#im back from my unending illness

[pepprs]

my depression is getting really really bad. like it’s been bad before but this is like… consistently really bad. like a long unending stretch for several weeks (and tbh months) now. to the point where no inoculation actually sticks (and im isolating myself from most of my inoculations anyway and feel unable to stop doing it even though i know it’s self destructive). im either helplessly unbearably miserable or numbing out on video games. i just don’t feel like it’s going to get better for me and i KNOW that is factually untrue but the feeling is louder than the knowledge and it’s just utterly immobilizing. ive been sinking in quicksand for 2 years.

[milkweedman]

Man, my doctor warned me these meds could make me clumsy, and i kind of shrugged it off bc im already walking into doors and walls constantly in my own home, but today after i took my meds (1 hour ago, i delayed bc they make me a very bad driver and i had a lot of driving to do) i have already fallen down 3 times and keep ending up on the floor somehow whenever i try to stand up. Its not great

[abimee]

hi i can no longer act coy or hope that a job will come in time so im coming to everyone really embarassingly with my issues

in June I attempted to get fired from/left my job after having a really embarassing public meltdown due to having Rapid-Cycling Mixed Bipolar and the unending stress of that job of 3+ years. I've been struggling to get a job afterwards due to being in CA without a vehicle, and i'm currently working on an overdue commission so could not open up any more.

Soon after, my mother's car imploded, and a series of incidents related to a used engine and taking out a loan with a friend has left her both needing to pay back the loan and still needing to get a new car, putting her thousands in the hole.

my mother has allowed me to not worry about paying rent while unemployed, but now the person living with us is moving out, so it will be on me and my mother to pay rent, upping mine from $300 to $500 a month. I am currently job hunting with good prospects, but I am still in need of some assistance.

I DO NOT WANT TO ASK FOR DONATIONS WITHOUT GIVING SOMETHING IN RETURN, I have a very bad time taking help from people without doing something in return because I do not want people to feel like they Have to give me money or help me, I want to Offer something in return for that money, even in a situation like this, because I want everyone to come out on the other end feeling fulfilled, so I'm offering some (slow) cheaper commissions I can work on in between the bigger comm I owe.

My kofi is always open for donation sketches ---- you can donate the minimum amount (or whatever you prefer) and get a drawing like this of anything as long as you put it into the donation message!

i cant currently take on big commissions as I have one i owe and the commissioner is a very generous person who has been waiting a good few months for me to finish one during this hectic time, but if you're interested in getting something a little higher quality for a donation, a $30-50 USD donation can get you a ''simple commission'' styled drawing --- that is, you give me a prompt and character refferences (ocs or fanart, up to 2-3 characters depending on complexity), and I draw them like below (color complexity depends on price, the higher the amount the more the color).

You wont have access to revisions to make this as fast as possible, so i HIGHLY reccomend only getting fanart comms of these and to make sure you really like my style!!

this is one of those situations where I DEEPLY reccomend people do not donate unless they want something in return, if you dont wanna ask for a drawing or anything i reccomend going to people in more dire circumstances and helping them out with your donation!!!

but if you want to help me help my mother get out of a bad financial situation and get a little drawing in return, you can do a small dono and att a message of what you want doodled, or you can email me at cyrdrawings@gmail.com your $30-50 donation reciept and what you would like me to draw, and ill try to get them as soon as I can

thank you so much for checking this post out and keep it real old school!!!!! i promise once this is over and i get a job we'll be back to your regularly scheduled art posting

[anonymocha]

Medbleu headcanon medbleu because you made me like this one more (Ex Balloon Party Baby Blue believer)

Baby Blue is KLS representation (I think) how cool. It's a very rare condition where people get so tired all of the time and will be asleep from weeks to months basically. Her way with living and coping with her illness has made Medicine Pocket a lot less morbid about their own condition and enjoy life more.

Baby Blue is more calm while Medicine Pocket is more limbic. Even though Baby Blue struggles between reality and her unending dreams, she has sleep-talked Medicine Pocket out of doing all kinds of awful things to themselves by slowly repeating back their answer to 'what are you doing'. Medicine Pocket wants to be someone she can depend on; they are more careful and steady when thinking of Baby Blue

Medicine Pocket, in turn, keeps Baby Blue safe when she is unaware of her surroundings. It was really crude at first but after they figured out it was impossible to change her condition they became more protective rather than bothered by the constant dreaming.

Baby Blue has a hundred nicknames/petnames for them. Medicine Pocket isn't confident with coming up with these names but she gets so happy whenever they come up with a new one. Blue's favorite name for them is 'Puppy'.

very wholesome..... Baby Blue requires Medicine Pocket to sleep with her for at least 6 hours a day. She can be little a clingy when Medicine Pocket comes home.

also also Blue mistook Medicine Pocket for a wonderlandshark at first and after she presumed them as such they had to step out of the room to try not to cry and explode thats True love .

📣Good Night USA

This is so important to me you have no idea ooouuuhhh 😭😭😭😭😭 I never thought of a proper proper wholesome dynamic between them to this extent and now I am enlightened…

This is a LONG post you have been warned. The MedBlue brainrot is SUPER REAL.

OK I CAN IMAGINE BABY BLUE CALLING THEM PUPPY IN THE SWEETEST SOFTEST SLEEPY VOICE EVER FULL OF GENTLE LOVE AND ADORATION… IM GONNA CRYYYYY AND MELT AND EXPLODE… Mental support Baby Blue is real (both in a meta and metaphorical sense).

I also like how she’s, in her own way, helping to keep the researcher in check. Someone has to keep her safe, therefore they also should keep themself safe so that they can be there for her. Yes, they love their job and the delightful dangers it brings with it. But they also have a person dear to them waiting for them. Also, in my headcanon, Medicine Pocket shelters a lot of supposed-to-be-experiment dogs at Laplace so they got to get it together for their pups, too (I imagine Baby Blue napping together with their puppies at the Laplace fields occasionally… Puppy tea party… Somft…). They want to take care of her and their pups, be dependable, and protect them. They used to think that this protection comes at the cost of their own wellbeing but NUH UH. Baby Blue's presence and words remind them that there are dangerous thresholds that they don't need to cross, no matter how 'logical' it seems.

She wants them to sleep with her an adequate amount of hours, therefore they cannot fuck up their sleep schedule by pulling impulsive all-nighters (I’m guilty of this too whoops). These two would get! Cozy! And Baby Blue would softly sleeptalk nonsensical but calming tales from her wonderland to help them sleep. I assume bedtime stories aren’t a very common thing in their childhood, especially when they got taken away with the beagles. So Baby Blue's whimsical, imaginative antics would be like taking back tiny but meaningful pieces of their lost childhood, stolen by a life of cold, clinical, and dangerous research. After they started sleeping with Baby Blue, her warmth and comforting stories allowed the researcher to get not only much-needed sleep, but also sating a yearning. A yearning for coziness and unconditional peace they likely brushed aside for a long, long time through the span of their childhood to teenhood.

On Baby Blue, a lot of people likely gave up on her. Doctor after doctor after doctor shook their heads and raised their hands after examining her condition. Teachers, friends, and even strangers are bewildered by her, calling her crazy, and treating her as more of a 'case study' or 'phenomenon' than an actual person. Those who did stick around her for a while couldn't stand her constant dreamings and tendencies to isolate, they either took it to heart or found themselves drifting away from her. It took her a while but she convinced herself that she was used to it, wonderland and its dwellers were her true friends after all. But at the same time, I feel like she would still realize that she's living in two worlds, and recognizes her loneliness in one of them. She tried to not think about it for a while but it likely bit at her some nights. Medicine Pocket may be the only doctor insistent enough to stick with her for longer than many others before them thanks to their stubbornness and curiosity. That's enough to get her attached to them, to say the least.

I WOULD LOVE TO SAY MORE THINGS ABOUT THESE TWO (such as her wonderland and their research on it, Baby Blue getting curious on Medpoc's research which led to them infodumping, more Baby Blue interactions with Medpoc's pups, Medpoc protecting Baby Blue from weirdo doctors at Laplace, etc etc) BUT I MAY NEED TO SLEEP GOODNIGHT INDONESIA 🔊THANK YOU ANON FOR THE ASK FEEL FREE TO SEND ME MORE OMG THE MEDBLUE BRAINROT IS REAL!!! I want to write a fic abt these two SO BAD. I want them to BE HAPPY!!!

[ziracona]

hhhh okay, now im wondering: on the topic of adiris and max being left to face the displeasure of the entity after ilm, and yeah we can all figure it would be downright unpleasant, but now i wonder... in From the Earth, you established that adiris is kind of the representative of an entire village of people. is that canon to ILM?

if it is, was that village thrown into the trial system in ILM? cuz i got this incredibly unpleasant mental image of poor adiris trying to placate her really pissed off god and it Not Working, and she finds herself on both sides of the stick, being forced to hunt the people from her village and also sometimes thrown into matches /with/ them against other reapers. the agony of poor adiris, who tries so hard to protect her people, being forced to hunt and sacrifice them to a god that had been harsh but... still hers, ya know? would she be able to maintain her faith in the Entity through that?

or even, in another bad timeline, when the entity starts gathering other survivors after recovering, what if it takes the dedicated village area away from adiris, tells her she needs to 'earn' her people back, and scatters the survivors into the forest to mix in with the other people it's gathered. dangling the carrot of reunification in front if adiris to force her to perform better, be even more cruel to people she's trying to save.

i have a lot of feelings about her, okay.

It could definitely do that to ring up some quick emotional pain, but I doubt it would. It’s got /such/ a good thing going with Adiris and her people—Adiris is utterly devoted to it. Nothing else there actually worships it: she does. And her entire town willingly sacrifices themselves routinely and live in a constant state of agony from their illness. They’re an unending, willing food source of both pain and joy, and it has like, 0 upkeep work. It just has to put in an occasional appearance, and get worshiped. Adiris speaks a language literally no one it ever takes is going to know, so no one can even try to talk her out of things. She’s got a whole village to keep her on its side, and she’s convinced the Entity is a big G god who sees her as special and saved her and her followers’ lives and made her a high priestess as an honor, which is like, what she dreamed of her whole life. I don’t think it would jeopardize that level of a sweet deal, without a damn good reason. It’s like with an emotionally manipulative and abusive partner or parent: they don’t threaten to kill you or your dog, unless you already are starting to get out from under their thumb. If you’re right where they want you, they won’t mess up a ‘good’ thing.

It would be terrible for Adiris if it did change, though. And it would have to do some major work to convince her it had a valid reason, which is a big reason it wouldn’t do that. She is like…/the/ perfect find for it. Most killers are afraid or opportunistic or broken or literally being forced every step: Adiris sincerely loves and would die for it. She’s one of a kind.

She really is. FtEoNR would have so much happen if I kept going. In my head, it’s probably got the coolest finale.

But yeah, mostly it was Max who lost out and went through hell post ILM

[iloknalem]

Its almost 11 PM in the library.

The ceiling, checkeredly patterned, with light fixtures in some of the squares, beaming down to the adequately illuminated, neatly packed tables. The library. It's "residents", slowly dwindling in numbers, as they one by one go home, internally smiling after one days worth of good work, while the rest, a number of them, are still left here, continuing their business, burning the midnight oil. The library.

Today is quite a cold day at the end of August, The HVAC systems sets itself accordingly, maintaining the internal temperature quite close to the outside, as to not give shock, making the Library somewhat chilly.

I forced myself to continue this draft of my thoughts, as I have not been able to do any studies today. This might be a multi day entry, I don't think ill be able to complete it in one go.

•

So, where do we go from here, now that you're so far away, knowing you feels like a lifetime ago. What should we do, when you avoid me like the plague.

•

It took me, quite a while, to give, to make some kind of order to my thoughts. To process my feelings. All has been sitting in the backlog, due to the impending Klausur and work I still have.

Today is a Thursday, which means I get to do my weekly meetings with my colleagues at work. The PR team is not as cohesive as it can be yet, but its getting there. We're planning to post some changes to our Instagram accounts. I hope it will go out soon.

•

Your reason, I respect it. I think its a good reason because it's honest.

I really dont want to think that you would want to just throw things up in the bin, all that we have. Youre just being true to your feelings, and thats something commendable. But still. "Gue sayang, tapi ngga romantically", what a blow that..... what KIND of fucked up lessons of life was this?

I really wonder when you said those words, does it means that i need to try to give what you actually want instead of what i thought you want, or that i havent tried hard enough for you, for us. Or maybe you expect me to be someone im not, to fill a triangle shaped hole he left you with my round shaped love. Or maybe, there is just no deeper meaning to it.

Wouldn't you want to just give us some more time, to make things work, to maybe carve the hole in our hearts slowly into a fucked up rounded triangle. I tried to, I don't know if you noticed nor care, and I didn't now if it was enough or not. Apparently its not enough for you I see.

You, having those kind of idealism of love, is that really realistic? Would anyone be able to accomplish that? Those kind of things hindered me on living back then, and so ive decided far long ago that true love doesn't exist, at least not in that sense.

Love for me, its just a matter of checks and balances, make compensations, but for a positive net outcome, and with all the hardships and problems, it looks like i've been tipped over.

Whats not enough from me? Is it because of how i look? How i do things? I've asked you whether im enough in your books or not. Did your answer comes out only to please me? Maybe I shouldn't have pressed you into the corner with this question back then.

I really want to know why I'm not enough, but at the same time, im also afraid to know, and face the realities. Being comfortable with myself, and accepting myself, has been a long unending journey for me, and i don't exactly want to jeopardize that either.

•

Its already the next week. I kept on postponing to post this one, as i dont have time, nor the energy, nor the capacity to continue on, assembling, this feeling of mine. I need to function.

This week is a hot week, which usually means it's the last hurrah of summer, before we slowy saunter into autumn.

Today, is also a Thursday. There's a new girl at the office, working at my department. Not exactly my type, but she seems fun and much more gen z-ish. She has much more knowledge about how Instagram works so its a fresh breath of air at the meeting today. Finally, were going somewhere interesting...

•

When you said all of that, did you consider how I would feel?

Did you try to see from my perspective, who see, someone I trusted, to see all the things we had, turn 180 degrees in a few moments, or in a few words in that matter.

I really wonder what runs through your mind when you finally said it. Did you consider about softening it up? Or did you think that brutal honesty is just the better way?

Did you even consider my feelings at all?

I hope you did, I want to believe you did, and sorry for making you do the hard part if you did.

And if you didn't, remember when i hesitate everytime we make plans? This. This is why.

And i dont know if you wholly catch it before, this is a big deal for me, something im afraid of, having someone i trust, just, go away with the wind, right under my nose. Even worse, right when i need them.

Betrayal of the highest order.

Didn't you promise to come back to me? You promised to fix things up? Were you contemplating about this thing since a long time? Was all of it just a lie?

Was it all just an act of pity around me? And maybe after all of it, now you're just that fully repulsed by me, and that I just forgot my place, and I shouldn't have even ask these questions.

I even got to some point where I had a glimpse of thought, that all of this might just be a very cleverly arranged revenge scheme from all of you guys. I don't even know. Unlikely, but not out of the question.

•

It's now almost 12 in the library, 2 weeks and 2 days after I started putting all of this into words. It has been a very hot week, and so I brought my small fan with me to the library. The view right across of me are of empty lonely chairs, left out on this Saturday night. My friends, they all went home early, to their partners, to enjoy the short weekend we have.

This, essay, has been a kind of outlier from the others. My other entries are mostly delve into my lowest points, but this one, I made it in a wide spread time, with considerable introspection to it. I would describe it as being written on a low plateau..

The last few weeks has been filled with unhealthy grinds and crippling temporary ecstasies, with me procrastinating, delaying the finishing of this writing, refusing acknowledgement to summarize my feelings. I feel like death. This cycle must end, and I need to close this chapter of my life.

•

I'm sorry I was rude and insensitive on the previous part, not considering how you would've feel back then too, but that is how it looked for me, how i felt, and i want to be honest.

Despite all of that, deep down, there's still a voice inside. A voice that tells me I should still want to fight for us.

Do I still love you? What's love anyway, lets just not use that phrase. I still think you're someone fun. Someone I don't mind, having around 'til the end of time. Is that love? I don't know.

I've lost my trust for you, and that's what keeping me on the fence.

But after all said and done, you might still be worth it, and as I said, that's all that actually matters for me at the end. The total balance.

...and I don't know if there would be another you. I feel like I'm going to miss out badly if I don't try. I really cherish us.

I don't know about you, how do you feel about me. Looking at how things are, it seems that you don't even want anything to do with me though. You're the one who asked to still be friends and yet, here we are.

About acting on this thought, I don't think I have the energy nowadays, nor the confidence, and maybe nor the time, to push again grandly, do it properly. I cant exactly afford to fail either, with my fathers breath looming behind my neck, asking me tetchily about my studies. And there's also lots of things I'm currently doing and I want to do too in the mean time.

Furthermore, I think making deep connections like this will just nauseate me these days.

But then again, I also feel that it's just my ego holding me back to reach out and try to fix all of, this. Is there anything I'm still able to do? I was also afraid that the reason you can't fall for me is because i sold myself too easily, and if i reach out then it would be counter-productive.

Sorry, that I'm not someone good with these kinds of initiative. It's just how I am.

Maybe that's ultimately why you can't fall for me, my indecisiveness.

•

So where do we go from here

[awriterandabird]

not mentally ill enough to be fun for internet users to poke at, too mentally ill to be brushed off as "quirky", but just mentally ill enough to catch myself in yet another unending spiral of shame and agony!

wooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(dont press read more unless you read those tags. im warning you.)

for the love of GOD please help? stop?

earlier someone asked how they could help i told them to give me space i don't want to explode i feel like i need the opposite of space but also if anyone comes close to me i want to golf them into the sun don't talk to me. don't perceive me please talk to me. don't leave me

i wish i could channel this into something productive (not that i think anyone would want to see that. there's better artists and better art. whats one more little fag on the internet making stories about depression and derealization and autism and burnout. i don't have anything new to add.)

today i went outside and i had trouble staying in my own head

for a while i was a father struggling to keep doing his job because 'reality' around me kept feeling weird and wrong and i remember punching a hole in the wall and i heard birdsong but the birdsong was real and i was back on earth (in my body) and the vignette around my vision was tangible. a fly landed on my arm and it made me yell. i was real suddenly- the veil was gone. i walked around and i looked at some things. i saw a weed growing in the cracks of the asphalt and i saw grass growing through a circle of rocks. at the fairy tree i found a perfectly round rock and wondered what was inside. i was back in the crystal shop- the one across the water- where the ferry took us i remember the perfect little geodes they sold i was back home i remember readying that hammer only to completely fuck up the swing and ended up pulverizing most of it. but i looked and the pieces were right there at the fairy tree. i thought about art and how i would portray things if i and i was that father again and i was struggling to explain i couldn't speak at all really even in the arms of my wife i fought myself and another voice (myself) and i told myself im not real and i told myself why do i feel like im stealing something from someone else and why do i feel like my life is over but it never started and i was in the backyard looking for my cat when the gate slammed. it slammed in the wind. im real again. the sun is still out. the neighbors just came back home- i saw their car pull in. im ashamed to keep wasting time outside, so i walk back in my house

i might have gotten the order of events wrong

does it matter

does writing it down even matter

im giving the void (at first i typed "voice") a recollection of something that doest matter

recorded here for all of time, wasting space on a server, rotting, festering.

who is this for is this for myself?

wouldnt it be easier if i just told the people in my real life what was going on,

no you know what shut the fuck up.

go get a job dumbass.

..yeah i feel like a right waste of space.

"look. walk-ins accepted. you can apply here too when you apply at [x] tomorrow" "tomorrow?" "what else do you have going on in your life?" we walked down the rest of the aisle in silence. i didn't have a reply.

"whats the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist?" "one can prescribe you drugs i think" "oh" we drove for 10 minutes in silence. i thought about my next question so carefully. i must have gone through dozens of iterations in that 5 minutes. i was the only one talking. during those 8 minutes i don't remember what the radio played. "which one of those two... tells you about if you have things in your head?" "what do you mean things in your head?" "like-" "like schizophrenia?" "yeah" "a psychiatrist i think. no? a psychologist. i forget" "yeah that's okay you don't know the answer, i probably should have researched myself, its kind of a lot of me to have expected you to have all the answers." "okay"

tomorrow i wake up. i have two options

>disappoint everyone (default option, no action required) >shut up, man up, get out of my room, become presentable, act Normal, interview at two different places, land a job, support the house, be a perfect functioning person

do i have an option

can i at least be a better person than writing a pathetic little vent longer than the colors of the sky. that no one cares about. that i wont care about in. fucking. whenever i can regulate my emotions again

wait will that even happen (someone made me go to type "(never)")

dear god. dear fucking lord. ive only been typing for. not long. it can't have been that long- less than half an hour- rollover just ended- but why the fuck did that person message me 6 times while im on DnD

aaaaaaaaaUGH i WANT TO GO. TO. BED.

WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP TRYING TO TALK TO ME

BUT THEY NEVER WANT TO TALK TO ME

7 messages

why cant we talk about nice things? i have nice things too- when i see them. in that other place. posting back and forth admiring each others stories and characters. i have that too. please. please can you talk to me

but then i swear like clockwork someone reaches out and i think no. not YOU. i want. THEM. (they don't exist) (they are a nebulous construct) what do i want. what do i fucking want. what do i care about? who do i care about?

im sorry. im so sorry. im sorry and i'll promise to respond to you. im sorry i know how it feels to be ignored i don't want to do that to you. im sorry i don't understand these things you send me. i don't understand

earlier tonight i failed once again to follow a simple request

(i keep looking up at those 7 unread messages)

i failed to follow it and i felt so. broken? useless? stupid? worthless? how can you expect someone _like me_ to get a job. to be _functional_

i dont even know if what i want to do is what i want to do anymore

all that time i spent in school. im sorry i wasted your time. im sorry im not going to amount to anything more than that. than this.

"they said they lost you in the system" "lost?? i. i submitted 3 times. under 'jay', under '[dead]', under '[last1]', under '[last1-last2]', i tried. i tried." -- "maybe they just don't want to hire me" "that's not it" "[z] got back to me that one time. do you remember?" "oh only a little-" "they said they're not hiring for night positions. even if on the website, the spot is still open. maybe if i just. replied back again and told them i'd do day anyways" "well, would you rather work at [x], or [y], or [z]?" "[y] i guess... not because i want to work in fast food but the benefits-"

the one blessing of tonight is that at least i haven't been super dysphoric. im too busy trying to claw back into my own body to be worried about whether or not it fits. i just need to be IN one

its been so hard to think of it as anything other than "the body", rather than "me". its. supposed to be "me" i think

whatever that means

my head is swimming again. i need to end this post

7 unread messages

i know i'll hit post, and i'll never see this passage again good riddance. maybe with all the bile ejected now i can actually be

something. i still dont know.

[kelleycubes]

she sheldon on my ring till i TWITCH.TV/KELLEYCUBES*

its friendship friday. so you know what that means! SHELDON. TITS NODLEHS. SQUIRMP.  BE THERE.

*this week the role of SHE is being played by: @jame7t @officiallysleeping​ and Squirmp. (Special thanks to Sleeps for making this EPIC stream ad!! and for summoning Squirmp.)

[soullistrations]

Found my old journal from 8th-12th grade and.....it’s a lot, y’all. I called my husband and was like, “You realize you married Tina Belcher, right? I mean, it’s just boys and anxiety and fanfiction and worrying about my little sister who picks fights with people. Sooooo I hope you’re ok with that.”

[cdroloisms]

more of the ghost!dream au!! still no good names for it, sorry (feel free to give me recs? maybe?) - picking off right where we left off here [x]. i’ve gotten quite a bit of this pre-written already as well as quite a bit planned - it’s definitely one of my favorite universes at the minute and something im really excited to show yall !! 

tw: death, memory loss (?), grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship, grief, emotional distress, implied torture/abuse, aftermath of prison arc/pandora’s vault, dark(ish?) portrayal of c!sam (he’s one of the main figures of this au lmao but it grapples quite a bit w/ what he did in pandora)

Sam had only met Ghostbur once.

He never knew the former president well, had been busy with his own base during the Revolution and came back to the server in chaos after an ill-fated election and the man exiled. It hadn’t mattered, much, at the time; Wilbur was an imposing man, even in others’ recollections of him, and their words left very very little to the imagination. From what he knew, Wilbur was a smart man, cunning and silver-tongued, brimming with an unending fountain of belief that he could change the world with his words and his words alone; the server, overrun with memories of scuffles and battles and wars and countries Sam had not been around to remember, only seemed to serve as proof that he could. The few glimpses of the man that he managed to catch showed dark, tired eyes, a figure that stood almost as tall as he did, lips twisted in a perpetual tight-lipped smile.

Even as he spiraled, unexplainably, whispers of madness chasing the wind and landing in choppy fragments in the Badlands meetings held over Skeppy and Bad’s dinner table, those eyes never became less piercing, never failed to seem like they were burning through whatever and whoever they looked at. Sam hadn’t been the subject of that stare many times, but he remembers the bone-deep anxiety from having those eyes on him, even now.

Ghostbur, somehow, was the complete opposite; where his eyes had once been all-too knowing, belying their owners’ intelligence, a ruthless penchant for analysis that would split bone from marrow with a single sharp-edged glance, the phantom’s eyes were completely vacant. Instead of the glossy whites and rings of brown that would flicker warm to cool and warm again without warning, there was only an empty, all-encompassing blue.

He had floated over to Sam following a particularly difficult- session, with the prisoner, greeting him with an airy call of his name as Sam set off to his base for the night. He’d startled, then, still fresh off the adrenaline that was sent coursing through his veins each time he entered those blackstone walls, and started a sort of easy, unfocused conversation as they went along the path to the nether portal.

Ghostbur was - off, for the lack of a better word, even with Sam’s lack of familiarity of either side of the man - who he’d been before and what he’d become. His memories slipped through his mind like water seeping through fingers, and his attention span didn’t seem much better. Still, Sam listened to that echoing, otherworldly voice, nodded along as he eagerly recounted his day - or what he could recall from it, at least, until his feet had brought him along the same well-worn path to the nether portal, spitting purple sparks into the night.

“I’ll have to be going, Ghostbur,” he’d said through a thin smile, muscles aching under netherite as he pulled his shoulders back. The ghost’s head had cocked to the side, watching him with empty eyes, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up.

“Sam-” the ghost blinked slowly, “Are you sad?”

Sam froze. Ghostbur stared at him, face still kept in that same blank expression, eyes still an endless blanket of blue, but something - in his stance, perhaps, in the echoes of his words as they reverberated off of nothing, felt familiar, felt like looking up expecting a window and coming face to face with a shattered mirror - before the phantom’s face broke out in a weightless smile.

“Have some blue!”

The blue was dropped unceremoniously into his hands as he fumbled the catch and nearly let it fall to the ground; the clear, glassy surface of it tainted blue by his fingertips, the color swirling and darkening in his hands. He watched it, mesmerized, as blossoms of blue bloomed beneath his skin; his feelings, sharp-edged, became sea glass tossed in its shifting waves, smoothed, numbed, slowly sucked away in a pulsing chorus of blue blue blue-

“That’s quite a lot of blue,” Ghostbur chirped, and Sam blinked at the thing in his hands - navy, the same color as the sky above their heads clinging to the last remnants of twilight - “Would you like some more?”

“...no thanks, Ghostbur,” Sam looked back up, feeling through the new, blue-tinged fog in his brain, memories blurred at the edges but lacking the same burning sting of regret, “Good night.”

“Good night, Sam!” Wilbur smiled, blank blue eyes trained on his face even as Sam stepped into the portal and the world swirled away. “See you soon!”

---

“Sammy,” Dream walked - no, floated, forwards as Sam took a step back, unresponsive, “is there something wrong?”

Sam swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

He was a spitting image to Dream as he first knew him; the same tousled hair, freckled face, down to the ratty old jacket that he’d insisted on wearing at all times, made of a garish shade of lime-green and covered in customized patches that Bad - unable to resist his puppy eyes - had always ended up fixing the thing with. He had a gap in his teeth that had left him with a lisp for weeks back then, prompting Sapnap’s teasing much to Dream’s annoyance; his head tipped to the side, curious, familiar, and something deep inside Sam’s chest ached.

“Dream-” he tried, chest tightening further when the ghost’s face broke out into a brilliant smile, “why are you here?”

Why do you remember me?

He hadn’t talked to Ghostbur much, but he’d heard, to some degree, about how the ghost operated, how his memories were inconsistent at best, seemingly dependent on the emotions he’d attached to them while alive. How he went through the world in a state of unshakable bliss at the cost of his mind. Dream’s memories of him should’ve been anything but happy; why was he here?

“What do you mean?” Dream blinked at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a small frown. His eyes, black and vacant, seemed to swallow all light, even with the sun streaming through the branches. “Where am I suppos’d to go?”

“Don’t you want to be with George and Sapnap?”

Dream’s face was blank, and the pit in Sam’s gut grew deeper. “Who’s that?”

“George?” Sam could feel his voice begin to tremble, eyes widening. “Sapnap? You know them, right?”

“No?” Dream drew out the word, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “Should I know them?”

“Should you- Dream, this isn’t funny- they’re your best friends! They were your best friends- Pandas? Do you know Pandas?”

“You mean like in the jungles? I haven’t been in a jungle before, Sam, d’you think we could visit one?”

“No- Pandas, do you-” Dream only looked at him with the same confused, uncomprehending expression, not even a flicker of recognition in his face; Sam could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a distant horror growing and wrapping around his throat, “How about Ponk? Alyssa? Calla? Bad?”

Each name did nothing to change the blankness on Dream’s face, the screaming thoughts in Sam’s head growing to a fever pitch when the ghost in front of him shook his head, hair whipping back and forth.

“Nope!” His hands tugged at his hoodie sleeves, the movement familiar in a way that had echoes of long-forgotten memories drifting to the surface, holding his heart in a chokehold and squeezing tight. “Are they your friends?”

“Dream,” he stepped forward - felt a shadow of a pickaxe held in his fists, the shape of the name in his mouth bringing forth the taste of iron and smoke and painting the inside of his eyelids red - and stopped in his tracks. The images melted away, left just a kid standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on nothing, and Sam was going to be sick.

“Who do you remember?”

Dream smiled as the question registered, directing a look of such open, unadulterated adoration his way that it stole all of the air from Sam’s lungs.

“You, dummy!” He laughed, airy and light. “Who else?”

---

He brought him to his base, because what else was he supposed to do?

Dream skipped behind him, entirely enamoured with Fran; he watched as she melted under his enthusiastic scratches at the tufts of fur at her neck. He’d always been a soft touch with animals, had brought home stray mobs more than a few times as a kid; Sam swallowed around his unease and trudged forward.

“Puppy!” He nearly screeched with laughter, and Sam looked back to see Dream with his arms wrapped around Fran’s neck, face buried in her fur as giggles made his shoulders shake. Fran gave him a sloppy lick on the cheek, making him break out into a new round of high-pitched wheezes, “Good girl! Good puppy!”

“Hurry up, Dream,” Sam turned away. “We don’t have all day.”

“Oh- m’sorry,” Dream’s voice quieted, almost seemed to wobble, and Sam bit down on his tongue as they continued to walk back. He- didn’t know what to do, not with this version of Dream, not the little kid he’d half-forgotten instead of the masked monster he’d become so accustomed to. It was so much easier to slip into the mask, let his voice drop cold and deep and empty, the role of the Warden heavy and comfortable like a set of netherite armor. He pointedly kept his eyes staring forward, looking for the edge of the forest they’d ended up stuck in so he could finally see.

A sudden, yipping bark came from behind, thoroughly startling him and sending a sword appearing in a flash of white. He huffed at Fran, looking at him with faux innocent eyes, really?

Unfortunately, both she and Dream had somehow fallen ridiculously behind, the ghost having lowered to the ground at some point as Fran sat and wagged her tail. He rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the duo, feeling irritation press in the form of a headache against the front of his skull.

“Come on,” he muttered, wincing at how clipped his words sounded, even in his own ears. Not the same Dream, Sam. You’re not in the prison anymore. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing as he came closer; Dream hadn’t just stopped because of some distraction, as he first assumed. The kid was leaning against Fran, hands twisted loosely in her fur, head tipped forward and leaning against her body.

“Dream?”

The ghost looked up at his voice, one hand going to rub at his eye. His hair seemed to be moving around less than earlier, lips twisted in a small frown.

“M’sleepy, Sammy,” he mumbled around a yawn, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He reached both hands up, palms facing the sky, as he stared expectantly. “Up.”

Aren’t you a little big to be carried? The retort came to mind as easily as breathing, echoed in his own head by his own voice, younger, exasperated but fond. His arms shook with the memory of a kid wrapping his arms around his neck and fumbling with his crown, with the feeling of a dead weight resting against the crook of his elbows, tall and lanky and far too light for its size, held in his arms one final time-

“Please?”

Sam shook his head.

“We’re walking to my base. Come on.”

[homeofjonicles]

The Jonicles - Entry 2

Note: This is the second entry of The Jonicles and was written on day #5, hence why the date does not match when this is being posted. This was written back in May of this year before I started this blog, and there will be errors or developments in how this series was being written. Please enjoy (or don't enjoy) the second entry of The Jonicles!

It's May 23rd, 2022. It's also 6:30 pm on a Monday, the day of unending dread. Fitting! Today is day #5 of my Jon Arbuckle fixation.

Hello. I write again to document my current fixation on Jon Arbuckle. I've downloaded more images of him, especially the ones I think he looks particularly dashing in. My profile picture on Discord was updated to a panel of Jon dancing with a broom (displayed above) taken from a Garfield Minus Garfield strip. And furthermore, I am becoming quite enchanted by Jon's voice in the Garfield And Friends series. He sounds so... gentle, it's really soothing. It's reassuring, soft, and sounds trained, for quite an unhinged person like Jon.

Oh yeah, did I mention that Jon is most likely suffering from mental illness? Many in the Garfield fandom already know of this theory, but it's just so... interesting to me. When Garfield is around, he acts as something Jon's own sadness can bounce off of as a sort of punchline, but when the cat isn't there, it feels... empty, relatable, and Jon's character just hits you like a truck. And even when Garfield is there, with this context in mind, Jon is just a lonely, sad cartoonist who talks to his cat to fill in the void. He can't hear Garfield, but it works, just a little. That's part of why Jon has such bad social skills when talking to women and people in general. He's not really shy, but he's a recluse and can't get the "correct" words out (correct in terms of what people are supposed to do, anyway). He's... really relatable, except for the whole "desperately trying to pick someone up and get a date" part. I'm demiromantic and have trust issues, so that's not as relatable, haha......

Anyway! I've also listened to "Shake Your Paw" about 20 or so times today. It's the same song Jon dances to when he obliterated disco with his slick moves. The real reason disco is dead is because it couldn't handle carrying Jon's pure, unstoppable gigachad energy. Additionally, I drew Jon in my film class book, one of them being him as Sans, which is proof my drawing abilities were a mistake.

Not much to say here, other than I want to go watch the "Here Comes Garfield" special, not only for THE scene (the one that broke the hearts of millions of Garfield fans.... you know the scene....), but for Jon Arbuckle's unbeaten presence that always seems to enthrall me. Jon, I hope you're still enjoying your stay in my chaotic mess of a brain, because this is still only the beginning.

Last edited: 6:49 pm, May 23rd 2022.

EDIT (7:25 pm): i'm fuckignf xrry cryign... im.g.... not fcrying ovcer garfdeld nono,, ,yiyu are...... pleaee im in tteatrs.....

Ahh, the second entry. Back when I was only on day #5 of this whole mess. The image I used for this entry when I wrote it on my phone is one of my favourite Jon images, he just looks so smug, it's hilarious

Also, regarding the third entry... I'm not exactly sure if I want to post that one yet. It's very personal and I go into my.... *gags* my feelings.... Yeah. I may provide a shortened version or a summary of the entry, but for now, I think I might lay it off until I feel ready to post it. Also, demiromantic reveal! Blind dates are so bizarre.

And yes, I did actually cry during Here Comes Garfield, and that is genuine crytyping... Listen, if you've seen the special, you know exactly what I'm crying over, I think I'm completely justified for crying at that bit...

Cheers,

Your Local Jonnoisseur

Posted on the 18th of July, 2022 at 6:30 pm.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

I've been thinking a lot about hermitage and how people view irreligious hermitage as an inscrutable symptom of mental illness instead of a rational response to certain environments. Even people who overtly suffer from mental illness have their desire for seclusion grounded in contentions with the outside world that aren't wholly unreasonable. The knee jerk response to aversive social behaviors is to blame the person for their own perceived cowardlyness and unwillingness to face reality. What is this reality that is desperately needed to be faced? What is there to gain from it? If the hermit perceives the outside world as isolation and pain, with people who are looking to subject them to the most unending petty and hurtful of whims, hermitage isnt a failure on the individual to surmount challenges and win a prize as much as it is outwardly expressing that you prefer to exit the game entirely.

I got into a bit of a heated argument (well, on my end at least) with Chris a while back about Chrostopher Thomas Knight (most famously known for his 20+ years of seclusion in a national park). He attempted to insist to me that there must have been something wrong with him to isolate for so long. Knight was actually the opposite of the antagonized examples I listed above -- he lead an indifferent life wherein the lack of intimacy he received from friends and family made living on his own simply a choice of convenience. If you believe that your relationship to others-- to the "real world" is completely arbitrary, interchangeable and rather shallow, then what difference is living in seclusion? In his own words when he was recovered, he mentions how it was a relief to be living free of the performance of social interaction. His perception at the time was that other people were simply a tenuous event to maintain, at best. Something unthinkable to anyone who is actively enriched by others.

Im not advocating for seclusion or even insisting that it is "healthy" (the healthy thing would be to make a society in which people want to stay in), but it's odd that certain lifestyles that are considered unthinkable when often it's simply someone working within their means to find the solution to unbearable circumstances.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Holographic Sand is a Kickass Band Name

pairing: peter maximoff/OC(graciella decuerpo) (high school AU/not canon)

summary: peter learns that a fuckton can change in the course of a week

warnings: none? bad language and peter is simp but thats it

notes **please read**: Heyyyyy how are you doing? good? that’s great. so ik this fic is a peter/oc fic, but honesty i only use her name a few times and a few defining features but like. thats it. so you can totally just imagine urself in her position. also this fic is 5,550 words exactly. that’s the most ive ever written and I am SUPER fucking proud. I think i might become one of those blogs where i write super huge monster fics that im proud of instead of just writing to fill requests.if u dont want that then just lmk and i will not do that. i dont know. maybe. also this fic is peter centric because uh it is. anyways enjoy <3

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @simonsbluee

--------

Monday

           Peter sat across the room, his arms crossed neatly on top of his knees as he rested his chin on his forearm. He wasn’t paying attention to the lesson being taught in front of him, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again. Peter’s mind was a chaotic minefield of music and cheesy one-liners and random facts that he seems to just know. But this time, he wasn’t envisioning himself beating up a police officer or playing with Pink Floyd. This time, he was picturing a perfect world where nothing ever happened yet nothing was ever boring. Peter had built a utopia in his mind-- a kingdom created to his exact preferences. A blissful tower of joy and happiness and energy and satisfaction. A paradise where he stood on top of the world with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra  class, standing right next to him.

          Now, Peter was well aware that the pretty girl from algebra  class had no idea who Peter was. The pair had never exchanged more than a few words, but somewhere within those few words, Peter managed to decide that she was his soulmate. He’d created an image of her in his head that would make God weep tears of envy, the perfect personality for the perfect person.  Peter willfully ignored the fact that he was setting himself up for heartbreak as he imagined how nice it would feel to have her fingers intertwined with his. 

           All of Peter’s friends thought he was ridiculous, ‘you can’t love someone you don’t know,’ they’d say. Peter would only scoff and shake away their words. He absolutely can love someone he doesn’t know, it’s getting the other person to reciprocate those feelings that’s nearly impossible. However, that doesn’t stop him from fantasizing at night. That doesn’t stop him from imagining the various ways he’d confess his love to the pretty girl who doesn’t love him. Or maybe she does. Peter doesn’t know, he could never know; unless, of course, he worked up the courage to talk to her. 

          Scott constantly teased Peter about his one-sided infatuation, but Peter paid no mind to him. He was 100% content with his perpetual pining for someone who probably didn’t know his name. He was totally okay with the unending ache in his chest that would appear any time she walked by or met his gaze. Peter was alright with his ceaseless yearning and the eternal feeling of disappointment that overtook him every time he snapped out of one of his fantasies. He was a-okay with all of that.

          So, there he was, spacing out during biology class as Professor Hargreeves struggles to teach the silver teen about photosynthesis. The Professor looked at Peter with desperate eyes, soon deciding that having his usually energetic student be quiet and still was the silver lining of the situation-- no pun intended. Professor Hargreeves droned on as Peter glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until 7th period. Counting the seconds until he got to see the pretty girl in algebra  class once again.

Tuesday

          6th period was always the worst part of Peter’s day-- the dreaded english class. There were many contributing factors to Peter’s hatred for this class; the professor was a bore, the material itself was uninteresting, and Peter could never seem to sit still or retain any of the words he read in english class. Worst of all, english class seemed to go on forever, leaving Peter to impatiently wait for the bell to ring and release him to 7th period. At the end of the period every day, he was practically vibrating in his seat. 

          “Can anyone tell me what Juliet’s suicide is supposed to symbolize?” the Professor asked expectantly. Peter couldn’t care less about the symbolism of some chick’s suicide-- he’d much rather be studying the features of his algebra  class infatuation. 

          She sat next to him yesterday. There were at least 5 other open seats and she sat next to him. Yes, Peter read too much into it and yes, Peter spent the entire class period trying to make himself seem naturally cool, but he didn’t care. Peter would act like the most desperate, pathetic, lovestruck loser in the world if it meant that she would like him. They didn’t talk, they didn’t exchange a single word, nevertheless, Peter was in a state of euphoria for the entire class period. 

          Sometimes Peter feels like a stalker. He watches her whenever he can-- he doesn’t follow her around or anything, but if she’s around, he’ll stare at her. He has her features memorized, the curve of her nose, the dark brown irises surrounding her pupils, the way that she always seems to have chipped black nail polish on. He sees the small things. He sees the way she bites her nails when he gets bored and he sees the way her leg never seems to stop bouncing. She hums the basslines to songs as opposed to the melody. 

          English class came to an abrupt end as the bell cut off the Professor’s teachings as well as Peter’s distant daydreaming. Peter was out of his seat within seconds, his notes and books quickly being swept up in his arms as he walked out of the room. The hallways are crowded and chaotic and busy, each individual student attempting to get to their locker then to their class on time. Peter watches as kids swing their lockers open, fatigue and weariness apparent on their faces as they disappear into their classrooms. Peter reaches his locker hastily, the few small posters of classic rocks bands adorning the inside of his locker door. A playful giddiness overcame his body as he made his way to algebra  class, a small smile left on his face.

          Graciella shows up across the hallway, her bright red hair catching his eye in a sea of brown and blonde and blue. His stomach flutters as they get closer and closer to each other, finally meeting outside of the classroom. Her eyes rise to meet Peter’s, and instead of pulling away, Peter keeps looking. She smiles at him before disappearing inside the classroom, and Peter felt his knees get weak. With a deep breath and a triumphant smile, he walked into the classroom.

Wednesday

          Lunchtime; possibly one of the most enjoyable parts of Peter’s school day. Peter is free to kick back and stuff his face full of whatever junk the school board deems nutritious enough for highschoolers. Usually, he ate lunch under the bleachers with his friends, but in some sick twist of fate most of them were absent. So, Peter was left to eat alone in his usual spot.

          The quiet was comfortable, refreshing. The gentle summer breeze would blow every few minutes and Peter would listen to the rustle of the leaves. There’s a certain tranquility to being alone; Peter can lay back and relax and just… think. No stress, no panicking, no--

          “Hey, uh, Peter, right?” Peter’s eyes snap up so fast he’s afraid they would detach from his head and fall out. His breath faltered and his hands began to shake a bit-- why was he so freaked out? She was just a girl; sure, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and yeah, he was madly in love with her, but that’s besides the point. 

          “Uh-- uh, yeah, P-Peter. That’s, uh, that’s me,” He chuckled awkwardly, desperately trying to stay cool. Peter was an awkward person, but he’d rather die than fuck up his chances with Grace.

          “You dropped this on your way out of class yesterday, I, uhm, didn’t get to return it to you until now,” She holds out a small key chain with three small keys hanging off of it-- Peter’s house keys, along with the key to his mother’s car. He quickly takes the key chain from the red-haired girl in front of him.

          “Holy shit, uh, thanks! I couldn’t get into my house yesterday so I guess you saved me from another broken window,” Peter held up his hand and showcased the scattered pattern of small cuts on his palm. Grace laughed lightly before gently running her fingers over the cuts on Peter’s palm.

          “Oh fuck, dude, these look pretty bad. Maybe keep a spare key hidden under your welcome mat or something,” Peter doesn’t fully process Grace’s words; he’s too preoccupied with trying not to collapse at the feeling of her fingertips on his palm.

          “Hey, you okay? You look… pale,” Grace pressed the back of her hand on Peter’s forehead in an attempt to check for illness, but that just made Peter’s skin erupt in goosebumps. 

          “I, um, I’m fine. I’m just st-stressed about the algebra  t-test on Friday, I th-think,” To be fair, Peter was stressed about the algebra  test. Peter may or may not have spent the entire class staring at Grace instead of, you know, learning the material.

          “Oh! Well, if you want, I can help you study. I’m also kinda worried about it, and I study better with other people,” Peter silently thanked god for what was happening to him.

          “That would be fuckin’ fantastic,” Grace smiled a smile that made Peter shiver.

          “Cool! Uh, I’ll give you my phone number and we’ll meet up tomorrow. One day isn’t much time to study, but it’s better than nothing.” She pulls a pen out of her backpack and rips a small piece of paper out of one of her notebooks. Peter watches as she scribbles down her phone number and hands the paper to him.

          “Thanks. For everything, the keys, the studying-- everything.” Grace smiled.

          “It’s no problem, Peter, really. I’ll call you later,” And just like that, she walked away. Peter was left alone under the bleachers, a wide smile plastered on his face as he read the piece of paper in his hands over and over and over again.

Thursday

          30 minutes. 30 minutes until Grace Reaper DeCuerpo, the prettiest, nicest, funniest girl Peter had ever met would show up on his doorstep. She would be inside his house for god knows how long. She would sit next to Peter-- either on the coffee table in the basement or on the floor of his bedroom. Needless to say, Peter was freaking the fuck out.

          The plan was simple: Grace shows up, they study, they get comfortable, and she goes home. Yet, in those four simple steps, so much could go wrong. Wanda could interrupt, his mother could lose her temper, Lorena could start crying-- worst of all, Peter could embarrass himself and drive her away. 

           Peter was in the middle of reorganizing his record collection for a third time when he heard a knock at the door. His blood went cold and an electric excitement ran through his veins. Peter checked his hair in the mirror one last time before running to the door. He stood silently, staring at the chrome handle hesitantly. This was his one chance. His only chance to make his perfect kingdom real-- Peter really, really, really didn't want to fuck it up. With a deep breath, he slowly opened the door.

          "Hey, Peter!" Her voice was smooth and melodic and it made Peter's heart light up. He’s about to respond with something smooth and witty when a squeaky voice chirps behind him.

         “Hi!! Are you the pretty girl Peter talks about?” Peter can physically feel his face turn bright red as he turns to see his six-year-old sister, Lorena, standing behind him. She’s wearing a purple princess dress that has a syrup stain on the sleeve. Grace laughs before stepping through the doorway. 

          “Lorena!” Peter groans in annoyance, a pleading look on his face. The young girl just giggles before scurrying away, her dress flowing behind her.

          “‘The pretty girl Peter talks about’, huh?” Grace grins at Peter cheekily. Peter runs his hand through his hair before motioning to the staircase.

          “God, Lorna is quite the kid. Well, uh, we can work in my room,” He sighs. “And Grace? Uh, m-maybe don’t let Lorena change your opinion of me,” She just smirks before walking past Peter.

          “Too late,” She called before disappearing down the stairs. Peter could hear the faintest trace of a smile in her voice. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly followed after her. 

          She was wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and holding a backpack with various pins on it-- her left ear was pierced in three places and her right in five. The earrings she was wearing were black, or maybe grey; her bright red hair blocked Peter’s view of them. She was wearing rings, some odd words engraved in the metal. Peter couldn’t read them from where he was standing. She was wearing a skirt with fishnets, her hand buried in the pockets that seem to have been sewn in herself. She has callouses on both her hands, but Peter knew that already. Her appearance would put Aphrodite to shame-- suddenly, Peter was much less confident in himself than he was before. He ran his hand through his hair again before reaching the basement.

          He held his breath as Grace looked around his room, her gaze lingering on the plethora of stolen signs and band posters covering the walls. She placed her backpack on the floor and walked over to Peter’s record collection, her fingers carefully flitting through the different albums. She seemed… impressed. It was then that Peter realized it had been silent for much too long.

          “Y’know I can, uh, p-play some music if you want me to. You can just pick a record and, uh, I’ll... play it,” Peter winced at his words, cursing himself for being so awkward in front of the girl he’d been pining after since the beginning of the year. He felt like everything had spiraled out of control, and he watched idly as it happened. Then, Grace shot him a smile and pulled out a record.

          “You have a good taste in music, Silver,” No one had ever called Peter ‘silver’ before. He liked it a bit more than he should. “Although, that’s not really a surprise. I had a feeling you were cool.” 

          “You think I’m cool?” Peter asked, shocked. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

          “Oh, totally. I see you in the hallways sometimes and you always seem so… carefree. Genuine. I don’t know, I guess it’s just… you, ya know? You’re naturally cool.” Every syllable that rolled off her tongue shot euphoria through Peter’s veins. Grace DeCuerpo, the girl Peter Maximoff had dreamed of for almost a full year, was telling him that she thought he was cool. Naturally cool. 

          “I know a lot of people who would disagree with you on that one,” Peter joked. There was truth behind his humor, but of course, he didn’t want to get into his insecurities now. “They think I’m a total loser, which isn’t totally wrong I guess.”

          “Well those people are stupid,” She stated matter-of-factly with a smile. “Speaking of stupid, we should probably get to work.” Peter nodded before sitting beside her on the floor. 

          For three hours they poured over their algebra  books. They quizzed each other and checked each other’s work; Peter’s proficiency in simplifying radicals aiding them both. Every now and then their hands would brush against each other, or the conversation would stray away from school and into their personal lives. Peter learned that Grace had two brothers, one of which passed away when she was younger. Peter talked about Lorena and Wanda and his miraculous abilities in the same way that she talked about her hometown and her own abilities. The conversation was smooth and natural-- Peter didn’t feel like he was being too annoying or too chatty and there was seldom an awkward pause. The pair were content in their time together, not a single moment went by where one wished the other would leave. 

          Eventually, Grace had to go home. Peter wished that she could stay forever, but of course, that would be considered kidnapping. He walked her to the door, although Peter didn’t feel like he was walking. He felt like he was floating.

          “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Silver,” Grace said softly as she turned to face Peter. She looked him in the eye and he could feel his stomach flutter. 

          “Yeah, I guess so,” She opened the door, but before she left, she froze. She turned to look at Peter once again. 

          “Peter?” she said. “You’re not a loser.”

Friday

          Peter could tell the second he walked through the front door of his high school that something had changed. The energy that radiated in the halls shifted from a dull buzz of boredom to a rush of anticipation. The students in the hallway looked the same as always; tired and anxious and wishing for the day to go by quickly. However, Peter wasn’t wishing for the end of the day, and he certainly wasn’t tired. He was determined and energized and absolutely terrified, because that morning Peter Maximoff made the most important decision a seventeen-year-old could. He decided that he was going to ask Grace out on a date. 

          Peter made the choice to keep this from his friends-- it’s not that he didn’t trust them, it’s just that Peter knew he would be teased for his infatuation. It’s happened before and it will happen again. He walked down the hallways with a brave face on, his eyes forward and his heart racing. Truthfully, the silver teenager was terrified of… well, everything. The looming image of a harsh rejection forced itself into his mind; the idea that she would laugh in his face made his heart break a tiny bit, even though it wasn’t real. Peter simply shook those images away and walked on. 

          The day flew by much faster than Peter was comfortable with, and for the first time ever, he was dreading algebra  class. He was terrified that he would walk through the door and have everything be exactly the same-- he feared that Grace would go back to not knowing who he was, just like before. Peter was alright with never being her boyfriend, but he didn’t want to be a stranger. He didn’t think he could take being a stranger anymore. 

            So, there he stood, staring at the door to his algebra classroom from across the hall. He felt confident and prepared himself for the task at hand. In four long strides, he entered the classroom. Grace was sitting next to an empty desk, her eyes stuck on the small notebook full of doodles on her desk. Peter watched as her eyes raised to meet his, a wide smile forming on her face as she motioned him over. 

          “Hey, silver! I saved a seat for ya,” she called, and Peter felt his knees get weak. He then decided that he would wait until after class to ask her out. 

          “You did?”

          “Of course,” She grinned. “I like you, dude, you’re my friend,” Peter’s heart fluttered as he sat down beside her. Grace shot an odd look his way before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, you look stressed. Don’t sweat it, silver, you’ll do fine. We studied for, like, 3 hours yesterday. You’re gonna ace it,”

          To be frank, Peter had forgotten all about the test. The real reason he looked so stressed was because he happened to be sitting next to the love of his life, and the love of his life happened to be touching his arm. 

          “O-oh! Uh, yeah, thanks. I was just nervous because of… the test,” The bell rang and class began, the professor strictly laying down the rules that were to be followed while the test was in session. Peter could feel the lingering touch of her hand on his skin. It made his head feel fuzzy.

          Peter soon came to learn that sitting next to Grace during a test was a huge mistake. He couldn’t focus on anything other than her-- it didn’t help that she kept shooting him glances from where she sat. The numbers and letters on the paper in front of him seemed to rearrange before his eyes, instead spelling out various taunts. He feels a little pathetic for how easily Grace can unravel him, but hey, he’s a teenager. 

          The silver-haired boy’s eyes were struggling to decipher the words on his page when a small folded square landed on his desk. It came from Grace’s direction, and a small smirk had formed on her lips as she solved equations. Hesitantly, he unfolded the paper and read the neatly written message.

          Hey silver :)

          Peter smiled softly. He quickly pulled a pad of post-it notes out of his backpack and scribbled down a quick reply.

          I have no idea what I’m doing. I think Professor Stedman decided to write our tests in hieroglyphics this time.

          He flicked the note onto her desk and quickly turned his face downward. Class would be over soon, and Peter knew he couldn’t turn in a blank test. He uses his enhanced speed to do his assessment in seconds. Sure, he was almost certain he’d barely reach a passing grade, but hey, he had bigger matters to focus on. By the time he finished, another note landed on his desk.

          That bad, huh? Looks like we better study longer next time. 

          Peter’s heart swelled a bit. He really thought the study sessions were a one-time thing. He’s overjoyed to know he’ll get to see Grace semi-regularly, even if he never manages to ask her out.

          I think I’d rather hang out with you without the looming threat of schoolwork. 

          That’s the closest Peter could get to asking her out. He put deep thought into every word, he examined the phrasing and checked the spelling of every word. His english teacher would be proud.

          That can be arranged ;) 

          Peter had no idea that four words could make him feel so much. He had no idea that 17 letters could make him want to scream in the middle of a silent testing period. His hand was shaking and his careful planning was abandoned as he scribbled back a reply.

          Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?

          Patiently, he waited. He waited for Grace to finish writing her response and he waited for her to toss the note back over. He didn’t wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He was panicking, and he was sure she could tell. She was probably joking, right? She was probably writing an awkward clarification-- she was probably explaining that she would actually rather die than be around him for non-academic reasons. He braced himself as the yellow post-it landed on the center of his desk.

          My aunt owns a drive-in a few miles from here and she gave me keys to the projector room and the gate. She managed to snag a copy of The Exorcist-- I thought you’d like to join me during my midnight escapade tomorrow night.

          Peter’s heart stopped. For a moment, he thought his eyes were fooling him. Maybe this was all some sick joke. Maybe he was being set up. Maybe he’ll get in her car tomorrow and she’ll drive him into the woods and murder him. To be completely honest, Peter wouldn’t mind if she murdered him. Peter wrote his reply.

          Really? You want me there? I might be a drag. You could probably find at least 20 other people who would probably be more interesting than me.

          Grace frowned at his response, and suddenly Peter decided he never wanted to see her frown again. She wrote confidently, her words solid and sure.

          You? A drag? Impossible. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to be with anyone other than you, Maximoff. 

          This note was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he read it over and over and over again-- he almost forgot to respond. He wanted to hold onto it forever, he wanted it to be framed and hung on his wall. Hell, he wanted it tattooed on his arm. Peter had never been so happy while taking a test, that’s for sure. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say; he went from heartfelt responses to witty retorts. Finally, he decided to be totally and completely honest.

          I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Saturday 

          There was seldom a time in his life where Peter Maximoff felt wholly content. Even in the most peaceful moments, there was always something bothering him, there was always something to pull him back to reality. However, sitting in the back of Grace’s dad’s convertible with the seats down and the roof pulled back, his head resting on her shoulder as they watched a cheesy horror movie, Peter was as close to nirvana as he’d ever been. 

          Life had always been so hard for Peter. He’s always had to fight for his seat at the table, to claw his way into a state of mind that wasn’t a hellhole. It seemed as if the world was plotted against him; he was ostracized from society and taught that he, along with his closest family and friends, were monsters. He never met his father and his mother spent so long fighting her own battles that she forgot to love her kids. Peter had to steal to stay fed, and he had to do his best to raise his little sisters to be good people. But right there, right then? That wasn’t hard. Peter didn’t have to be anyone or do anything-- he just had to exist next to someone who wanted him. That was the easiest thing Peter had ever done.

          Peter wasn’t exactly sure how he got there. Of course, he knew that they had driven to the drive-in, but he wasn’t sure how he was the person next to Grace. They had spoken for one day, maybe two, and somehow he landed himself in the most perfect spot in the entire universe. Less than a week ago, she didn’t even know his name. Or, maybe she did. Maybe she was just like Peter-- maybe she had spent the past year pining for him, and finally she worked up the nerve to just talk to him. Maybe. Peter isn’t complaining either way.

          “Can I ask you a kind of cheesy question?” Peter is startled by the sound of his own voice. Grace sits up and glances at him.

          “Shoot,”

          “Do you-- well, uh, don’t read too much into this, but, do you believe in love at first sight?” God, he sounded awkward. 

          “Nope,” She said bluntly. Peter wasn’t expecting that answer, but he wasn’t exactly disappointed by it. “I mean, it’s kind of a stupid idea, ya know? Like, isn’t there a million poems and sonnets and books written about how love is this weird complicated monster of a feeling? I don’t think you can really love someone just by looking at them. You can love the idea of a person, sure, or maybe the look of a person, but you can’t love that person. Because a person is so much more than ‘first sight’,” she sighs. “I don’t know, maybe I’m being a killjoy. It just seems dumb to me-- dumb and, I don’t know, exclusive,”

          Peter stops to think for a moment. He steps out of his lovesick chaotic hellbrain and looks at his feelings from an outside perspective. He thinks back to the kingdom he created in his brain-- a kingdom built on a foundation of sand. Or, less than sand. Holographic sand, because the sand he built his kingdom on wasn’t real. He made a mental note that ‘Holographic Sand’ is a kickass band name, then resumed his impromptu soul-searching. She was right-- he could see  that now. Scott was right, too. You really can’t love someone you don’t know, because if you don’t know them, you fill in the gaps. You fill in the gaps with what you think fits, and then the other person stops being them and starts being parts of you. Peter suddenly felt weird.

          “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” Grace interjects after a while. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been silent for so long.

          “You didn’t say anything wrong. On the contrary, you, uh, you made things a little bit more… right, in my brain. You somehow managed to take a little chunk of chaos and tame it, which is scarily impressive,” he joked. “Remind me to ask you your opinion on the meaning of life and the root of true happiness,” They’re joined in a chorus of laughter and Peter realizes that his little brain kingdom didn’t hold a candle to the red convertible he was sitting in. She slings an arm around his shoulders.

          “Y’know, I might not know the meaning of life, but I am pretty close to true happiness right now,” She says, softer than before. “Maybe the root of true happiness is you, Maximoff,” She chuckles. Peter smiles. He doesn’t want the ruin the moment-- god, he is desperately trying to keep himself from fucking it up, but he feels obligated to tell her about his year of pining.

          “Hey, uh, can I tell you something kinda pathetic?” He cringes at the way his voice trembled on the last word. 

          “Go ahead, Peter,” She used his name this time. Peter thinks she knows he’s about to say something mildly serious.

          “I’ve liked you since, like, the beginning of the year. You seemed so… cool. So nice. I saw you in the hallways and my stomach would get all twisted up and my head would hurt a little bit. It was like I was allergic to you, but I enjoyed it. That sounds weird. I’m sorry,” He stopped for a moment, attempting to take the buzzing mass of words in his brain and string them into a sentence. “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I, uh, asked around. I got other people’s opinions of you and then built a little version of you in my brain. I realize now that, uhm, the little brain version of you is like, way way worse than actual you,”

          When you talked to me the first time, you threw me off. I wasn’t really nervous about the test-- I mean, yeah I was nervous but that’s not why I looked so pale. I just wasn’t expecting for you to talk to me, like, willingly. So I lied because I was embarrassed. And I lied again in class yesterday. Because I was embarrassed,” He stopped talking. Peter felt like he was digging himself into a hole-- he felt like he killed the sweet sugary mood. 

          “Why are you telling me this?” Grace asked. She didn’t sound angry. She sounded a little confused, and she sounded like she was trying to help Peter decipher his brain. 

          “I don’t know, I guess I just feel bad. I feel bad for, uh, for not being honest I guess. I feel bad for being a coward,” Yep, definitely killed the mood.

          “Peter, you shouldn’t feel bad for being afraid, you know,” She assures. “I would’ve done the exact same thing in your position. Hell, I did do the exact same thing in your position,” That caught Peter’s attention.

          “What?”

          “You didn’t drop your keys in algebra. You dropped them somewhere in bio and my friend found them. She was gonna take them to the office, but I wanted an excuse to talk to you, so I said I’d return them,” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was being pranked, he had to be. “Being awkward and weird is like a requirement in high school. Don’t sweat it, Maximoff, really. We’re all the same in that way, I think,”

          Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was feeling too much at that moment, he was letting the bad drown out the good. He didn’t want to remember the day in a sad light.

          “I like you. A lot. Even if you are awkward and weird,” He smiles softly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he intertwined his fingers with those of the girl beside him. It was a simple display of affection, but it made Peter feel like he was floating.

          “I like you too, dork,” Peter smiled widely before placing his head back on Grace’s shoulder. Peter wasn’t paying attention to the movie, in fact, he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. No, Peter was lost in his head again-- but this time, he wasn’t standing on a false kingdom with a false version of the girl he liked. No, this time, he was thinking about the very real girl beside him. He was thinking about the perfect world they had created in the small car they were in; a perfect world where he felt so much emotion and so, so safe. They had built a utopia in the back seat- a blissful tower of awkwardness and comfort and clumsy confessions. A paradise where he sat in the back seat of a Ford Galaxie with Graciella DeCuerpo, the pretty girl from algebra class, sitting right next to him. 

[talesfrombeyondthebelly]

“Come into my parlor,” Said the spider to the fish.

I know I’m not great at titles but oh well. This is an Eri.Vr.is oral vore fic! Mainly because I’ve been doing some rps and been caught up in the great dynamic they have imo. This is a sfw fic, but again it is a vore fic so if you turn away I won’t be offended. That said, I hope you enjoy and I’m always open to criticism!

There would be an unceremonious sigh that would come from a certain violet blooded sea dweller as he fiddled with the pieces for his latest scheme to exterminate all the land dwellers. Or at least, that would be what he had claimed he was doing, he never truly planned to execute it both due to lack of ambition and the resources. Really, the boasting and bragging about what he planned to do wasn’t as much of a threat as he liked to claim it was, and truly it was more along the lines of a need for attention than any true plans of committal. 

It had been a slow night for one Eridan Ampora, and having wasted most of it attempting to message any troll to either gossip with three of them or spew some rhetoric he didn’t fully believe. But even then, all that was accomplished was that he was being ignored while he vied for attention. All that was left was to stay cooped inside and rewatch old documentaries as he idly fiddled with historical figure memorabilia.

That was, it was all he had to do until someone had decided to free him from his self-isolation.

AG: Heeeeeeeey, Eridan. ::::) 

The sea dweller would squint, he didn’t think his rival would message him after deciding not to message her first. They had broken up when they were six sweeps due to him boring and overbearing; but some time after they turned seven sweeps, Eridan’s attempts to renew their rivalry would pay off after much work and effort. And now they had been going strong even after they hit nine sweeps old.

However, he would roll his eyes at the sight, he knew her innocent seeming spider smile was anything but.

CA: wwhat do you wwant you cerulean blowwhard dont you knoww im busy AG: I’m hurt! After all I went through to check on my dear rival! I would have thought he liked someone giving him attention. AG: Oh well! Guess I’ll just leave you to your devices seeing how you’re *so* busy, CA: god damn it wwait CA: okay maybe i got a bit of an openin in my schedule to wwaste time wwith you AG: Please! The only one who’s going to be wasting their time is me, we 8oth know you’re pro8a8ly doing something 8oring like watching one of your lame documentaries. CA: theyre not LAME theyre goin to be your miserable dirt munchin dowwnfall soon enough AG: Oh???????? 8old claim from you Ampora. Seeing how I know you’re dead wrong. AG: Anyway! You’re coming over to my hive today right? AG: Why am I even asking? You o8viously forgot. CA: i didnt forget i totally fuckin remembered our meeting at your stupid and completely ridiculous hivve AG: It’s not stupid! What’s stupid is the fishbreath who 8uilt his hive surrounded 8y the ocean when he 8arely spends any time in the water. AG: Whatever, just come over. I’m not waiting all day for your dum8ass. CA: ugh fuckin fine CA: you still havvent told me wwhat specifically you wwanted to do ovver there anywway AG : :::;)

And with that, the conversation was brought to an end. Eridan would rub his temples, her purposely vague answer meant any number of things, usually which ended in his embarrassment in one way or the other. Of course, it was better to just go over as soon as possible rather than him wasting time by speculating, even if he did plan to make her wait to purposely be fashionably late. Something to put his pompous attitude on display. Soon enough, Eridan would don his scarf and cape before leaving his hive and embarking on the trip to Vriska’s.

The trip wasn’t terribly long, mainly because traversing through the ocean was far from an issue and her home conveniently overlooked the sea. Even so, Eridan would hold make sure to wait for an extra amount of time for no reason than to uphold the gesture that he was royalty. Feeling accomplished with his amazingly petty task, he would approach the door and knock a few times before waiting for her to answer as he dried himself off as he uncaptchalogued a few towels.

Vriska would answer the door surprisingly quickly, having not had the patience to return his petty actions before pulling him inside and closing the door behind them both. The expression on her face was blatant annoyance, but that was far from the norm regardless if it was actual exasperation or not. Eridan would up look at the other troll with a frown, even since they had gotten older he would find that she had sky rocketed past him in height. He had been a respectable  height of nearly six feet, while she had him beat by additional four feet, much to his unending irritation and to her endless amusement.

“You’re late. Even after I went and so kindly reminded you of our little arrangement. Well, I guess everything’s little to me when you’re short, but the point stands.” “yeah yeah keep braggin vvris i wwas towwerin ovver you before-” “Sure, you had a few inches on me when we were six! But now we’re nine and you’re still short, how do you explain that, hm?” That would cause him to shut up rather quickly, though he would dart his eyes around and attempt to come up with a retort, only to fold his arms and huff soon after. It wasn’t uncommon for trolls to grow as much as she did, but the fact that he wasn’t one of them meant that  discussions of height were biased in her favor. Her ten feet tall favor. His violet eyes would eventually return to her cerulean ones, there had been smile on her face, one that reeked of mischievous intent. Before he could open his mouth to question her intentions, she would cover his mouth with her hand, and some of his face as a natural consequence of the difference in size between them.

“Alright Ampora, shut up for a minute and listen. I had you come over because I had a proposition that’s going to 8enefit 8oth of us. Here’s the deal: You got two minutes to hide somewhere, and I’m going to seek you out. If I can’t find you in 8 minutes, you win! And if you pick somewhere dum8 and I find you, I win! And the loser has to do whateeeeeeeever the winner wants! Sound good? ::::)”

Eridan would try to speak his response, only for Vriska to keep her hand pressed against his face, only pulling back once he felt something wet trail along it. Irritation making itself apparent with a scoff, she would return the favor by grabbing one of his hands, sticking out her tongue and  slowly pressing the wet muscle against the other troll’s hand in a rather long lick before finally letting him go. His hand utterly drenched in saliva, Eridan’s face would scrunch up as he shook his hand dry while a small tinge of violet came across his face. It made her brief taste of him all the more delicious. 

“for fucks sake fine ill WWIN your stupid land suckin game and then wwe can do somethin wway less ridiculous and more dignified afterwwards” His statement was spoken with his usual amount of sea dweller pompous pride, even if the chips were stacked against him. Even so, he held his head up high and puffed his chest out, not about to turn down a challenge that was surely easy enough to win. She had a castle, there must have been plenty of places to hide.

“Good! Now get going Eridan, unless you want to 8e 8oring and lame and make this too easy.” She’d give him a wink, teasing him over her self-assured victory and a lick of her lips. She had no problem hinting at what she wanted to do once she won, it made it fun to see him squirm.

He’d pause for a moment and confidence turned into brief uncertainty in less than a minute, “wwait you mean right noww i havvent fuckin evven gotten to-” He cuts himself off as he sees her turn away and start to count, realizing that she wasn’t even going to wait for him to prepare himself. He’d scramble off, the sea dweller handling himself incredibly well on land even when he’s running around wearing a rather long cape. 

He wasn’t used to hiding as he was often hunting for the sake of Feferi’s lusus, but he would certainly try his hand at it to the best of his ability. Of course, his first two attempts were less than idea, having run to the very bottom of her hive to try and disguise himself by burying himself under her pile of miscellaneous belongings, only to realize he was shifting too much. He’d then decide to try his hand at hiding on one of the upper floors, deciding that hiding behind her pile of treasure would have been an unlikely spot seeing how he resented her various wins against him during their FLARP sessions. Unfortunately, this would prevent him from hiding there for long, as he does grow irritated looking at her spoils and decided to leave before it caused those pitch feelings to flair too much. Ultimately, he would decide to hide somewhere so obvious, Vriska would never think to check. He was confident in this idea, so much so that he decided to take it easy and relax in his new found spot, all he had to do now was wait 8 minutes and win. He means eight.

Vriska, predictably, did not count the entirety of two minutes before she began her hunt. Rather, she stopped once she got to eighty eight and decided that was enough for her. When she turned around, she half expected Eridan to standing right there out of spite and stubbornness about the whole thing but to her delight the violet blood was playing along. The question was where to find him, if she had to guess, it was probably somewhere dumb, like him. And so her very first guess was her trophy room, because of course he would think she’d skip over her own hoard of treasure to look for him. But upon making her way up the many stairs to check, she would find not a hair of him to found. She was a bit annoyed her first guess wasn’t right, but she had extra time to spare and her next guess would most certainly be right.

Except it wouldn’t The next room would be devoid of Eridan, and the next and the next. It would seem that no matter where she searched, he was nowhere to be found, it raise her irritation with him, and with it her hunger. The stomach of the ten foot cerulean would grumble as she briefly put a hand on it and huffed, she had to give her rival credit, he was doing a good job at making her work for this. And here she thought she’d grab an easy snack. But the warranty of it was  wearing off as time passed on, even with her head start, it would seem that Eridan was safe wherever he had chosen to hide. She couldn’t allow this to happen, she had planned for this all to go a certain way, and the fact that it wasn’t was unacceptable. Annoyed, she’d retire to her block for a moment, purely for the sake of trying not to get too caught up and at least try to remain rational about this. Only a minute to go, there wasn’t much time left, and Vriska was certain she had searched about every place there was to offer. Unless...

Without a word, Vriska would approach her wardrobe dresser, there was no way he’d hide in there right? It’d be dumb and stupid and completely ridiculous! Well, she didn’t have time, so she would ultimately waste not a moment more as she ripped open the doors to her wardrobe and... found her prize. Eridan for one was shocked with the sudden burst of light and appearance of Vriska, who apparently been frustrated looking for him. He wishes he could have seen the whole experience, but from the noises she made he got his fair share of entertainment. “8h my g8d, r8ally!!!!!!!! Y8u hid in my wardr88e????????” There was an unending amount of vitriol pouring from Vriska now, irritation at herself and him were flowing freely, and despite Eridan’s surprise, he would waste no time in displaying adjusting himself and nodding, “of course i hid here because i thought youd fuckin ovverlook it seein howw all your attire is plain as SHIT and it wworked just god damn fine seein howw a certain obnoxious glory lovvin troll took forEVVER to find me-” He would step out with a large amount of pride, quite certain he had won, only for his eyes  to dart over to the clock in her room and his face would immediately fall. She had found him with ten seconds to spare. “wwell fuck”

Vriska would try to take a moment to herself to not have too radical an outburst, she was upset, but she also wanted to savor her prize. The expression on Eridan’s face certainly helped “Wwell fuck is right! I win! And that meeeeeeeeans you have to do what I want, and I think we both know what that is.” A chill would go down his spine, while Eridan could be clueless at times, she had given him more than enough hints as to what she wanted. It certainly hadn’t been the first time they had done such a thing, but it was more than a bit embarrassing for him, which made give her some push back on the idea. “are you fuckin kiddin vvris you didnt say anythin about this bein your prize-” “Don’t 8e coy!” She’d interrupt him immediately, taking a step closer to him as he took a step back. “ I made it plenty clear! 8esides! I win, and you agreed to the terms right? It’s only fair I get what I’m promised.” 

Another step forward and he’d take another few steps back and bump into the wall behind him, Vriska smirking as she’d get closer to him, their bodies practically touching as she leaned down towards him and her lips would slowly part, strands of saliva breaking apart as he start down that cerulean abyss, taking a few teasing swallows as she inched closer before letting her warm breath washing over him and fogging up his glasses.  A few drops of drool would fall into his face before she’d close her mouth pull away, letting the situation sink in for the sea dweller as well as calm herself down, she may have had a bit of cerulean tint her cheeks in the same manner violet tinted his. Eating someone in this manner was embarrassing after all, which was why she’d only do it in private, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Eridan had similarly shared the sentiment on the other side of the spectrum.

While embarrassment would go around on both ends, the sea dweller still contemplated making a run for it; the thought of being consumed always did trigger a fight or flight instinct, regardless of the fact that she probably wouldn’t digest him. Before he can even make an attempt however, his body is kept in place by hands on his shoulders, she had decided that she wasn’t going to give him the chance to scramble off and hide again, “I hope you’re ready, because you’re going to be in there for a while~” She would lean in again, salivating as she brought herself closer yet as her jaws widened to accept her meal. Slow warm breaths would beat against his skin as she drew tantalizingly close, all the while the fish troll would gulp nervously.

Instinctively, he would press his hands against her face as she started to lean in, he wasn’t about to let his hatemate have her meal without at least giving some fight back. One hand on her top lip and the other on her bottom, there’d be some push back as she slowly closed the distance between them yet again, it was a losing fight on his end as the predator drew closer and closer, letting him stare once again into her mouth before her tongue would slide out to press against his face and trail upwards, taking his glasses with it and causing him to loosen his hold. It was all he needed give the spider troll all the leeway she needed. Before he can even think about his mistake, she would jolt forward and wrap her lips around his neck, sealing him inside the jaws of the ever hungry troll. A hum of approval would resonate around the noble of troll royalty, reveling in the taste of victory and her meal, saliva being thoroughly slathered across his face during his various attempts to voice insults and protests. Though that wouldn’t stop him from trying. 

While it was certainly dark in the other’s mouth, being a nocturnal species meant that Eridan could see each and every detail as she made sure to truly make him squirm. It wouldn’t be long before she’d take the first swallow, letting his glasses slide along her tongue before they were unceremoniously pulled down her gullet Of course. with that swallow, he would be brought only a short distance away from the opening in her throat, as his shoulders would be brought in next. Her teeth would be pressed against his clothes to  keep him in place as his struggles and attempts to free himself grew stronger despite the situation going in the opposite direction for him. Her tongue would waste no time in running over the formerly dry parts of the troll, drenching the top of his shirt as drool as she decided to move on with her meal and take the gulp that would trap him inside her throat and bulge it out with his struggling form.

His head now captured in a pulsating throat, Vriska can continue her meal in confidence he won’t wiggle out. Her hands would move to keep his arms pinned to his sides as she moved further down his body, a hum flowing freely as she continued this consumption of him. Drool would pool in her mouth and dripping down as his chest was next to slide between her jaws as Eridan was tugged further down her throat, slightly bulging it out as he defiantly tried to move it around. Her tongue was relentless in running along the fabric she brought into her mouth, it was a bit tasteless and bland, and she regrets not shredding the shirt when she had the chance, but she ultimately makes do. Mainly by lapping at the shirt to lubricate it before taking another swallow, sending him further down the slimy gullet.

Her lips and fangs now reach his hips, and his stomach is safely contained within her mouth. Now she could have a bit more fun with him. Her tongue would curl under the bottom of his shirt to gain access to his skin yet again, an unadulterated groan escaping her to make it well known how much she just enjoyed this feeling, the noises ringing through his ears amidst his own grunts and swears. She’d stop her swallowing for a moment, reveling in the taste and wanting him to squirm a bit longer for her and attempt to fight back against the intrusive tongue as it rubbed against him,  only to end up rubbing his body more against the wet muscle, her taste buds gets all the flavor she could ever want. What probably gets the biggest reaction from her is when she gives attention to his grub scars, which are oddly enough, pretty delicious for a reason she couldn’t quite explain. But they do elicit some sounds from Eridan was well, mainly increasingly flustered insults as he keeps kicking wildly. It was quite enjoyable a feeling if she were to be honest.

While she could have kept slathering, lapping and sucking on him for a considerable amount of time, a sudden loud growl would emerge from her stomach, reminding her that she was quite hungry still. And so, she’d wrap her hands around his legs to keep them still as the next series of gulps condemned the violetblood to his fate. There would be only the briefest moment where she would remove his shoes before finally sealing the deal, tracing the last of the troll’s form down with one hand as she pushed him down to her stomach. A long sigh would come out of her as she laid on back and massage her now bloated stomach. It was a lot of work to get him down and she was blue in the face, but she had done it. She could feel him fighting and hear his complaints both of which were more than annoying when she was trying to relax, but damn, it was always satisfying to do this. 

 Eridan, for his part, always had conflicting feelings about this. His face flushed violet and his entire body was absolutely drenched in ever warm saliva, it and he was now surrounded by a brilliant shade of blue that made up her stomach walls. He attempt to push and stretch it to its limits and cause her indigestion as a form of revenge, but all he would be met with was a few gurgles as the stomach churned around him. Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was going to be digested, otherwise he would have been splashing stomach acids all over him from his struggles, instead of other contents in her stomach. It included a few eight balls and dice, unsurprisingly. Despite his best efforts, he would only slightly stretch out her grey skin as Vriska could see her bloated stomach wiggling and bulging with his form, she was content to keep him in there.

It would be a few minutes before Eridan’s protests would die down and he’d resign himself for now as he attempt to get comfortable against the soft stomach lining that surrounded him. As embarrassing as this had been, he had expending his stamina and his frustration dying down to contempt. It would allow her to relax a bit more and close her eyes. She thinks she’s going to take a nap before they do anything else. She might let him out later but for now, this was just another mark of victory for her. It was fun, they’ll have to do this again sooner rather than later.

[loveamongthesailors]

would love your take on patho2's nocturnal ending versus the og's three endings

 og’s endings: wow were still strapped in a cold unending hell ov civ no matter whose lot we throw ourselves in with i want to

DIE

outside powers have granted You the choice to decide what form the Town survives in but... every choice is contingent on the perpetuation ov the Town as it is, the question ov whether the town Should be perpetuated is left up to you to mull over in yr post narrative denial ov catharsis state but... hmmmmm boy i think a lot ov people just got a lot ov catharsis from the 3 endings as they stand :)

common thing i hear after people play daniils route is that they were excited to salt and burn the earth out ov sheer spite for their experiences during the game. yeowch

bit from “the touch of civilization: comparing american and russian internal colonization” that gets at why im interested in pathos narratives ov colonization coming from an american understanding ov those processes, also looking at some historical stereotypes patho is pulling from and the specific colonial ideologies fueling The Town that u can see reflected in patho.

(theres a link to that a little bit back on my blogue btw)

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so yeah, pathologic gives us a look at quite a few different avenues by which internal colonization is perpetuated, interesting looks @ how authoritarianism/industrialism/imperialism are working to reinforce this within a small colony ov “subversives”

back to nocturnal ending, very sexy ov it to say HEY WHAT IF WE DIDNT DO ALL THAT? in the absolute most crazy ass meta bullshit body without organs inside out panopticon narratology moment ov my life... havent had my skeleton torn out ov my body like this since finishing utena. GOD

anyways i really like both the diurnal and nocturnal endings taken together as a dissection and subversion ov the haruspex’s route in classic. also love that in nocturnal its like consider this utopian imaginary: three weird girls and everything else on Earth are just gonna figure it out and im like yes... but also ill still ultimately be stepping back and viewing this with critical a lens specifically to find my own weapons and masks...but yes...

[neopuff]

Do you mind characters from older shows like Motorcity or Tron Uprising? If not, then Julie & Mike from Motorcity, Raven from TT, Paige from Tron Uprising and Aya from GLTAS 😃 (feel free to do just one and ignore the others if it’s too much!)

definitely!! but i have actually still not seen tron uprising and i only saw the first half of GLTAS but lets see what i can do

JULIE KANE

favorite thing about them

her hair.........also i just love her

least favorite thing about them

im still mad about her potentially being a robot/android/whatever. i just think thats unnecessary and annoying

favorite line

“i’ve got your back” :)

brOTP

i want more julie/chuck content but julie/claire and julie/mike are the real brotps

OTP

julie/claire and julie/mike are also the otps

nOTP

julie/texas. ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

random headcanon

she’s half thai

unpopular opinion

hating julie/texas was unpopular back in the day but i dont think anyone cares now

song i associate with them

hey julie by fountain of wayne (and again i. vidded her to this)

favorite picture of them

MIKE CHILTON

favorite thing about them

he’s a handsome boy and he’s good to his people

least favorite thing about them

hmm. nothing?

favorite line

i havent seen motorcity in years so i got nothin

brOTP

mike/chuck and mike/julie

OTP

mike/julie is my fave but i also like mike/chuck and mike/dutch a lot

nOTP

uuuuhhhhhh idk mikes pretty shippable with everyone

random headcanon

(bisexual finger guns) he does em for a reason

unpopular opinion

i dont think i have any

song i associate with them

uuhhhhh this makes me old but Kings and Queens by 30 Seconds to Mars (yes theres a vid)

favorite picture of them

RAVEN!

favorite thing about them

teen titans is what got me into fandom life in the first place but raven specifically was a big part of that

least favorite thing about them

so long as we’re just talking about TT03 raven....shes fine. sometimes pretentious but it works for her

favorite line

classically i will say “evil beware, we have waffles”

brOTP

raven/robin, raven/starfire, raven/cyborg

OTP

raven/robin, raven/terra, raven/cyborg

nOTP

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM lol obv its raven/bb

random headcanon

shes ace and bi. also because of her upbringing shes shit with modern technology

unpopular opinion

my unpopular opinion is simply my unending hatred of BBR

song i associate with them

Dark Blue by Jack’s Mannequin (here’s the vid)

favorite picture of them

ill do Aya but my memories of GLTAS are few

favorite thing about them

i like that shes green and bald

least favorite thing about them

that she dies, i believe

brOTP

aya and hal!!!!

OTP

ofc aya/razer.....sad

song i associate with them

ok here i have an answer and its super basic but I Am Not A Robot by Marina and the Diamonds (yes theres another vid)

favorite picture of them