't use fertilizers that will run off into drinking water. Leave the leaves in your yard. Get your school/college to plant native gardens. Plant native trees (most trees planted in yards are not native). Remove invasive plants in your yard.

On this last point, HERE ARE EASY ONLINE RESOURCES TO FIND NATIVE PLANTS and LEARN ABOUT NATIVE GARDENING:

Xerces Society Pollinator Conservation Resource Center

Pollinator Pathway

Audubon Native Plant Finder

Homegrown National Park (and Doug Tallamy's other books)

National Wildlife Federation Native Plant Finder (clunky but somewhat helpful)

Heather Holm (for prairie/midwest/northeast)

MonarchGard w/ Benjamin Vogt (for prairie/midwest)

Native Plant Trust (northeast & mid-atlantic)

Grow Native Massachusetts (northeast)

Habitat Gardening in Central New York (northeast)

There are many more - I'm not familiar with resources for western states. Print books are your biggest friend. Happy to provide a list of those.

Lastly, you can help scientists monitor species using citizen science. Contribute to iNaturalist, eBird, Bumblebee Watch, or any number of more geographically or taxonomically targeted programs (for instance, our state has a butterfly census carried out by citizen volunteers).

In short? Get curious, get educated, get involved. Notice your local nature, find out how it's threatened, and find out who's working to protect it that you can help with. The health of the planet, including our resilience to climate change, is determined by small local efforts to maintain and restore habitat. That is how we survive this. When government funding won't come, when we're beat back at every turn trying to get policy changed, it comes down to each individual person creating a safe refuge for nature.

Thanks for reading this far. Please feel free to add your own credible resources and organizations.

[lame2882]

and we're back with ENA posting

These are so dumb

These are supposed to kinda show off Fragment Ego AU designs of the ENAs but I may have gotten a little too silly

Fragment Ego Masterpost

[ribbittrobbit]

these kids are incredibly stressed out

[taraxippos]

I think people tend to assume that any criticism of worldbuilding is ultimately a demand for a story to grind itself to a halt and give the reader 20 paragraphs of exposition, and like. Most of the time good-faith criticism of this nature is coming from a core aspect of the story not being grounded in the setting in a way that outright detracts from the story's quality. You fix it not by Explaining but by Showing it passively in the makeup of the world.

Like the last instance I saw this critique in was like 'you can't expect an author to stop and exposit the nuances of gender roles/Queerness in a fictional society' and it's like yeah I don't, and in fact this is actually one of the easiest things to show in the text without exposition. If a society has gender norms to begin with you'll see aspects of these norms baked into EVERYTHING. You'll see it in its stories, its religion, its taboos, its etiquette, its clothing, its family structures, its language, its insults, its labor, its leadership, etc. It will have massive impacts on how characters interact with one another and how they perceive themselves. It will help Shape your characters.

If you do this legwork to begin with for the core facets of your story, you will find very natural places for these concepts to be demonstrated without derailing the plot and with little to no exposition. THAT sort of thing is what's being asked of you.

[erabu-san]

I enjoyed every second of this quest

[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]

[choccy-milky]

from my new oneshot, 'the vexing village of vellmore' ✨ ao3 / wattpad ((it's about seb & clora visiting a cursed village and trying to figure out how to break the curse, and since it ended up being 50k words i decided to split it into 2 chapters and the next part will be out soon!🙏 also, while it does have spoilers for the raven and the snake, it's a standalone story and can be read blind💖))

[bluerosefox]

Hmmm we should play around with the idea of Tim going undercover more. Especially when he goes out as Caroline Hill btw.

Dead Tired prompt once again.

Danny knows the people he's working for are... shady at best but he needed this job, ever since he left Amity Park after getting into a bad fight with his parents, they wanted him to become a Ghost Hunter (funny how they never really pressured Jazz into it.), he made sure to shut down the portal now since he learned to make portals (and made sure to delete and burn his parents blueprints for it), renounced himself as Ghost King (he really didn't want the responsibility and helped set up a kinda self governing and kinda 'I will come back to help the Realms keep stable but I am NOT ruling' thing)

[Basically Danny is still technically the King, the Realms need him to keep stable (personal head canon the Realms reflect its Ruler, Danny is much more stable than Pariah Dark and thus the Realms are healing and slowly returning to its natural state), but Danny set up a somewhat self governing thing where he can leave but returns very so often to keep the Realms stable and healing. Its complicated but it works.]

AND because his grades tanked hard due to the accident and being a young ghost hero in high school, Danny didn't have a lot of choices for work or even school (he is in college, none of his dream ones though, and is juggling between it and odd jobs here and there)

Anyways so yeah, Danny knows the people he's working for aren't... great. He knows they're shady AF and knows he could maybe find out what if he used his ghost powers but he does need this job for just a bit longer, until his next paycheck that's all.

He also know his new co-worker might be an undercover cop and is investigating them.

Caroline Hill is a nice lady though, even if it was an act to get closer, polite, works hard when paired with him, and very pretty.

So Danny decides to help cover up tiny mistakes or distract their other co-workers/employers when she's snooping around their work areas/offices.

[featherxquill]

The thing about me is, I’m so rejection sensitive, at least where friendship is concerned, that I have learned to completely ignore the part of my brain that tells me that someone is mad at me or hates me and wants rid of me, essentially granting myself cockroach levels of resilience to passive-aggressive social rejection and ghosting. So yes, I will be That Person. I have absolutely no shame and I will send you 32 things that made me think of you even if you haven’t replied, I will persist in asking you to hang out. Like I choose to believe that everyone is just busy or forgetful or has their own shit going on, it’s the only way I can be a functional human being. So if you want to get rid of me that’s completely fine, but I will take none hints and I’m going to need you to Set Some Clear Boundaries, Ma’am.

[sparrowlucero]

Reading comprehension site. As far as I understand it, your point is moreso that often stories set in a world without homophobia, transportation, etc. Are treated as morally better. Meanwhile stories which are parallel to real world queerness, identity, and oppression are often viewed negatively. Mostly because there's a standing idea of "you could have made it better by simply not including the homophobia and transphobia".

In my mind, both are morally equivalent, and both are examining themes which may be interesting in the context of queer experiences and liberation.

yeah that's exactly what I'm talking about... I'm basically just arguing against that more extreme mindset you sometimes see around queernorm stuff and pointing out that maybe it's not great to implicitly lump stuff like, say, steven universe, queer as folk, and i saw the tv glow together as the 'lesser' or "more harmful" type of work we should seek to avoid because they focus on queer struggles, or otherwise downplaying the value of themes that aren't like, escapist enough in some way.

Honestly I think at some point the discussion around depictions of homophobia- specifically, criticism aimed at the thought that (often quite fetishistic) homophobia (or sexism, racism, etc) needed to exist in fantasy for the sake of "historical realism", and of bury your gays-type stuff - sort of got telephone game'd into "it's weird to depict bigotry or gay characters suffering/dying when you could just not do that; no one wants to see that" and then in turn "the best, most valuable and desired way to depict queerness (race, disability, gender, etc) is to make it normal and as downplayed as possible" and i think it's worth pointing out that that's often not great advice/a good metric for judging queer fiction overall.

[blumoontf2]

Cop pulls me over and says papers, I say scissors, I win! … … …I was then shot 78 times

[lazy-ahh]

YOUR SON, YOUR BLOOD, YOUR UNDOING

pairing sinister! mark grayson x (superhero) male reader

from a beautiful, monstrous thing

love is a weak human thing—until it isn’t. until it’s mark’s hands around his father’s throat, his lips stained with viltrumite blood as he gasps ‘mine’ like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. (or: the one where legacy means nothing, and you mean everything.)

this is for that beautiful, mysterious anon who dropped the w analysis of the sinister mark one-shot and even dropped a couple of scenarios that I JUST ABSOLUTELY NEED TO WRITE. this is one of three!

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

mark grayson had always loved superheroes. of course he did—his dad was one. you remember the exact moment you found out nolan was omni-man: you were twelve years old, curled up in mark’s room, the two of you tangled in that giddy, breathless laughter that only comes when you’re too tired to function but too wired to sleep, where everything seemed funny. the blanket over your heads was thin, the flashlight beneath casting warm, flickering shadows across mark’s face as he grinned at you, his knee bumping yours every time one of you dissolved into another fit of giggles. you were whispering nonsense, stupid jokes that weren’t even funny, but it didn’t matter because everything was hilarious when it was just the two of you like this—close, conspiratorial, like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

then the front door opened downstairs.

mark shot up so fast the blanket went flying, his face lighting up like a firework. "dad! you’re home!" he yelled, already scrambling off the bed, nearly tripping in his haste to get to the stairs. you followed, still half-laughing, your socked feet slipping on the hardwood as you chased after him—only to freeze at the bottom step, your breath catching in your throat.

because there, standing in the entryway, still in full uniform, was omni-man.

nolan’s eyes locked onto yours, wide with surprise—like he hadn’t expected you to be there. like you’d caught him off guard.

(you’d caught mr. grayson off guard a lot, actually. when you’d suddenly appeared behind mark as the two of you stumbled through the front door after school, laughing about something stupid. when he’d pushed open mark’s bedroom door to say goodnight and found you already there, hunched over homework or video games, your shoulders pressed together like it was the most natural thing in the world. when you’d gotten your powers, and mark had whooped so loud the neighbors probably heard, his hands gripping your arms like he couldn’t believe it.

and later—much later—when nolan had seen you and mark kiss for the first time, his son’s mouth smeared with blood, your fingers tangled in his hair, eve’s paralyzed body lying broken at your feet.)

you’d like to say you were close to mark’s parents, but the truth was… complicated. debbie had always been warm, pulling you into hugs and slipping you extra snacks and junk food when she thought mark wasn’t looking. but nolan? you and nolan… tolerated each other. at best. you weren’t enemies, but you weren’t friends either—just two people orbiting the same boy, careful not to collide. you’d always brushed off his aloofness, his stiff nods and clipped greetings, telling yourself it didn’t matter. why would it? it wasn’t like he hated you. as long as you were on decent terms with mark’s parents, that was enough.

but now, looking back, you wonder if nolan had known something you didn’t.

because there had been moments—small, fleeting things. the way his gaze would linger when you and mark sat too close on the couch, your thighs pressed together, mark’s arm slung carelessly over your shoulders. the way his expression would shutter whenever mark reached for your hand without thinking, an old habit from childhood that neither of you had ever outgrown. the way his jaw would tighten, just slightly, when mark’s cheeks flushed pink at something you said, his laugh a little too loud, his eyes a little too bright.

you’d seen it. you just hadn’t understood it.

not then.

not until it was too late.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the first time nolan tries to pull mark aside, his son barely glances up from where he’s sprawled across your lap like a contented predator—his arms locked around your waist, his cheek pressed to your thigh as if he’s trying to fuse himself to you. you’re sitting up against the headboard, a pillow wedged between your back and the wood for support, the latest (and last) issue of seance dog comics balanced precariously in one hand. mark’s stomach is flat against the mattress, his legs stretched out behind him, but the rest of him is all possessive weight and warmth, his fingers kneading absent circles into the fabric of your shirt like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

the room is dim, the only light bleeding in from the hallway where nolan stands, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets. the air smells like sweat and the faint iron tang of old blood—mark’s split knuckles from earlier, the ones you’d pressed your lips to when he’d stumbled in, grinning like a wild thing—but beneath it all, it still smells like him: like the expensive shampoo he uses, like the fabric of his hoodie you’ve stolen too many times to count. (your presence lingers here too, in the dent your body leaves in his mattress, in the stray socks tangled in his sheets, in the way his room has slowly become yours without either of you ever saying a word.)

mark’s eyes are half-lidded but bright, fixed on you with a devotion that borders on worship, his gaze tracing the way your fingers turn the pages of the comic, the way your lips quirk at a joke he can’t see. you try to keep your expression neutral, like you’re still engrossed in the story, but it’s impossible—not when mark nuzzles closer, his nose brushing the inside of your thigh, his breath warm through the fabric of your boxers.

"mark," nolan says, voice low, that same unreadable tension tightening his jaw—like he’s been bracing for this moment for years. "we need to talk."

mark hums, noncommittal, his fingers tightening around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. "later," he murmurs, not to his father—to you, the word muffled against your leg, a secret pressed into your skin.

(and you know, without a doubt, that later means never.)

your fingers curl deeper into mark's hair, nails scraping against his scalp just hard enough to make his breath hitch—a sharp little inhale that sends warmth pooling low in your stomach. he's sprawled halfway across your lap, his head heavy against your thigh, one arm slung possessively around your waist while his other hand toys with the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing bare skin in slow, teasing circles. you smirk down at him, watching the way his lashes flutter when you tug just slightly at his roots. "listen to your dad, baby," you murmur, voice dripping with false sincerity, all honey-sweet obedience that neither of you believe for a second. your thumb strokes the shell of his ear, feather-light, and you feel the way his pulse jumps beneath your touch.

mark's grin is a wicked, feral thing—all teeth and sharp edges, his canines catching the light as he tilts his head further into your hand like a cat leaning into a stroke. "nah," he drawls, the word lazy and unrepentant, his fingers tightening against your hip in silent challenge. his eyes never leave yours, dark with something that makes your own breath stutter; it's the same look he gets right before he ruins you, right before he drags you under with him.

nolan's jaw clenches so hard you can hear the creak of his teeth grinding together. his hands flex at his sides, the muscles in his forearms corded tight with barely-leashed tension, and the look on his face—something caught between disgust and grim resignation—says he knows exactly what kind of game you're playing. his gaze flicks between the two of you, taking in the way mark's body curves into yours like a question you've already answered, the way your fingers never still in his hair, possessive even in their gentleness. there's a storm brewing in his eyes, thunderous and dark, but beneath it, something almost like grief—the look of a man watching his son slip through his fingers, and knowing he's already lost.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the second time, nolan corners him alone. or tries to. mark's already halfway out the door, fingers brushing against yours in that habitual way he has—always reaching, always connecting—when his father's voice slices through the space between you all like a blade.

"this ends now," nolan growls, the words vibrating with barely-contained fury. his massive frame blocks the doorway, shoulders taut beneath his compression shirt, veins standing out along his thick neck. "you're throwing centuries of legacy away for—" his eyes cut to you, lip curling like he's tasted something rotten, "—for that?"

mark goes preternaturally still. not the stillness of submission, but the dangerous quiet of a predator coiled to strike. your eyebrow arches as you meet nolan's gaze head-on, mouth quirking in silent challenge. what the fuck did you just call me? the question hangs unspoken in the charged air between you three.

you see the exact moment something fractures behind mark's eyes—that split-second where the last fragile thread of restraint snaps. his fingers twitch at his sides, the muscles in his forearms standing in sharp relief as his hands slowly curl into fists.

"say that again," mark murmurs, voice terrifyingly calm, the kind of calm that comes before hurricanes. the overhead lights flicker, casting jagged shadows across his face that make him look suddenly older, stranger—more viltrumite than you've ever seen him.

nolan doesn't hesitate. never does. "he's weak," he spits, gesturing dismissively at you. "can't give you proper heirs. just a distraction keeping you from your true potential." each word lands like a hammer blow, the air between you all growing heavier with every syllable.

the tension becomes something almost physical—a pressure building in your ears, in your chest. mark remains frozen, but you can feel it; the way every muscle in his body locks tight, the barely-perceptible tremor running through him like live wire. his breathing has gone shallow, shoulders rising and falling in quick, controlled bursts. you recognize that posture—it's the same one he gets right before a fight, that perfect balance between restraint and violence.

but then his eyes flick to you, just for a heartbeat—checking, always checking. his gaze searches yours for any hint of hurt, any crack in that carefully constructed armor. you let your lips twitch downward for just an instant, long enough for him to catch it, before smoothing your expression into something amused and disdainful. as if nolan's words are nothing more than the rantings of a pathetic old man. (and really, aren't they?)

nolan misreads the silence as surrender. his shoulders drop into that deceptively gentle slope you've seen him use on diplomats before reducing their cities to craters. "you think this is about prejudice?" he murmurs, voice slick with faux compassion. "i'm trying to save you from yourself, mark. keep your..." his eyes flick to you with barely concealed revulsion, "...plaything. but take a proper pet. a proper mate. someone who can actually give you what your blood demands."

you feel the exact moment mark's breathing stops. the air between you three grows thick enough to choke on.

"you're talking about him like he's livestock," mark says, so quiet it barely registers over the distant sirens. his fingers twitch at his sides—you recognize that tremor. it's the same one from when he'd first kissed you, terrified and exhilarated in equal measure.

nolan actually smiles, the expression more terrifying than any snarl. "what is a human lifespan to us? eighty years? ninety?" he takes a step forward, boots crunching glass. "whether he has superpowers or not, he's still human. you'll watch him wither while you stay young. watch his mind go before his body does. and then what? you'll mourn for decades? centuries?" his voice drops to something almost tender. "or will you finally understand why we need our own kind?"

your chest aches where your ribs cage your pounding heart. the worst part? some sick, traitorous part of you has wondered the same things during midnight panics with mark's sleeping face pressed to your chest.

mark's laugh cuts through the tension like a knife. it's the most broken sound you've ever heard. "you really don't get it." his hand finds yours without looking, fingers slotting between yours with the ease of a thousand repetitions. "he's not temporary. he's not... he's not replaceable." His thumb strokes your knuckle—the same way he does when you're both falling asleep. "if he dies in eighty years, i'll burn the universe down to find him in the next life. if not, then i'll just meet him in whatever afterlife that exists."

nolan's expression shutters. "sentimental weakness. your ancestors would weep."

"let them," mark spits, and you feel the exact moment something in his voice changes—that shift from pleading to something far more dangerous. his pupils swallow the warm brown of his irises entirely, leaving only endless black.

your lips part on a sharp inhale—not fear, never fear with him—but recognition. this is the mark who'd leveled a city block when a villain once grazed your cheek. the mark who whispers "mine" against your skin like it's both prayer and threat.

nolan sees it too. for the first time, real unease flickers across his face. then, he sighs. "what a disappointment. i knew i should have killed him when i had a feeling you were starting to form feelings for him. i thought you were gonna be better than this, mark."

and everything goes deathly silent. nolan stands there, waiting, oblivious to the danger he's just unleashed.

then—

mark moves.

one heartbeat he's standing there—all coiled rage and trembling restraint. the next, his fist plows into nolan's stomach with a wet, meaty crunch that sends the older viltrumite rocketing backward through wall after wall after wall. concrete shatters like glass, the air filling with swirling dust and the shriek of twisting rebar as entire structural supports collapse inward. you don't even blink. instead, a laugh bubbles up from your chest—bright and startled, the same breathless giggle that escapes when mark whispers something stupidly sweet against your neck in the dark, when the two of you are tangled together under his sheets with only the glow of moonlight painting his smile.

the dust hasn't even settled before mark is on him again—a streak of black and yellow uniform and flying blood, fists pistoning into nolan's face with sickening, rhythmic smacks. each impact sends thick ropes of crimson arcing through the air, splattering across broken concrete in abstract rorschach patterns. nolan's head snaps back with every blow, teeth skittering across the rubble like dropped marbles before he finally roars and hurls mark off with an explosion of force. your boy just flips midair, lands in a crouch, and wipes the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to taste copper as he grins.

"you don't get to talk about him," mark snarls, voice dropping into something guttural and raw. his chest heaves, shoulders rolling with barely-contained power as he steps forward, crushing chunks of concrete to powder under his boots. "you don't get to fucking look at him."

nolan lunges.

what follows isn't a fight—it's an annihilation. they carve through the neighborhood like gods playing demolition derby, each collision sending shockwaves that ripple outward in visible pulses, shattering windows three blocks over. nolan fights with centuries of experience behind every swing, his heavier frame turning each punch into a seismic event. but mark—mark moves like liquid fury, all feral grace and snapping teeth, his attacks sharper, meaner, fueled by something primal that has nothing to do with viltrumite legacy and everything to do with the way your fingers had tightened in his hair just hours earlier, the way you'd sighed his name like a prayer against his collarbone.

the ground quakes as they trade blows that would level skyscrapers, mark's laughter ringing out between impacts—high and wild and just for you, always for you—even as nolan's blood paints the ruins in glossy, arterial streaks.

your breath sticks in your throat like honey as mark drives nolan into the pavement with a force that spiderwebs the concrete for yards in every direction. dust plumes around them as mark's fingers lock around his father's throat, his knuckles bleaching white with the strain.

"he's mine," mark snarls, spit and blood flecking his lips. his voice cracks with something raw, something human beneath the viltrumite fury. "my life. my choices. mine to ruin."

nolan's gloved hands scrabble at mark's wrists, his boots kicking up rubble as he chokes out, "you'd choose... this weakness... over centuries of legacy?"

mark's grip tightens, his biceps trembling. "he's not a weakness," he growls, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touch. "and he is my legacy."

nolan's eyes widen—not with fear, but dawning horror as the truth cracks through him like the earth beneath their bodies. this was never about viltrumite supremacy. never about conquest or power or destiny.

this is about the boy who kissed his bloody knuckles after his first fight. this is about the hands that held him when his powers first came in. this is about you.

"pathetic," nolan wheezes, his lips peeling back from teeth stained red. "letting some... human pet make you soft—"

mark's snarl cuts him off as nolan suddenly twists with centuries-honed reflexes. his fist rams into mark's ribs with a sickening crack, the force lifting mark clean off him. in a blink, nolan's on top, his knees pinning mark's shoulders, one massive hand raised high—fingers curled into a killing blow, the other still gripping mark's throat.

"last chance, boy," nolan growls, his arm trembling with restrained power. "stand with your empire... or die with your distraction."

mark's lips move silently, forming a single word that makes your heart stutter even before you hear it—

"never."

nolan's fist comes down like a meteor—

you move.

you’re moving before the thought fully forms—a streak of motion so fast the air shrieks in protest. your knee connects with nolan’s temple just as his fist begins its descent toward mark’s skull, the impact cracking through the ruined street like a gunshot. nolan’s head snaps sideways, blood arcing from his split brow as he staggers back three steps—but he doesn’t go down. of course he doesn’t.

you land after doing a spin due to the force and speed, boots skidding across fractured pavement, leaving scorch marks where they brace against the ground. when you look up, nolan’s already wiping blood from his eye, his sneer more animal than man. "always hated you," he spits, the words thick with decades of loathing. "human cockroach clinging to what you can’t possibly understand."

"funny," you grin, rolling your shoulders as the familiar burn of your powers ignites along your spine. "i always thought you were just jealous."

nolan moves like lightning—but you’re faster. his first punch you duck, feeling the wind of it ruffle your hair. his second punch you catch against your forearm, the impact vibrating up to your teeth. you counter with an elbow to his ribs that makes him grunt, following up with a spinning kick that sends him crashing through what’s left of a fire hydrant. water geysers into the air, painting the battlefield in liquid silver.

"he was mine first," nolan snarls as he rises from the wreckage, shaking water from his hair like an angry bull. "my son. my legacy." his fist comes down on a parked car, sending the hood spiraling toward you like a deadly frisbee. you slice it in half with a precise energy blast, the molten edges dripping onto the asphalt between you.

"he was never yours," you pant, sidestepping a chunk of debris nolan hurls with his strength casually. you shoot nolan a sideways glance, a smug smirk forming on your lips. "you just didn’t notice until it was too late."

nolan roars, charging through the steam like a freight train. you brace—but then mark is there, a black-and-yellow blur intercepting his father mid-lunge. his fingers sink into nolan’s chest with a sound like tearing leather, muscles straining as he—

pulls.

the sound is obscenely wet. final. nolan’s heart beats once in mark’s palm, a grotesque, glistening thing that pulses weakly before stilling forever.

silence.

mark doesn’t look at it. doesn’t look at the body. his eyes find yours instead, wide and vulnerable in a way you’ve only seen in stolen bedroom moments. the heart drops from his fingers with a wet slap as something in him trembles. but when he sees you, something in him settles.

"hey," he breathes, like he didn’t just rip his father’s heart out. like he’s coming home.

you step forward, crushing nolan’s heart under your boot as you reach for him. "hey yourself."

you step forward, fingers trembling—not from fear, never from fear—as you cup mark’s face, smearing nolan’s blood across his cheekbone like war paint. it’s still warm, sticky between your fingertips, and you watch as a single crimson droplet trails down to the corner of his mouth. mark leans into your touch like a starving man, eyes fluttering shut just for a heartbeat before he’s surging forward, crushing you against him, his mouth crashing into yours with desperate, bruising force. he tastes like iron and ruin, like the copper tang of his split lip and something darker beneath—something that should scare you, would scare anyone else, but only makes you cling tighter. you kiss him back like you’re drowning, like he’s the only oxygen left in this ruined world.

when he pulls away, his grin is all sharp edges and bloody teeth, the kind of smile that would send sane men running. "love you," he rasps, voice wrecked, like it’s a secret. like it’s a threat. like it’s the only truth left in this godforsaken universe.

you press your forehead to his, breathing him in. "i know."

(and you do. you always have. even when the world called you unnatural. even when nolan’s eyes burned holes into your back every time your fingers brushed mark’s over the dinner table. even when you lay awake at night, tracing the scars on mark’s knuckles and wondering—just for a moment—if you were enough, if your human body could ever be what a viltrumite heir needed. mark had kissed the doubt from your lips before it could take root, his teeth sharp against your throat as he whispered, "don’t need an empire. just you.")

later, when the dust has settled and nolan’s corpse has gone stiff and cold, mark curls around you in the wreckage, his arms an unbreakable vice around your waist. his lips chart a familiar path along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—every touch a brand, a promise, a prayer. you can feel the way his heartbeat stutters when your fingers card through his hair, like he still can’t believe you’re real, like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

"no one's ever gonna take you from me," mark growls against your pulse, his teeth scraping the tender skin there in a silent promise. his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises tomorrow—little purple reminders that'll make you smile when you see them in the mirror. you can feel the way his whole body trembles with the effort of holding back, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your neck. "not the coalition," he continues, voice dropping to something dark and possessive, "not some viltrumite bitch they'd try to breed me with—" his grip tightens almost painfully, "—no one."

you turn in his arms with a feral grin, your fingers tangling in his hair and yanking just hard enough to make his breath hitch. the sound goes straight to your groin, heat pooling low in your stomach as he lets you manhandle him, his pupils blown wide with something between pain and worship. "no one's ever gonna try," you murmur, lips brushing his in a teasing almost-kiss. you can taste the blood still clinging to his teeth from earlier, coppery and warm, and you lick into his mouth with a hunger that borders on violent. when you pull back, his lips are kiss-swollen and slick with your saliva, his chest heaving. "not after today," you finish, voice dripping with dark amusement.

because they'd seen it, hadn't they? the way you'd laughed as buildings collapsed around you both. the way you'd pressed bloody fingerprints into mark's cheeks like war paint when he'd returned to you, heart still pounding from the kill. the way you'd kissed him amidst the wreckage with tongues and teeth and no regard for who might be watching.

mark's hands slide up your back, fingers tracing each vertebra like he's trying to memorize you. "you're just as fucked up as i am," he breathes, and it sounds like a prayer, like the best compliment he's ever given you. his eyes search yours, looking for any hint of hesitation, any flicker of doubt—but all he finds is your matching madness staring back, just as hungry, just as gone.

you nip at his lower lip, smiling when he groans. "takes one to know one, baby."

his laughter is dark and sweet as he crashes his mouth back to yours, and you think—not for the first time—that you'd burn the whole universe down if it meant keeping this, keeping him. and judging by the way his hands clutch at you, desperate and claiming, he'd help you strike the match.

mark’s smile is a dark, beautiful thing, all sharp canines and devotion. his hand slides under your shirt, palm splaying across the small of your back—claiming, possessive, like he’s trying to memorize the way you fit against him. "good," he breathes, and when he kisses you again, it’s slow, sweet, at odds with the blood drying on both your skin. "because i’d burn every planet in this fucking universe before i let them try."

(and you believe him. you always have.)

4.3k words full of more of the sinister couple! +1 to the kissing/making out in front of a dying/dead person counter.

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i literally do not care about big emergencies on abc's 911. i want to see my characters talk to each other and have stories that are parallels to small, everyday (everyday for first responders) emergencies

[crabsnpersimmons]

Have You Eaten? now on Ao3!!

welcome welcome! have you eaten?

the first story of my restaurant DCA AU Have You Eaten? is up on Ao3 now! Have You Eaten? is gonna be a series of stories, rather than a multi-chaptered work (like New 'Do, Same You) so i hope you'll enjoy the variety!

you can find the series here on Ao3

thanks to @starriegalaxy for proofreading

Note: don't worry, i haven't forgotten New 'Do, Same You, i'll be working on both at the same time because they're both near and dear to my heart and they're tonally very different, so switching between the two will give me some variety too

[cozylittleartblog]

lil columbo sticker design i made for my etsy :) i'm not sure what the market is for columbo merch but if the demand is high enough i'd like to make an enamel pin in the future!

[kizykoolors]

FINALLY, AFTER A TON OF SKETCHES and procastinating

My designs of Apollo and Hermes are finally complete!! Their designs were highly inspired by Wolfythewitch, Aniflamma ans Gigizets (i don't wanna ping them for this hajsva) and I am VERY proud of them, i didn't imagine myself to make designs like these and woah! I actually did manage to make banger designs!! :DDD