#maybe when I stop doing that someday I can find some time to actually explore my needs

[vampvore]

I’m just fed up with feeling so ace and yet so sexually repressed. I’M SO FRUSTRATED!

[sageistri]

https://www.tumblr.com/sageistrii/752517837670760448/how-did-aespa-have-a-bigger-come-back-than-new?source=share

Exactly. Everyone's free to like whatever kpop group they want but it's annoying when a group has success for 1-2 years and suddenly start acting like they're bigger than BTS. Firstly too many kpop stans have no idea how famous BTS is because they spend all the time in their specific stan circles. Charts, numbers etc are all fine but if I say South Korea, there's swathes of random people whose first thought is BTS. If we're being completely frank, outside of kpop stan bubbles, the only other groups that are even close to BTS' recognition is Blackpink and maybe New Jeans to a much smaller degree and it's still nowhere near BTS.

Secondly BTS have industry respect. It may not be industry support but they do command respect because industry players know that BTS did not pay their way to the top and are literally self-made. They may resent it and it won't stop them from consciously or subconsciously discriminating against the Asian group but they know the truth and that does affect the way they talk about BTS. And for listeners diving into BTS to see what all the hype is about, the curse and gift of BTS is that their weakest songs are also their most well known so people are generally impressed by the depth, scope and variety in their discography if they decide to delve beyond butter and dynamite.

BTS have had different eras where they've gone viral or certain songs that achieved the most chart success but in tandem they've also been steadily popular for ten years. In an industry that's known for fickle fanbases that are constantly flocking to newer and younger idols, it is noteworthy how BTS' decline in popularity has so far only been due to them going on hiatus and enlisting.

So comparing groups that have debuted last month and saying this is the next BTS or with another group that had one viral song or even groups thats been doing well for 2-3 years with one concept is just the hubris of fans. I won't say nobody can replicate what BTS has done but it's just damn hard and longevity is definitely a major factor. No flash in the pan chart debuts can replace years of steady quality work and popularity.

This goes for JK too. His debut numbers were bigger than BTS songs and obviously it's a little different in his case since he's from the actual group itself. And it's true critics are more harsh towards some Korean soloist they're not schmoozing with at parties and that sucks, but it's also true that they're aware of the method by which JK got his numbers. He was on the top of Spotify global for weeks yet he did not get the "he's the next big thing" treatment from anyone (except Hugh McIntyre from forbes ig?). This is because, like I said, they know the tactics it took to get him there and while this was a great way to get their attention, when they explored his debut album, they didn't find anything there to highlight. Again this is going to sound harsh but there's a reason Jimin got the cnn and nyt writeups. People inside the industry know the difference in those BB number 1's. They're still going to pay attention to JK over Jimin because the labels made it obvious who they're going to put all their money behind and they'll always follow the money. They're not naive to not know how much a label affects any singers success but apart from that JK will have to do better than golden in the future if his goal is to become as big as BTS or to reach a stage with 🛴 isnt pulling all his contacts to get JK some awards in the US.

I do think we'll see a group surpass BTS someday but fans just get way ahead of themselves. But then again even people involved in BTS' success like bang si hyuk seems to think that throwing money and english songs at any kpop group will replicate their success so I can't be surprised when fans are like this.

.

[chainsofaether]

Is your character inspired by, or takes inspiration from, any kind of existing media? Is it because of a character, trope, setting or other aspects of the story/media you vibed with? How have you adapted that media to make your character yours?

Oh look a question I can easily answer if I just rant. I really want to rant, but I'll try not to.

I can't say I don't take any inspiration from existing media because I'm not some font of infinite creativity disconnected from the world. Neat as that might be. But I can say I don't really take from anywhere specifically.

I consume a lot less media then I once did. Don't read as much, watch fewer shows. Actually what do I do? Mmm something to think about. Lots of video games I guess.

So media is a thing and pressured I could probably point at things? But more I think it tropes and themes I pull from. But getting more specific to Nyxathe, and maybe Nexa.

So Nyxathe's one big thing is Apotheosis. I can hardly tell you were I got caught up on that from specifically but I've found myself increasingly annoyed by the near constant portrayal as godhood as a bad thing. Which isn't to say I don't understand, I do very much. Still I've like to see the other side of it, if it exists.

So much so I started building a little, not so little, world where I can create stories for the very topic. Yay world building, but that's mildly off topic.

Maybe I should talk about that someday, but for now back on topic.

So there's different motivations behind wanting to be a god. Nyxathe isn't so emotionally devoid that it is purely part of just wanting to understand. Part yes, not completely. Instead Nyxathe is a deeply traumatized individual that saw a god being and got in to the thought that maybe with that kind of power things could have been different. If nothing else she could do better.

Is she right? Probably not. Who knows if she can even succeed. Still she'll peruse personal power until someone or something stops her.

That drags us to another topic. Corruption/Monsters. In Nyxathe case ties heavily in to her humanity. How far can she take her core goal without becoming a monster? To this point in time I don't think anyone could call Nyxathe more then obsessed, certainly not a monster. But Nyx is definitely corrupted by her obsession. The further she takes her research the more she starts to find the limits of ethical research. It would be really nice if she could just take an animal and do a few things to test a few theories. Or better yet a person.

But in spite of where her thoughts take her she hasn't crossed that line. Yet. Considering her personality I think it's nearly inevitable she crosses that line. Like taking our dear Angel's character Anna. Have I mentioned I love Anna? Anyway Nyx's horror about Anna would last all of a few minutes till she realized how convenient Anna's way of doing things are, and how much more power comes from that route. Given Anna would almost certainly just murder her before she got that far, so not a meeting to be I think.

Still that's lots about dark talk about a character who is otherwise pretty nice to be around. Who's pretty ethical despite how much advantage is her not being. With the right influence she could even solidify her moral stance on research.

That I think displays my real interest in the theme/idea of corruption. Least the mental side of it. The lack of inevitably in it. Few characters/people are doomed from the start. It's a life time of situation and events that lead them. Exploration of that is pretty interesting.

Of course we have the physical side of that. That was decidedly not something I was thinking about when I made Yrys. That's much more a new thing thanks to a few things I played and had a very big 'huh, that's pretty interesting' in such a strong way I needed to explore it. So I came back and start looking at how it could apply to Yrys turned Nyxathe.

Which, very easy. Super easy. Nyxathe's whole manipulation of corporeal aether, particularly her own, was such an obvious avenue to physical corruption. Yay body horror?

Okay. Well this turned in to lots of rambling. Less ranting though so that's good. I don't really want to get in to real world stuff on here no matter how much It shapes my thoughts. I didn't touch on Nexa at all. Rip but this was getting long. One day I'll sit down and do stuff for my catgirl. Also I tied Corruption and Monsters together, and I think that's a mistake, or limiting anyway. But if I go back and rewrite all of it will end up twice as long. Plus I need to sit and really think about that now. Another post maybe.

Anyway thank you Sea for the ask. I've been very quiet for a while now. I'll see about slowly ramping back up now that I don't feel so bleh.

[quiverwingquack]

now trouble's at the line

Louie and his brothers take their kayak out for a little adventure. It doesn't go very well.

Alternatively, the secret origins of Captain Lost.

(AO3 link in reblogs!!!) Requested by @violetganache42. Feel free to submit a prompt of your own.

-----

The boat sways on the water, gently rocking the boys as they sail along. Or… drift along? Row along? Louie’s never sure what the right boat words are, no matter how many times Uncle Donald’s told them. Huey knows, ‘cause there’s probably like ten different entries in his nerd book about boats, and Dewey probably does, ‘cause he’s a way better listener than Louie. He pays attention and fills Louie in later, most times, while Louie takes naps or plays games on his phone or dreams up his newest scheme under the table.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway. They’re out of the houseboat today, and Huey’s babbling away about some fish he saw and Dewey’s excitedly rowing thru the water, steering them further and further from shore. Uncle Donald said not to go too far, but he’s not here now, and Louie’s holding the map.

They might even find treasure this time.

Louie reclines against the back of the boat, cozy under their umbrella. There’s just enough space for him to chill, glancing lazily at the map every so often. It’s one of Huey’s nerd projects, a careful sketch of the shore and the docks, all places they’ve explored so far. All the boring, familiar, safe places they’ve been. Not much of an adventure, really.

They go out all the time anyway. Louie doesn’t know why—what kind of adventure is it, rowing along the same stretch of water dozens of times?—but he comes along. He’s supporting his brothers, in his own kind of way, and besides, it’s a great spot for a nap. No nagging Uncle Donald telling him he’s messing up his sleep rhythm or whatever, and just enough warmth from the sun overhead to be cozy, but not uncomfortable.

He looks at the map again, matching the rough stretch of shore they’re rowing past to Huey’s doodles. “There’s the uh… Puddle Beach? Peddle Beach? You gotta write bigger, Hue.”

“It’s Pebble Beach,” Huey corrects, gesturing to the stones on the sand as they pass. “I don’t think it really has a name, so I gave it one. Because of all the rocks!”

“Sure, yeah,” Louie stifles a yawn. “Turn left past here, Dewey. We’re almost to the Money Bin.”

“Ooh, the Bin!” Dewey perks up, rowing faster. “Maybe we can stop for lunch when we get there?”

“It is almost noon,” Huey approves. He looks up at the bright, yet cloudy sky, studying it for a moment. “But we should head back afterward. It looks like it’s going to rain!”

“Aw, c’mon,” Louie groans. “We just barely left! Besides, we’re nearly to the end of your map.”

“All the more reason to turn back! Junior Woodchuck rule 727—”

“Louie rule 727: if we go out on an adventure, we should actually do some adventuring. Don’t you wanna add more to this thing? I’m sure there’s a badge for something like that.”

“Well… I suppose we could keep going for a little while,” he decides. “But only another hour, and if we hear thunder, we’ll have to head to shore and call Uncle Donald.”

Louie begins to grumble, but Dewey cheers a little louder. “Yes! Let’s go exploring!”

They reach the Money Bin not too long later. Huey lays out a blanket, and Dewey unpacks their sandwiches and drinks. Louie stretches and yawns before plopping down on the blanket, smoothing out some wrinkles. There, he helped. Huey likes it when the blanket’s smooth and even.

Dewey hands him a sandwich, and he unwraps the plastic with one hand, not even bothering to sit up. Peanut butter again? It’s nice of Uncle Donald to pack them a lunch and all, but Louie wishes there’d be some variety sometime. It’s always the same sea they sail and the same sandwiches at lunch.

“Someday, I’m gonna make the biggest, fanciest sandwiches for lunch,” he muses, gesturing across the bay to the huge building on the sea. “I’m gonna have a big bin like that, full of treasure, and I’m gonna be the richest duck in the world.”

“Yeah?” Dewey prompts, looking up at the Bin. “What kind of sandwich?”

“Hmm… something fancy, like salted ham and pickles. And I’d get one of those little press things, so I could make it toasty.”

“I bet Scrooge McDuck eats like that every day,” Dewey’s voice is full of wonder. “And I bet he’s taken a boat through the coolest places. Like the Amazon! Or the moon!”

“I don’t think Scrooge McDuck has been to the moon. We would’ve heard about it on the news,” Huey scoffs. But when Louie looks over to him, his eyes are looking up too, with the same curious wonder. “But I bet he’s been on a lot of cool adventures.”

“We should go on an adventure,” Dewey declares. “A real one! We can take the boat all the way to the edge of Duckburg, and Uncle Donald doesn’t even have to know. We could map it all and explore somewhere new and maybe even find something nobody’s ever found before!”

“That does sound fun,” Huey agrees. “I might even get my own entry into the JWG!”

“We might even find a treasure and get stupid rich too!” Louie’s eyes are focused fully on the dollar signs in the windows. He’d never eat peanut butter again.

“Let’s go!” Dewey yells. “To adventure!”

He’s halfway back to the boat before Louie even realizes he’s hopped up, and he scrambles with Huey to pick up their stuff. They hurry back to the boat together, and set off in the water. Louie directs them toward the edge of their map, and Huey pulls out a telescope to scout ahead. Or… magnifier? Spy glass? Whatever it is, it makes him look like a pirate. And Dewey’s enthusiastically steering them ahead now, barely bothering with directions.

Seems like the perfect time for a nap, Louie reasons. They’re swaying gently on the water, and it’s nice and warm. It doesn’t feel like rain at all! He’ll just close his eyes for a few minutes, and his… his brothers will wake him wh… when they need the map….

“Louie!” Huey yells, and Louie shoots straight up. “Huh?”

“You fell asleep? I can’t believe you,” he scolds. “Do you even know where we are?”

“In the boat, duh,” Louie retorts. Dewey snatches the map from his hand, frowning at it, and Louie looks around. There’s an unfamiliar bridge ahead, with spooky, tall skyscrapers beyond, and the sky looks a lot gloomier and darker now. Maybe Huey was right, not that he’d admit it out loud.

“Please don’t tell me we’re lost,” Dewey’s face goes pale, like he’s just seen a ghost, or maybe like Uncle Donald’s just caught them in the middle of making trouble. “I don’t—I don’t recognize any of this stuff.”

“Uh oh,” Louie mumbles, looking all around them. He doesn’t recognize any of this either. Huey shakes his head, mumbling too, and Louie quickly realizes he’s starting to panic. “What is it?”

“My phone’s not getting service. I was gonna call Uncle Donald, but—”

“Mine was dead a while ago,” Louie mutters. “I wrote out a new scheme before lunch and drained it.”

“I left mine on the houseboat. I thought if we were going on a real adventure I wouldn’t need it.” Dewey looks like he’s about to panic too, looking around at the unfamiliar city. “Um… what do we do now?”

Huey takes a deep breath. “I’m the oldest, I can figure this out. Next time, we’ll bring more supplies. And for now, hm… let’s get to shore, and try to find a payphone, or ask someone if we can borrow their phone. We can call—”

A huge clap of thunder rocks the boat, and the boys all yell, reaching to hold onto each other. And almost immediately, rain begins to drizzle down, quickly drenching them. And they’re nowhere near the safety of the shore.

“Thanks, Captain Lost,” Dewey grumbles, reaching for the umbrella. “Some adventure.”

Huey laughs, scooting closer. “Captain Lost! Captain Lost!”

“Hey!” Louie squishes himself between his brothers, already freezing. “At least call me Captain Lost, sir. Have some respect.”

“Hmm… nah,” Dewey giggles, and they row the boat toward the shore. “Captain Lost! Captain Lost!”

By the time they’ve tied the kayak up, the rain has turned from a drizzle to a downpour. Louie’s hoodie is soaked all the through, and his brothers both look as cold as he feels. They’re all miserable, and he regrets even getting out of bed this morning.

Huey leads them down the first street they find, looking for a payphone, but none of them want to go too far from their kayak. And though it’s barely dinnertime now, there seems to be no one around. It’s almost like a haunted house, but everywhere. A haunted city.

“I wanna go home,” he mutters, kicking a rock into the gutter. “I’m wet and cold and hungry.”

“Me too,” Dewey agrees. “All these shadows are giving me the creeps, too.”

“I know. But I’m sure we’ll find a phone soon,” Huey reassures them, reaching to hug them both. “We just need to give Uncle Donald a call, and we’ll be home before bedtime. We didn’t go that far.”

“If we can find a phone,” Louie grumbles. If they can’t, they’ll be stranded, and it’ll be all his fault. Some brother he is! He’s—

“Did you say you needed a phone? You, uh, you can borrow mine if you want!”

The boys turn, in unison, to a figure on a doorstep they’re walking past. A young man, wearing a purple plaid button-up with sunglasses tucked into the collar. He’s holding a paper bag of groceries in one arm, clearly just gotten home, but he tosses his keys into the bag and fishes a cell phone out of his pocket. Then, he holds it out to Huey without a word.

“Thank you!” Huey takes it, and quickly dials Uncle Donald’s number. “We got stranded, we just need to call our uncle to come pick us up.”

“That’s okay,” he tells them. “Here, let me—let me put these inside while you do that.”

He drops his keys as Uncle Donald picks up, then hurries to unlock his door. Louie wonders why he’s so nervous—usually, kids are the ones scared of strangers—but keeps an eye on him as he unlocks his door. He sticks the bag on a table just inside, then grabs an umbrella leaning up against it. As Huey explains how they’ve ended up here, he pops the umbrella open and offers it to Louie.

“You can borrow this too, if—if you want. I’d invite you inside, but they always taught us not to go into strangers’ houses in the Junior Woodchucks.”

“Hey, he’s a Woodchuck too!” Dewey chirps, taking the umbrella and leaving Huey and Louie to share theirs. Huey nods, and Dewey continues, “Uncle Donald would have a fit anyway. He’s kinda… paranoid like that.”

The stranger laughs, his bright yellow beak turning up in a smile. “Yeah, adults can be like that sometimes. I can talk to him too, if you want?”

“We’re fine, I promise,” Huey says through the phone, then looks up at their newfound friend. “Hey, he says he can talk to you, if you want.”

There’s a pause, then Huey holds out the phone. The stranger takes it, quickly greeting Uncle Donald. “Hello? Oh, it’s you! I thought these boys looked familiar.”

The boys exchange a look. Louie’s suspicions ease a little, because Uncle Donald doesn’t have many friends, so if he knows this guy, it’s probably okay to stand here with him. He doesn’t seem mad, either, which is always a good sign. Uncle Donald’s lost more jobs than he’s kept and the boys get into trouble everywhere they go, so it’s… not often that they meet someone friendly who knows them.

Besides, Uncle Donald’s told them a dozen times to stay where they are if they ever get lost. Louie figures this will turn out okay.

“It’s okay, really! Kids will be kids.” The stranger is still smiling, but looking down the street now. “We can meet up at the Hamburger Hippo just off the bridge, and I’ll—I’ll buy their dinner tonight, if that’s okay with you!”

“Ooh, Hamburger Hippo!” Dewey says excitedly, and the stranger winks at him. He gestures down the street to a neon hippo sign, nodding as Uncle Donald tells him something.

“Hey, it’ll be my treat.” They start walking, and Dewey holds the second umbrella to cover himself and their newfound friend. “Don’t worry about it. We can just call it—we can call it free babysitting, okay? Take your time.”

“Wow, this guy’s kinda cool,” Louie whispers to Huey. “I can’t believe they know each other.”

“Yeah,” Huey grins. “Uncle Donald doesn’t know anybody that’s cool.”

It’s not a long walk to the Hamburger Hippo, and by the time they get there, the rain eases up. The boys sit together on one side of a booth, and their new friend takes the other. He buys them whatever they want for dinner and even—after making them promise to keep it a secret—ice cream afterward, while they wait for Uncle Donald.

He tells them how they met in school, how Donald used to play guitar and sing terribly but he still went to every show. How he used to talk about music the way Huey talks about woodchuck stuff and how he always had something witty to say the way Louie does. He tells them how they took acting and singing lessons together, and how he’s become an actor and Donald was once in a band. He tells them stories and makes them laugh for what feels like hours, and they soon forget being worried about their adventure-gone-awry.

By the time Uncle Donald arrives, they’re all in a better mood, and they hurry out to give him hugs and pile in the car giggling as if they’ve just spent a day at Funzo’s. Louie watches Uncle Donald thank their newfound friend, and though he can’t hear what they’ve said, he can see the gratefulness from his seat in the car. Donald’s hands shake and he wipes at his eyes as if trying to keep from crying, but the young man just reaches for his hands to hold them steady, nodding and saying something clearly helpful. And If Louie notices the way Uncle Donald hugs him goodbye, tight and close as if they’ll never speak again, he doesn’t say anything. He knows some things are best left unsaid.

Besides, as Uncle Donald climbs back in the car, Huey and Dewey start chanting “Captain Lost, Captain Lost!” again, and Louie has more important things to focus on.

[thisseriesisfalse]

Entry number 221,697:

...

I had a moment of over lucidity just now, looking at that entry number. Over 600 years since I started my daily logs. I know I've missed a few, so who knows how long it's actually been. This is my only consistent way of keeping track.

Looking back on my life, I find myself thinking of long lost friends. Families. Even strangers. Somehow, it never stops hurting when I outlive another one. Thought I would be desensitized to it by now. I really thought.

But do I regret what I've become? Have I grown to resent my functional immortality?

...No. No, I do not, and have not. I'm still me, even after all this time. And even after all this time, there's still so much more to experience, so much more to explore, and importantly, so much more to catalogue.

It's been rough keeping my data banks well-maintained. Replacement parts are hard to find. Just accessing them is often a pain. Seems like every time I go back to what used to be Facility 10, there's some new rubble or other obstruction blocking the way. But I manage. For now.

I keep making new friends. Enemies, too, but not as many of those. Most people don't know I'm any different. I still intend to keep it that way. Maybe it's selfish, but I like their company. Telling them the truth only seems to drive them off.

Those signals from however many years ago turned out to be some sort of energy pulse from a far-off star. That's my theory at this point, anyways. Not aliens like I'd hoped. Not anyone like me, either.

...

Sometimes... Sometimes I still wish I could recreate what I did. Bring someone with me. It's futile, I know, all of my attempts have only brought well-documented failure, but... I can't help it. Nor can I help myself.

————

Inventory:

SRSSDs: 412 units.

Monitors: 1,241 units of varying size.

Shelves: 782 functional.

Hot Chocolate: 352 tons. (In case Sif ever "wakes up".)

Weapons: 23 firearms; 50 assorted makeshift knives, bludgeons, and clubs; 42 "miscellaneous" weapons.

Currency: 2,568,284 obsolete coins, cash, credits, etc.; 190,774 modern currency.

End of inventory.

——————————

I hope somebody finds these logs someday. Maybe they'll be useful, somehow. But not while I'm still here. I couldn't live with the embarrassment of them reading everything I wrote about my lovers.

...

Well, I guess I could. I would have to, after all.

...

Maybe I should write about them more.

End of log.

-Formerly Wynd.

[wazzappp]

Ghost rider RE7 AU

@baselicoc​ HEY HI HELLO IM SOOOOO GLAD YOU SAID THAT YOU OPENED THE FLOODGATES SO YOUR GETTING @ed​ I HOPE THATS ALRIGHT

*zip ties you to a chair and tapes your eyes open*

Aight this is more a collection of headcannons than an actual plot but I might get that out someday if yall are interested. For now just take some of my disjointed ramblings. 

For the sake of clarity, Robbie is Ethan, and Gabe is Mia.

Robbies powers are a mix between Ethan and Evelines. He has a rapid healing factor, can talk to/control the mold, and shapeshift to a certain degree. From how he behaves in his comics I think he would respond in stages. 1. Ignore it as long a humanly possible, 2. Acknowledge it but refuse to use the more freaky powers (shapeshifting and mold manipulation) 3. Eventually start to use them but only in dire situations. He carries the same denial that Ethan does throughout the game. Robbie would absolutely ignore his newfound weirdness to a ridiculous degree, but even he would start asking questions after having his fucking hand stapled back on. The way I think he ignores this for so long is that he just latches onto what Jack Baker says during the trapdoor cutscene.

(also the fact that you fucking collect your leg as inventory kills me these game devs were on another level when making this shit)

“Use this, you can heal your leg. Come on, you can do it!” I think this gives Robbie the opportunity to latch onto the idea that the medical kits / goop juice (for all my fellow markiplier fans) / Chem fluid bottles are what allows him to keep going, not his weird mold infested biology. Given what he's seen at this house I think Robbie would resolve that if he were infected, he would need to die. Turning into a monster like the Bakers, a mindless drone like the molded, or god forbid becoming like Eveline is absolutely not an option (spoiler alert that's basically what happens).

Eventually he would realize it though. Maybe he accidentally cuts himself at the BSAA provided safe-house he and Gabe are staying at and it heals way too quickly, or he catches his eyes in the mirror reflecting in ways they absolutely shouldn't. I’m thinking he would start going to the worst possible outcomes and therefore the worst possible solutions but Gabe puts a stop to that very destructive line of thinking. Not just because Robbie still needs to be around to take care of him, but because he finds out that Gabe has been permanently affected by his time with the Bakers too. Yep, I'm incredibly predictable. I’m giving Gabe a variation of Rose’s powers. I'm thinking for the vaccine choice after Jack Baker's final boss fight ( Robbie ABSOLUTELY chooses Gabe over Zoe, there is no question about it) the vaccine just gets rid of Eveline's ability to control Gabe and not the mold infection itself.

How Gabe would feel about being infected is definitely an interesting question. Robbie probably hates the fact that he's infected but that's because he hates not feeling in control of himself or the situation he's in. For Gabe it's different. Robbie being in control of the mold feels entirely different from Eveline. Where Eveline would manipulate and force people into doing what she wants, Robbie is someone who he trusts and more than that almost seems to reject the hive mind that they are both tapped into. The mold isn't inherently evil. It just relies on guidance from whoever is controlling it, and I think Gabe would be able to understand that having experienced both Eveline leading and now Robbie. And with Robbie in the lead I think Gabe would transition from scared to woah cool pretty quickly. That and I think he would definitely enjoy exploring without the need for mobility aids. In this au Gabe had physical disabilities before encountering Eveline, but she forcibly shifted his physiology into something ideal for her ‘new best friend/ brother’. He retains his mental disabilities because removing them feels kinda gross to me.

Gabe would also have a healing factor, just not as aggressive as Robbies. When Robbie is injured the mold recognizes it and immediately does what it can to fix it; forming a protective layer over it like a weird automatic scab. This rapid healing does result in scar tissue though, and holy shit are there a lot of scars. I was rewatching Mark’s RE7 lets play and in the words of Phil Swift THAT’S A LOTTA DAMAGE. Anyway, this is fine for cuts or puncture wounds, but if he breaks a bone or dislocates a joint for example, this healing can look like a marionette being yanked around as bones are aggressively pulled back into place. It is violent healing and I imagine it would be extremely unsettling to observe.

Gabe’s is more gradual and subtle. Cuts that would heal over the span of a week heal over a few days. And because this healing is more gentle he doesn't tend to scar as easily from damage. But his main powers would focus on communicating with the mold itself as well as creating the mold flowers that we see in the ‘shadows of rose’ DLC. Those flowers are used to generate walls of mold that I think he could use to defend himself. It's like giving the mold a new starting point to grow from. He can't command it without question like Robbie can, but he does talk to them and sometimes they decide to listen. Mostly he talks to them like they’re his friends. Which is only vaguely concerning when a BSAA rep comes around the house to check on them and finds Gabe mumbling into a corner. The rep asks what he's doing and Gabe just looks at him and smiles “I’m talking to my friends in the walls!”

Speaking of which I think that Robbie would subconsciously start growing mold in the walls and around the backyard of their BSAA provided safehouse. It watches everything, and it reports back (yes I am including hive mind elements into this did you really expect better from me) following his orders as a ‘new Eveline’ (which he absolutely HATES). As a side note, it's definitely conflicting to ask myself what it would take for Robbie to kill a 10 year old girl, but mind controlling his little brother into stabbing him repeatedly and cutting his hand off with a chainsaw, while also killing and turning 100+ people into mind controlled mold monsters would probably get him close.

Robbie’s overprotective nature graduates into borderline possessiveness here. It's primarily because of the mold's influence but also holy fucking trauma batman because he thought his little brother straight up died and went through a hell on earth trying to save him (im figuring gabe goes missing for a couple weeks before robbie finds him in the Bakers House. I know in the original game it's three years but frankly I don't know how Robbie would do with that so three weeks it is). The mold is an entity in and of itself here. Outside of the Megamycite, this is an independent colony that was nearly wiped out by the person it is now attached to. Protecting Robbie and Gabe is its prime directive as a point of survival,  and that desire being pumped into the already paranoid and jaded teenager has palpable effects.

But essentially the reasoning I’m putting out here from Robbies pov is ‘Fuck that should not have healed instantly without that weird medical stuff I am infected maybe I should turn myself in’ to ‘Wait wait fuck Gabe is ALSO infected but he seems.. Fine? Maybe because Eveline isn’t present anymore the mold isn't affecting either of us as aggressively?” ending with ‘Gabe seems fine, so I’m probably fine. If were both infected the same way than we should both be good. Right?’

Unfortunately of course they are NOT infected in the same way. Like I said Gabes abilities were supposed to be a ‘gift’ from Eveline. She wanted someone who she could run around and play with. But Robbie straight up DIED. We know from RE8 that he got deaded on after getting curbstomped by one mind controlled Jack Baker (following the dismemberment of course jesus Ethan had a fucking inhuman pain tolerance even before getting infected) and by the end of the game itself his entire body is composed of mold. Gabe is infected, Robbie is made of infection. 

Okay this is getting really fuckass long so I’m gonna continue in a second post. Also I just. Dont know? Where to put Eli in this? I have some plans for Lisa but the stinky bastard man eludes me.

[strayslost]

GETTING TO KNOW YOUR MOOTS BETTER !

Fill out the info sheet below & tag your friends to do the same ! Repost , don’t reblog !

🌊 🐇

Name / Pen-name : Meri!

Pronouns : She/her (okay with they/them too!)

Country / Region : England.

Timezone : GMT

Age / Age group : 25, as of this month!

Favourite colours : Pink, turquoise/teal, yellow, cream & brown, and maybe green too???

Favourite foods : How can you expect me to choose!! if I listed them all I'd be here all day ;~; I suppose a couple are cheesecake, custard (and sweets/cakes generally tbh), spaghetti bolognese, salmon... I've gone too braindead to think of more, sorry :')

Non - RP Hobbies ? : Watching/reading anime, manga and visual novels (when I've got the executive function for it), music, video games, decoration/design, and working on my own stories/songs! I'd love to stream someday, but I'm a bit too nervous to start atm, haha. Same with blogging about some of the things that are important to me - I'd love to do more in that regard, but I'm not really sure where to start.

Favourite animal : BUNNIES and sea creatures in general!! In particular, octopi, sea otters and sea turtles have my whole heart <33

Any allergies ? : I actually have had an allergic reaction to something like. once in my life, but unfortunately I have no idea what it was to, otl ;w; so uhhh. I guess my answer is a "not really"??

Favourite Season : Ooooh, I can't choose. Aesthetically, maybe summer or winter, with autumn close behind. In practice, I'm terrible with temperatures that are too hot or too cold, though!

Scents you like : Vanilla and coffee! Though my sense of smell is pretty bad generally, I'd say these are my favorites.

Coffee / tea / hot cocoa : Tea (with a bit of sugar!). Hot cocoa can be great too, and I don't like the taste of coffee, but I do benefit from the effects of caffeine, so I tend to drink lattes instead.

How long have you been in your current fandom ? : for BSD, it's only been about a year! Actually, I'm pretty sure I got into the series sometime around December 2022, since that's when I first made my Chuuya blog?? It's pretty quickly risen to the spot of my favourite piece of media ever though, at least currently, so congrats to BSD are in order, I think!

Do you prefer to ‘ wing ’ your threads or discuss plots with your partner during or ahead of time ? : I enjoy both! I think my favourite thing to do is to have or discuss a general idea for the starter/thread, for example like... "my muse is time traveling from the future to meet yours", or "my muse discovers a secret yours is hiding," so like basic plotting, and then just seeing where things go from there. But I absolutely enjoy winging it too/just seeing what happens, and I love just as much when my partners have something they particularly want to explore and let me know, so I'm pretty flexible in that regard, I think! (aka send me your wishlists >:) )

Are you okay with getting to know your RP partners outside of writing / becoming good online friends or even offline friends ? : 100000%, honestly I would love this so much! But full warning in advance, I am... very bad at being active and replying to messages quickly in general, otl. I don't have many friends irl as a result of this, even though I really would really like to make more... unfortunately my functioning issues in most areas of my life are pretty bad and this extends to maintaining conversations too. HOWEVER, you're absolutely always welcome to message me whenever you'd like, even if I haven't replied to your last message yet! I find that this can help prompt me to reply to my old messages as well, and I can promise you that my slow replies are absolutely not an indication that I don't want to talk with you or of how I feel about you - I'm just very awkward and find socializing hard, but that doesn't stop me from really enjoying talking with you nonetheless!! (This applies to my RP reply speeds too, tbh) There's way more I could say on this but I might make it it's own post tbh, this section is already getting too long. tl;dr i love you all, let's be friends!! <33

Finally , what are your favourite genres of RP ?: I'm not so good at defining genres, so instead I'll say - I love angst and conflict between characters but also resolving conflicts too, seeing characters get to know and relate to each other better... I'm a big fan of threads with supernatural elements, in particular those that are shocking to the characters, and of secrets being revealed generally too! Exploring character's insecurities and beliefs and having them change their perspective is great as well... basically, I'd say I enjoy "meaty" threads with lots of emotions or action over like slice-of-life, casual interactions, but even those can be fun if they're well done, honestly!

Tagged by : @chaosbled ( thank you so much!!! ;w;)

Tagging : I haven't been logged in enough to know who's done this already if I'm honest so I'm just gonna say anyone who wants to and hasn't done it yet - say I tagged you! <3

[shelltasticday]

Halloween headcanons!

● I have the idea that halloween, besides when they go to conventions, is the day when our dearest turtles can go around the city as they please. Perhaps even some days before and a few after, since people would see them and think they're going to a costume party

● I like to think that a halloween night was one of the first (if not the very first) times that the four of them went to the surface to explore

● Maybe Splinter would go with them the first few years, and from then on Raph took on the torch of keeping an eye out for his brothers as they all went around asking for candy

● And I just adore imagining the little tots going hand in hand, as to not lose each other around crowded places, with costumes they made or got some other way

● Group costumes! So many group costumes and even more so after they met April!

● I feel like growing up wouldn't stop them from still going out that night, though even if they don't do group costumes as much anymore, they at least tell each other what theirs is going to be. Because last time they didn't, they all showed up as Lou Jitsu

● And I mean all of them, even April. It's funnier if you think that by that time they already knew Cassandra and find her as Lou Jitsu too

● Raph and Mikey are all in for the candy exclusively, but Leo, Donnie and April are not above a prank or two. They make up quite the trio

● One year they covered all time square with toilet paper, it was a team effort between April's creativity, Leo's strategies and Donnie's chaotic genius. It was the talk around town for a few weeks, it's still brought up every year and people wonder if the same prankster will strike again someday... and they will, they just need to prepare a bit more...

● They don't exactly have a door that kiddies can knock, so I'm thinking that maybe, most likely Raph, carries a big bag of candy now that he's older, and gives a handful to all kids that he sees while on their walk

● Speaking of candy, we know that Splinter would eat the boy's sweets. So I'm pretty sure they all have places where they hide them ever since childhood, and Raph starts guarding the give-out-candy a week prior so the stash is as intact as possible for the big day

● If a store or food place has some special promotion about getting a discount or free stuff if you go in costume, you BET they take advantage of it. Sometimes they even get compliments on how seamless the costumes are

● In other general halloween-y related stuff, I imagine that Leo even if a skeptic, likes watching horror movies, though I have a feeling that he'd enjoy slashers more

● Donnie would only like old school horror movies or very niche ones, because he hates how predictable every jump scare is and specially how dumb the characters are sometimes

● He's a more horror book type of guy, and he is that one person that corrects others each time they refer to Frankenstein's creature as only "Frankenstein"

● Mikey, we know, he's not too fond of ghosts, though he's curious and still watches movies with the rest… behind the safety of a big pillow or Raph

● Raph… I think that he's pretty okay with anything, if it's not about evil toys coming to life, I think he's good. Still would rather watch Coraline, Hocus Pocus, Nightmare Before Christmas and other spooky movies over scary ones

● Okay but, imagine them carving pumpkins

● Raph would do either something Ghostbear related, or, a very tiny kitty face. Leo would try to have his pumpkin be the scariest looking with a big wide toothy grin and all. Donnie uses his tech for it, I think him fully capable of carving his own face and have the flame be purple

● Mikey would have a very artsy one, he'd carve something more intricate, maybe a family portrait, or a character he likes, or like scary looking trees. The only one that uses actual carving tools. Maybe he paints some pumpkins too instead of carving them, idk it just seems he'd have a lot of fun

[firelord-frowny]

YIKES lmaooo accidentally made myself cryyyyy re-reading this bit of fanfiction i have no recollection of writinggggg omfg.

tbh i feel like this is worth the read even if you dont give a fraction of a flying fuck about fanfic or about assassins creed lmao bc like. its a very expressive and eloquent exploration of how hard it is to see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you when you fucking hate yourself 🙃

“My body, it… it’s so weak. And soft. I’m not strong enough to fight anyone. I’m not fast enough to run away.” 

“Your mind is just as effective a self-defense tool as any sword or shield.” 

“Is it, though?” 

“You’re here. You’ve survived things that many people wouldn’t have.” 

“That is true. But what I’ve had to give up? The things I’ve had to let happen to me? A man invites himself unto my body. And I don’t want him there. But I can’t stop him. At the end of it, I’m uninjured. But not because I fought him off. I’m uninjured because I negotiated. Because I figured out what he wanted most out of me. And I handed it over. So he wouldn’t have to hurt me in order to steal it. I get robbed all the time. But I don’t lose my most prized items because I’ve learned how to hide them. Or disguise them. Or convince my assailants that my less expensive belongings are worth more than they really are. I never win anything, Alexios. I’m never saved by my intellect. And you should know what I’m talking about, because you are exactly the kind of person who relishes in finding a mark like me. One who is so painfully aware of their own shortcomings that they don’t even try to put up a fight. I survive. I don’t triumph. And if my body were strong, then maybe I could triumph. Someday. In some way.” 

“Not everyone can be… strong, or fast. And not everyone can be brilliant. I think if I had a mind like yours, then… I would probably have become someone I could be a lot more proud of than I am. You think having to use wit instead of force to protect yourself is a weakness, but what I wouldn’t give to know how to end a conflict without resorting to extreme violence. I’m not saying that it doesn’t make sense for you to feel how you do. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that kind of helplessness. I’m just saying that the way you are… the body that you have… there is nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful. And worthy, and powerful in your own right. You, exactly the way you are, have a valuable place in the world. Especially my world. I need you. The version of you that sits before me right now. That’s what I need.” 

“I don’t understand. I can’t do anything for you.” 

He looked at me for a long time. The calculating look. The one he gets when he’s examining a rockface he’s never climbed before. Looking for footholds and handholds. Scoping out the most efficient rout. Or, perhaps, the look he gets when he’s gauging just how fast he needs to run to clear the jump from one plateau to another. Estimating how much strength he’ll need to conserve to reach the top of a mountain. The only difference between Alexios and a mathematician is that Alexios never actually deals with numbers. But he calculates all the same. He solves equations in a glance that a polymath would need an abacus for. Perhaps he can’t tell you in numbers exactly how far away one handhold is from the next, but he’ll launch himself the precise distance, nonetheless. And it’s because of that look in his eyes that I know that the next words he said to me would be thoroughly considered and thoughtful. 

We’ve been this close, and closer, thousands of times by now. But this time felt brand new. Breathtaking. Absolutely ethereal. 

His hands slid to rest on my outer thighs, pressing gently so the contact between my inner thighs and his hips was solid. Then he held me by my waist, traveling again to the small of my back, then up higher, moving slow and reverent. 

Then he told me, “I wish I had your gift for words so I could tell you what this feels like for me.” 

I said, “Just close your eyes and speak.” 

I closed my eyes, too, and then after a moment, I heard him sigh. Then he speaks. Quiet, low, and slow.

“This… is the softest place I’ve ever been in my life. As long as I can remember, everything around me has been… sharp. Serrated. Hard. Rough. I’m smashing metal against metal. Bone against stone. I’m cutting, or being cut. I only touch people to hurt them. The most soothing thing I ever feel is someone else’s blood warming my skin. But now I’m here. Between your thighs. And the way your body ‘gives’ under my touch… you don’t even have to hold me to embrace me. You’re so. Soft. And all I have to do to be surrounded by you is touch you. All I have to do is touch you, and now everything jagged in me gets to know what it feels like to be smoothe. I’ve always been so angry about my life. Resentful. Suffering for no good reason. But now I come home to you, and lay beside you and all I can do is thank the Gods for everything I’ve ever been through that turned me into someone who can keep a soft, precious thing like you safe.”

Oh. 

One day, someday, maybe it will stop surprising me every time Alexios takes my breath away. Maybe I’ll stop being caught off guard every time he finds a new way to tell me he loves me. 

Then he said, “I wish you could appreciate the balance. Appreciate that maybe, in some way, people like you and me are made for each other. Who you are brings such wonderful meaning to who I am and what I’ve been through. I wish who I am could bring similar meaning to you. I wish you could love the things about yourself that are so precious to me.” 

I think I left my body in that moment. Sitting there in front of Alexios. In front of this man made of solid audacity and nerve, smelted and forged. I couldn’t remain in my body if I was to stand a chance at fathoming how the words he just said could be said about me by anyone at all, let alone him. 

I know I left my body because when I heard him finally say, “Why are you shaking?” I didn’t know why he’d ask such a thing. But I looked down at my hands, and yes, they were trembling. And I felt myself slam back into my corporeal form - heavy, and unsteady, like an earthquake. 

Indeed, I think I was shaking because my whole world had just been rattled. My entire self-concept, shifted like a fault line. That there should be any use for the utter desolation I’ve suffered through? That all the things I hate most about myself could bring any meaning at all to another person’s suffering? I was shaking with the exertion of struggling to hold my understanding together. But when I answered him, all I said was, “I’m sorry.” 

He held both of my hands.”You’re sorry? What for? What did I say that made you think you should be sorry?” 

The grief in my throat was so thick, I could barely speak. But I forced the words out: “I’m letting you down.” And right around this moment was when tears overwhelmed my eyelids. And I think I could hear Alexios’s heart shattering.

He gasped a little and then said, “What? By the Gods, no, no. That’s not it at all. Never.” He let go of my hands, but only to slide his arms the rest of the way around me. I felt his lips on my forehead, and then my ear against his chest. He held me just like he did that very first time. It took my breath away then, and it still takes my breath away now. “I don’t ever want you to believe anything other than that I’m so, so proud of you. Proud to be with you. Honored that you’ll even look at me. I didn’t say all those things in criticism. I said them to try to help you see how much you mean to me.” 

That only broke me even more. And racked me with even more guilt. I didn’t want to disappoint him more by apologizing again, so I didn’t. Not out loud, anyway. In my head, I was pleading. Praying. I’m sorry your love is wasted on me. 

Then he looked down at me and said, “...But you can’t, can you? You really… you honestly just can’t.” 

He pulled me in close again, gently swaying, rocking. And I heard him say, “I’m so, so sorry for what’s been taken from you.

[televinita]

How many library items do I even have out? Let's find out together!

Books ready to return: 2

Books I need to review before returning: 3 (Emily Wilde's Map of the Otherlands; Carrie Soto Is Back; The Lily of Ludgate Hill)

CDs: 1 (1989 Taylor's Version. I'm not ready to hear it yet. but I would like the option to do so without Spotify ads. or streams tbh)

Aaand that makes 13 items left, very good. In absolutely no order because I'm just trying to make sure I know where they all are...

1. Cheap Old Houses - Elizabeth Finkelstein: a beautiful coffee table book, apparently based off an Instagram that I (per usual) have never heard of; I am almost done but have been simply luxuriating in the photos. Currently gazing at it on BookOutlet like "$15 is reasonable for a brand new copy of such a large and 5-star book I definitely have space for actually."

2. Another Good Dog: One Family & 50 Foster Dogs - Cara Sue Achterberg: I got about 60 pages in and am loving it, but it was SO GREAT! that I had to pause and put more middling books in front of it to process; been trying to get back for 2+ weeks. That said, when I finish it...

3. One Hundred Dogs & Counting - Cara Sue Achterberg: ...when I finish the above it'll be on to the next one! (maybe? or maybe I'll want to save this 2nd shot of joy for the future)

4. The Break-Up Tour - Emily Wibberley and Austin S.B.: this has taken WAY too much time and effort to get my damn hands on. And then I didn't even read it fast! I started and then got distracted, and only yesterday managed to get up to the halfway mark. At least the request list has cooled off so I will be able to renew it.

5. The Haunting - Natasha Preston: just stocking up some reliably good YA horror for when I really crave those in the summer. This is literally an I-love-cheap-thrills situation.

6. The Joy of Falling - Lindsay Harrel: a random impulse checkout because the cover was pretty and it's about 2 widowed sisters-in-law training for an ultra-marathon in New Zealand that their late husbands had been planning to do. Thought it might serve as exercise motivation.

7. Malibu Rising - Taylor Jenkins Reid: will this suck me in as fast as Carrie Soto did? I dunno, but this is the one I was originally more interested in, so let's see if this is the year we find out.

8. Heirloom Rooms: Soulful Stories of Home - Erin Napier: Speaking of coffee table books I was looking at on BookOutlet, this popped in the "you may also like wheel" and I saw the library had it instead. "a collection of essays walking us through every room in her home, telling the story of a family’s life, of the days that made their home the place she longs for when she’s away. We learn about when they became the new owners of Erin’s dream house from childhood in downtown Laurel, Mississippi, and explore the beautiful homes of family, friends, and projects past in photographs." YEAH!

9. The Wishing Game - Meg Shaffer: I forgot to re-freeze this hold so it came in at the WORST possible time. I've been waiting on this since January and refuse to be rushed or read it if the timing isn't Perfect, so instead I'm gonna be the jerk who keeps it 3 full weeks just in case I get to it; the waitlist remains at 50+ for 7 copies. My ace in the hole is that certain books are WAY less popular in the county next door, where we can dual-register, and they also have 7 copies but only 14 people waiting.

10. Homeward Bound: Why Women Are Embracing the New Domesticity: nonfiction from 2013 that I've been vaguely meaning to read someday. There's only 1 copy left in the system so I checked it out while I was at that branch, but 99% sure I will NOT be getting to it this round. 20 days til my renewals max out.

12. DVD: Northanger Abbey: the JJ Feild spiral I have been trying to find time for since March is clearly not happening right now because WOW Ryan Gosling spiral time instead. But I can't stop believing until my renewals run out, in 3 weeks.

13. DVD: Third Star: see above. somehow holding out more hope for this one, if only because Survivor has hella reactivated my Male Friendship radar, despite these being extremely different types of men. ...just noticed my renewals on this max out in 4 days, oops.

14. DVD: Ghosts (UK), season 3: I was on a hot watching streak and then I abruptly shifted gears to watch the U.S. version's third season instead (because I was too lazy to fight with our Blu-Ray player that throws a fit every time we tell it to play a DVD instead of its favorite format), and now I don't know how to get back in the groove. But I won't give up until they make me! (9 days from now when my renewals max out)

[skruffie]

I just keep thinking about how it can actually be incredibly fucking hard to try to do research on your Indigenous family if you're trying to reconnect. When it came to my Métis side, because there's no recognition in any formal sense down here in the states, I didn't really know what anything meant at the beginning. I could see the names of Red River families and then find a map of St Vital where my family lived but then also made some rookie mistakes in thinking everyone on that side was Métis. A lot of the names on there are just French. When I found that out, I stopped saying my Métis names were Larance AND Nadeau because my specific Nadeau ancestor--despite being buried in Teton County Metis Cemetery--is just French. Not hard. There's a wealth of research still available but a lot of documents are in French and I don't understand.

I could go onto groups and be like "Hey this is my family" and they go "Yes, those are Métis people and you are Métis" and is that what it is to be claimed? Do I have to send my research to ST. Boniface to confirm? Do I have to get a card from MMF? Where does reclamation begin and end?

On my Yurok side it has been extremely challenging. There's no paper documentation prior to 1848/1849. The first state census was in 1852. I can go to the Index to the Census of California Indians and see my relatives listed as "Gold Bluff" tribe and then, after a few years of painstaking searching, infer from that knowledge that we are likely from Espeu. I can constantly comb through the 70+ DNA matches and whatever family trees are available to try to string together a hypothesis of how we're related because the genes do not lie, but I cannot actually prove any of them. Maybe if I travel there and talk to people face to face I can come closer but I lost hope years ago that I can solidly prove what village(s) my family is from. I know who some of my relatives are but I cannot explain in detail how we are related because our families were slaughtered. I could hypothesize that we are also probably Karuk because some of those DNA matches have largely Karuk relatives but the only information I know is that we are Yurok.

It has taken me years to even feel comfortable saying I'm Métis or Yurok because of the lack of knowledge. I have more now, and I still struggle. The best research I could do would be in person but that means money, travel, time off from work, and in the case of going north I need an updated passport. I can pull up Youtube to learn how to bead or listen to Yurok in 20 on Spotify. I can try to reframe my access to the internet and the ability to pay for an Ancestry subscription as a privilege even though it is a fucking shadow of what it actually means to learn the culture. All of this could crumble because maybe someday I might form a grudge with someone online who'll do the deep dive and point out the times my Indigenous ancestors were misrepresented on census or whatever.

There is a lot of art and a lot of stories in me that I am aching to create every day that intimately explore my relationship with my race vs my ethnicity vs generational trauma. I'm not sure if I ever will. Every time I try to put it out there I'm terrified because I don't know enough and I never will.

[mysourcematerial]

My Gardens Maze: dealing with the Past.

Like others in this field, i find myself on a journey of self. Self exploration, Self love, and being okay with myself. One of the main things i find myself wishing for is the knowledge to know what i ACTUALLY like, and not what I've been told to like.

Reality sucks when you're still in the beginning of the journey. Having to sit through and listen to yourself, like a friend who never takes the good advise. sometimes it hurts and all I want to do is lay in my bed, pretend i'm in the arms of someone who can keep me safe. Too many times I've been that place for others, but why is it so hard for me to provide that to myself?

Subconsciously i believe i need my voice to be heard, but i also don't want to just wine and cry to people, i want to be of some service, some use, assistance. Even when i do speak about my problems aloud, i often don't feel the relief i was expecting or wishing for. If i was my own friends, I'd probably suggest that there's a missing piece, parts I've been so used to stuffing down, or dismissing that i no longer consider it. But as myself, I can't even think of what I've forgotten, and that is where my pain inlays. Feels like I'm in a constant maze. Always running, always chasing.

If i was my friend, i'd probably advise her to stop. to stop thinking of what she's not, or what she could be. To stop trying to figure out the puzzel. Instead of running through the busses, admire the fine trimming, the small flower buds growing. The sky filled with white fluffy clouds, and beautful starry nights. Stop looking so desperately for a way out.

she'd argue that, that was the complete oppisite of her conditioning. She always had to know the answer, even before the question was asked. She had to know how someone would react, before she would share what made her happy. Maybe that's why I struggle to find out what makes me happy. I could never tell the full story, never the full experience. Always in fear that what i did was wrong, dangerous, or involved people that weren't liked by the listeners.

The times have changed, it's no longer the same enviornment. The players have changed, and some have left completely. But just because i'm now in a new game, a new part of the garden, doesn't mean I still don't feel like i'm in the maze.

I've escaped the maze, survived it, but now what do i do? Gardens are meant to be admired, not viewed in horror at the though it's just another maze.

If I was my friend, I would sit in this garden with her. I'd let her breathe, catch her breath. Sit on a bench with her and admire the garden. I'd explain theres other parts of the property to be explored, but you have to become okay with see the garden, for it can be viewed from every window.

She'd cry, knowing somedays she'll just not want to see the garden. But i'd tell her to stop. her views and opinions on the garden will change. She's still trying to predict and outcome, when what she needs to do is become ignorant to it.

her first lesson is to understand that peoples reactions are not her fault. They're not your responsibility. If your life makes them uncomfortable, then they do not need to stay. It's okay to loss people, you'll gain more. Ones where the garden won't be so scary with them in it.

Most things come back to fear. Fear of something that you'd have to learn how to cope with. You're allowed to be angry, be frustrated, want to scream and cry, want to break things and see red. Your rights have been violated.

And I'm sick of hearing people tell me their excuses. Their reasons. I tired of it because i already know. I can forgive and understand you, but you can't expect me not to be angry with you. You hurt me. Bruised me. Shaped me into a person that fears her garden, her life. You stole, lied, and cheated me out of seeing the beauty. So there will always be a part of me that will be weary of allowing you back.

Will you make my garden a Maze again? leave me trapped and stranded?

You'll never have that chance again. Not because i won't let you back in, but because I'll point out your own Maze, one where you havent escaped yet. The one where you keep yourself trapped in.

You'll never infect my garden again, but just because you can no longer ruin mine, or her's, doesn't mean I'm not willing to help you find the flower buds in your walls.

Sometimes speaking as if you are not you is easier. Especally if youre a helper. Bring it out of you and putting it into another person can be the best way to help. I wrote this post for me. I needed to find my nugget, and the best way I can help myself is through helping others.

Your life, your estate if you will, is beautyful. maybe the grass just needs to be cut, windows need to be cleaned. Or maybe its time for some new furniatue. But if it's a want you crave and if seeing it doesn't bring any spark of happiness, and it no loger resinates with you; no matter the memories, its time.

[thesoulspulse]

Danny Phantom Randomness (All By Myseeeelf...)

Maybe it’s because it’s that time of year, but while we know why Danny dislikes the holidays (or used to anyway) do we ever really talk about Vlad? Since we know so little about his background apart from his former friendship with Jack and obsession with Maddie, there’s no way to tell if he had a happy childhood let alone if he even celebrates Christmas or Valentines Day. Heck, we don’t even know if he has any living relatives left...

Originally this was going to be a post about Christmas specifically, but eh, I’ll combine it with Valentines Day since this is mainly a post talking about just how lonely our favorite fruitloop is. Someday I hope to change that by creating a character worthy of him who can help him through his problems and become a good influence on him. I’ve only seen this done once really well but maybe I just haven’t been looking hard enough. Because like I said, it’s kinda hard to write someone who could even get close enough to Vlad to hope to begin forming a real bond with the intimidating man.

I typically assume that Vlad was an only child growing up and I have a personal headcanon that Vlad has always had a deep respect for his father and that’s part of why he himself aspires to become the perfect father. As for his mother, Vlad has always loved her very much too and she’s the one who taught him how to cook, bake, and to use food swears to replace real ones whenever he gets angry to keep his emotions in check. I saw an adorable piece of fanart about that once but I’m not sure how to find it now sadly.

I’ve written this idea in several of my fanfics, but I feel bad that Vlad doesn’t really have any family left to curb his loneliness. Usually it’s hard to write them in since he’s such a selfish person so I typically say he lost his parents shortly before starting college which is why he took Jack’s apparent betrayal so hard. Near as I can tell, it was hard for Vlad, Jack, and Maddie to make friends given their interest in ghosts which I assume has been a lifelong passion for the trio. And if he ever does have family around, I assume they’re not on good terms since Vlad wants nothing to do with them or wants them asking him for money since he IS the richest man in the world.

That brings me to my next point.

Since Vlad is so rich, I tend to enjoy exploring that a lot more than we see in the show because the sky’s the limit, literally, when you’re the richest and most powerful man in the world. That could be another reason apart from his obsession with Maddie that prevents him from dating anyone. He’s not stupid, he knows most of them are only after his money and connections, they don’t love or care about him, they only care about the idea of him and what he can do for them. Same goes for random people showing up claiming to be his distant relatives or an old friend asking for a favor which he must have found some way to stop from happening.

Ironic given how it’s the same with Maddie. Vlad only loves the idea of her and having the perfect wife as we saw in “Masters of All Time” when he finally got what he wanted but was more worried about appearing to be the perfect happy couple than being honest with her and with himself, even lying about Jack hating them both for the accident since he doesn’t trust she’ll stay with him. We don’t know why he grew attached to Maddie in the first place or when. Was it a childhood crush? Or did he literally only meet her in college? And for the love of god, WHY does he have feelings for Maddie anyway?

It’s never actually stated why, just like how it isn’t with Sam and that bugs me to no end. All healthy relationships are about treating each other as individuals with their own thoughts and feelings, about give and take, about trust, loyalty, the willingness to accept both the good and the bad in a person, the restraint to set healthy boundaries and not try to control them or who their friends are, to give them space when they need it and be there to pick them up if they fall. Basically, the best relationships are friendships first, good ones where you understand each other and enjoy what you share in common as well as respect the differences.

That’s Vlad’s biggest flaw. He’s so wrapped up in himself, in his life being perfect with a loving wife and a son that adores him that he forgets to BE that person, to be that caring and loving friend, father, and husband/boyfriend. He says he wants love, but as we saw in “Kindred Spirits” when he actually had that love and loyalty from Dani and the other clones it wasn’t good enough. Vlad even went as far as to hurt Dani by angrily shouting that she only exists to serve him, proving he didn’t actually see her as a daughter, but as a means to an end even though unlike the other clones she’s half-human too. Even if it felt artificial, all of the clones genuinely loved Vlad, he’s all they had ever known, which what makes what happened to most of them all the more tragic.

All but one of the clones, aka Dani, perished without ever coming into their own which is why I’m doing my best to give Vlad another chance at parenthood in my fanfic “Ghost in the Machine” before it’s too late for him to turn back and choose to change for the better once the love he’s been longing for is within reach. Because personally, I think Vlad wants to be a father more than he does a husband. Part of that is because of his reactions in “Maternal Instinct” when Maddie pretends to flirt with him to get back home since he’s the only one with a phone and transport for miles around.

He seems shocked at the sudden change in her and goes along with it, eventually pleasantly pleased with the result. I hate how he takes no responsibility for being a jerk and says it was Maddie’s ‘mistake’ to marry Jack which is beyond creepy and manipulative. Especially given how he blatantly asked a MARRIED woman with two children to leave her husband to come live with him out of the blue, which is beyond stupid and downright arrogant which is the whole point. Not to mention he doesn’t so much as mention Jazz there which as you’ll recall he left with Jack who he had sent ghosts to go kill, meaning he has no interest in her as a daughter, only Danny as his ‘perfect half-ghost son.’

That’s why when Danny pretends to actually want him as his new dad...while Vlad understandably suspects it’s only a lie at first since he knows Danny better than that, once it seems like his hopes are confirmed, he literally tears up and the pure joy on his face is unmistakable. He wants it to be true so badly he leaps at the chance to get everything he wants, further proving what a selfish jerk he is who doesn’t care about what they want. I mean, did he really expect Danny to turn around and forgive him after he sent a HORDE of ghost monsters to kill him while he was powerless? That is, unless it was only a scare tactic and he had no intention of actually killing Danny and that, right there, is clearly more manipulation on Vlad’s part as he isolates him and his mother to try and make them both his by force.

As weird as it may sound, it was actually this reaction and the affection he showed towards the first Maddie-the-cat later in the series that gave me hope there was a small chance this fruitloop could turn things around, even back when I first watched the show. He might never be able to convince Maddie to leave Jack, but maybe he could finally let go of her and try to meet someone new that could love him for who he is (once he stops the evil schemes mind you or tones them down at least) and not his money. And for Danny, he could be a father-figure or a real uncle and a mentor instead of the villain.

But alas, it was not to be.

Still, while I still feel like Vlad is capable of love, he clearly does not remember HOW to genuinely love someone else. He doesn’t know how to put anyone else first, how to be honest with his feelings, how to accept disappointment, and most of all...how to love himself without it being in a narcissistic way. That’s what makes this all the more tragic. He’s constantly sabotaging himself, losing chances to be a part of their lives in a realistic and healthy way even if it’s not possible for his perfect life with them to exist. And the love he could have found raising Dani all went to waste when he rejected her for disobeying him.

So yeah, this is just my personal take on Vlad so take from that what you will. All I wanted to really say is I would love to see Vlad find REAL love from someone to help him come back from the brink before it’s too late. Despite the awful things he’s done, in the end, he is genuinely lonely and doesn’t have any friends or family that we know of. That’s probably why we love giving him adopted kids so much, because it gives them both a much needed second chance at a happy life with a new family.

[closedmadness]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

summary: you and alec hated each other — or at least, pretended to in front of everyone. behind the scenes, however, you two are insanely in love with each other

pairings: alec lightwood x male reader

warnings → fluff & nsfw・swearing・fake arguments・make-out session・blowjob・anal penetration・slight possessive alec

a/n: please i didn’t mean for this to be short nsfw but my fingers moved on its own✋😭 it was supposed to be just cute, fluffy and sweet💀

“you can’t tell me that it wasn’t your fault we failed our mission today.” alec’s voice boomed in the institute as soon as all of you got home, irritation clear in his tone.

rolling your eyes, a sigh escaped your lips. you really don’t want to do this right now after that particularly bad, failed mission — a bunch of female mundanes swarmed over you while on duty, disturbing you and making you unable to guard over the demons that were wrecking havoc on that club itself. those females were a distraction; they wanted to get into your pants, thirty for some love from a incredibly good-looking man like you.

deciding not to deal with his crap as isabelle and jace scolded alec, you went to walk pass him before being stopped quickly with a grab on your arm. “i really don’t want to do this right now, lightwood.” you immediately said after turning around, refusing to let him talk first. “i feel responsible of this mission as much as it’s hard to believe that, and i don’t want you constantly nagging me about it.”

“as you should.” he retorts with the same cold, emotionless face he always plastered on. “and of course, i will nag you about it, it was an important mission! we got to kill those demons but we didn’t get to find out their intention.”

you scrunched your brows together, “why didn’t you ask any of them when those mundanes were crowding over me? i’m sure you had plenty of chances.” eyes glinting with suspicion, you stepped forward towards him. “or maybe you just didn’t want to do anything so you could frame me on the failed mission.” you accused.

alec’s brows furrowed and his lips curved upside down in a frown at that. he narrowed his eyes, offended and upset. “you’re accusing me now? great, (y/n)! of course, you would find a way to accuse me somehow!” he exclaimed sarcastically.

you scoff and rolled your eyes, done with his bullshit before storming off the heart of the institute towards your room.

“seriously, alec?” isabelle gives her brother a look, hands resting on her hips, but all the male lightwood did was glare at her and storm off as well.

she didn’t know why you and alec are always on each other’s throats; it’s almost as if you’d kill each other when left alone together, there isn’t even any clear reason you two should hate each other yet you still do. it’s probably because of the feud between maryse and your mother, but even then, she still did not understand. in her eyes, alec was longing for your touches and just you in general, yet he’s pushing you away. isabelle has been wanting the both of you to get along — though, it might be the hardest one to achieve.

jace and clary glanced at each other, knowing how she feels about this whole feud thing. “they’ll come around soon, izzy.” the former comforts, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“yeah, let’s just believe in them.” clary joins, taking up the space opposite jace. “you know what they say; the more you hate, the more you love. who knows? they might actually get along someday.” she tried her best to cheer up, which worked miraculously as isabelle reveals a smile.

perhaps, she should be patient as the universe works in its own wonderful ways. all these small, petty arguments are getting tiring and she just hopes something will change for the better.

walking down the hallway leading up to your room, alec looks around first cautiously and makes sure no one’s witnessing anything before eventually stopping in front of your door.

it was already unlocked, with you peeking from the tiny bit of space between, grinning up at him. alec smiled and assured you there was no one around, which made you open the door wide and pull him in. giggling together, he closed the door behind him and made sure to lock it as you captured his lips on yours, cupping his face with both hands.

he smiled into the kiss, moving to wrap his arms around your waist while yours wrapped around his neck, pulling each other close. feeling a gentle squeeze on your butt, you took that as a signal to jump and wrap your legs around him, alec not missing a beat to catch you. with lips still attached together, alec moved to sit on the bed, his hands beginning to roam around your body. breaking the kiss to catch your breath, he took it as an opportunity to run his lips and tongue across your neck, licking, sucking and biting. you moaned, tilting your head back to give him more access.

“alec...” you whimpered breathlessly as he sucked harshly on your skin, creating a pretty visible hickey. “they will- don’t make one where they can see it.” complaining, you slipped your fingers through his soft hair but didn’t stop him from continuing his work.

he hums, the vibration making you shiver. “you can always cover it, (y/n). i know you like it when i leave my mark on you.” he mumbled against your skin, tightening his hold. a moan once again leaves your lips when he bit on your sweet spot, the blissful sound making him groan and slip his hand in the back of your pants. “you know today was not your fault, right?” he suddenly whispers, staring into your (e/c) eyes that never failed to make him lost.

you stared back at his hazel eyes, nodding your head and resting your forehead against his. “of course, darling. i never meant anything i’ve said either.”

this is always what you did — argue, act like enemies, be nasty, throw insults at one another, speak with distaste in the front, but once behind the closed doors, you apologize to each other and make sure the other didn’t take it to their heart, as well as show love, so you’d be reassured of everything.

alec smiles, his eyes shining with admiration and love. oh, how angelic he looked with that smile of his. only you could see him so soft.

“truth is, i couldn’t ask the demons because i was focused on you.” he admitted, looking down for a second before returning his gaze on you. “those mundanes,” distaste filled his tone at the mention of those creature, “had no right to touch you like that. acting like you’d sleep with them, be their man.” his lips pouted at the thought as jealousy clouded his chest.

chuckling, you pecked his lips when found his jealousy cute. “alec, darling, you know i’m only gonna do that with you. i’m completely yours.” talking with a loving tone, your fingers played with his hair that always made him feel good.

alec smiled in fondness and gently pulled you by the back of your head, capturing your lips in yet another heated kiss. you bit on his bottom lip, erupting a groan from him as he pushed the jacket off of your shoulders, it falling on the floor along with your black shirt. alec only ever broke the kiss when he removed his jacket and shirt, and quickly smashed his lips back on yours, tongue slipping in smoothly and exploring your mouth, fighting against your own wet muscle for dominance.

he then flipped you both to lay your back on the soft mattress, never breaking the kiss as his hand ran across your chest and abs, tracing every bit of your body. you moaned into the kiss when he palmed your cock through the thick layer of pants.

“mhm, alec...” calling his name breathlessly, you unconsciously buckled your hips onto his hand, trying to get some sort of stimulation.

alec groaned in arousal at your reaction, quickly unzipping your pants and tugging it off of you along with your boxers. a cool of air hit your manhood as soon as it was released, making you shiver, eyes closing in response.

the lightwood took his time to admire you completely; your eyes glistening with lust, lips swollen from all the kissing, chest rising up and down with every breath you take, fully naked, presenting yourself to him without shame or hesitation. no matter how many times he looked at every part of you, you never ceased to take his breath away. it was sort of amusing, how even after all this time you still have him wrapped around your finger and willingly refusing to ever unwrap.

god, he’s so lucky to have you.

alec starts kissing your chest downwards slowly until it reached your hard erection, laying a peck on the tip which had you twitching. giving your tip a kitten lick, his hand pumped your cock painfully slow as you whimpered. he licked off the dripping precum before fully taking you in, the walls of his mouth rubbing against your shaft making you moan and throw your head back, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head. he didn’t stop until he took all the way in and starts to bob his head upwards and backwards, twirling his wet muscle skillfully on your shaft while doing so, keeping his gaze fixed on you.

you gripped the sheets tightly until your knuckles turned white, wave after wave of pleasure hitting you like a tsunami as an uncontrollable moans escaped your lips. “fuck, alec! t-that feels so good.” you praised, arching your back to get more stimulation.

alec kept you in place with his hands as he continued sucking you off, the bulge in his pants implying his intense arousal upon the delicious sight in front of him. his cock was painfully hard underneath that thick fabric.

saliva as well as your precum dripped his chin, but he couldn’t careless as he only wanted you to feel amazing. and indeed, you were feeling just that.

he could see your legs quiver in the corner of his eyes. you were close, he could feel it by your cock twitching and pulsating in his mouth. an all too familiar feeling builds in the pit of your stomach as tears blurred your vision, your mind reminding you how close you are to your climax. “ohhh, fuck! alec! i’m close- aghhh!”

“cum for me, (y/n).” alec speaks, and although it was muffled due to your cock still buried between his lips, you understood. he fastened his pace, slowly sending you over the edge until finally, you let out a loud moan of his name as white seeds shoots out from your cock in his mouth. your hips jerked while you ride out your orgasm, his lips still wrapped around the manhood in an attempt to swallow everything that spills out of it.

he then released your cock from his mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and hovered above your panting body again, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. you could taste yourself along with his saliva as your wet muscles danced together lazily.

a shaky sigh leaves his lips after feeling how painfully hard he was and finally moved to remove the rest of his clothes, pants and boxers altogether — his hard-on springing up as he released a relieved sigh from the freeness. his pants were getting too tight with his as-hard-as-a-rock manhood inside.

“alec,” you breathlessly called, bringing your hands up to cup his face. “go ahead and put it in. i want you now.”

“but without preparation-”

“it will hurt, i know.” you cut him off, giving him an assuring look. “we did it yesterday, it’ll be okay. please, just fuck me right now,” you placed your lips just above his ear, “show me those mundanes aren’t better than you.”

“you really...” he growled. you really knew how to rile him up.

without a warning, he slammed his cock into you in just one go and ripped out a scream from your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head from the sudden feeling of being filled with his thick shaft.

thrusting his hips, alec groaned at the warm feeling of your tight hole around him and kissed your collarbone to muffle his own noises while his ears are blessed with your constant whines, moans and whimpers.

“shit, ah! alec! more!” you desperately whined, hips moving on its own to meet with his rhythmic thrust.

“fuck, (y/n)...” he grunted right into your ear, making you shudder.

his pace was fast and rough as he fucked you mercilessly into the mattress while leaving hickeys everywhere he can, angling his thrust so he’d perfectly hit your prostate. “you’re only mine. no mundanes, or shadowhunters, or downworlders can get to lay their hands on you but me. i’m the only one who get to fuck you like this...” his words went straight to your already hard-enough cock, arousing you even further.

it’s always hot whenever alec gets possessive over you, and you loved that.

“oh my god, alec— right there!” you moaned, now tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. his thrust starts to get sloppy as both of you near the edge, you could feel his cock pulsing and twitching inside your hole.

it took three harsh and hard thrust to completely throw you off as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, loud moans that sounded almost like a scream erupting from your throat, back arching and body squirming underneath him as white loads shoots out again from your manhood, landing on your exposed chest and stomach, cumming hard. your walls tightened around him while you cum and that was enough for alec to spill his hot seed inside you, filling you up good like always.

pulling out, he collapsed on the bed beside you, catching your breath together and slowly calming down from your high. “great thing your room is soundproof.” alec comments, making you both chuckle.

“yeah, that’s one thing i love about this room.” you laughed and he did as well before pulling you so you could rest your head on his chest, listening to his even and rhythmic heartbeat.

cleaning up can wait tomorrow. for now, you two wanted to cuddle up with each other knowing there has to be a lot of pretending again.

jace, isabelle, clary and magnus all sat exasperated on the couch as they watch you and alec go back and fourth over the cup and valentine, both arguing and insulting each other for about an hour now.

it’s a usual day, with you and alec hating the other using the sharpness of your tongues, but they were getting tired of this constant bickering and slight sexual tension that always rose in the air.

magnus had just recently discovered your hatred for each other and at first he found it amusing, but that soon turned into boredom when it became an occasional sight for him. though, he can admit that your tongue is sharper than alec’s and he’s impressed by that.

“valentine is a shadowhunter, alright? he’d be able to get the cup from here.” you argued, giving the lightwood a pointed look.

alec folded his arms, “not if we guard it.”

you raised your brows and a ‘really?’ look crossed your face. “have you forgotten that he killed thousands of shadowhunters and downworlders, or did you become so old that your memory gaps is getting worse?” he shot you a death glare at that, not liking the tone you use on him.

“okay so,” clary stands up, “why don’t you both just calm down and figure this out in a friendly way?” you and alec snapped your gaze towards her, eyes practically sending daggers. she held her hands up, “or maybe not. but can’t you just... uh- not fight, for once?”

“not my problem he’s irritating.” you retorted with arms folded above your chest.

alec rolled his eyes, “well, not my problem either that he’s annoying.” he exclaimed while his index finger pointed at you.

“you two look like an old married couple.” isabelle comments with a teasing smirk dancing on her lips. you and alec froze in your places and looked at her with unreadable expression before turning back at each other.

it felt good hearing that, since you two are dating.

the conversation were interrupted when maryse approaches, her hands fiddling with each other and a nervous look on her face.

you sighed, stepping away to walk out, but maryse quickly stops you when you walked pass her. “stay, please. this involves you, too.” confusion laced your face at that, but didn’t say anything as you stepped back.

“i know that the feud between (y/n)’s mother and i have caused some troubles within you, and we’re very sorry for that. we decided... it’s better to forget what happened between us rather than drag it down and have it affect all of you.” she turned around and gestured for someone to come, your mother walking up to her, their hand intertwining in a friendly manner as smiles coated their faces.

surprise filled everyone’s face, brows raising. “wait, does this mean you two are friends now?” isabelle asked.

your mother smiled, nodding her head. “we had a genuine conversation last night and found out we had more similarities than we thought we would.”

jace, clary and isabelle smiled at one another while magnus sipped on his drink, feeling quite happy for them. this meant you and alec had no reason to hate each other.

“so this isn’t a joke? you’re not pretending?” you asked, suspicion on both yours and alec’s face. they shook their heads and smiled.

you stared at them before turning to alec who looked back at you, silently conversing.

finally, a sigh leaves his lips as you simultaneously looked at the two mothers with a smile. “that’s a great news, mother. i hope you have fun together.” he congratulates, smiling. “now, (y/n) and i have somewhere else to go. i assume there won’t be any missions for today.”

surprise looks coated everyone’s faces and their eyes almost popped out of their sockets when you intertwined your hand with his. you waved at them, alec beginning to drag you two away.

“hold on a second, where are you going? and what does that mean?” jace quickly asked, pointing at your intertwined hands after he stood up from the couch.

“isn’t it obvious?” alec gives him a look, “we’re going on a date. now, make an effort not to interrupt us.” he continued to pull you.

“have fun with mom, mrs. lightwood!” you said with a smile before disappearing out with alec.

everyone still looked shocked.

“well, that took a turn.” magnus smirked, drinking his tequila.

© prettymadness — all rights reserved. do not repost or translate without my permission. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[gohyuck]

the purge: society

pairing: firefighter!san x reader

genre: purge au, angst, some fluff

warnings: mentions of violence (especially violence against cops), murder, blood, injury, weapons (guns, knives, metal baseball bats)

word count: 2.4k

note: this was originally meant to be a drabble and it’s still pretty short so i didn’t get to elaborate on the characters but honestly maybe i’ll explore a purge universe with ateez someday because this was fun (i’ve never watched any of the movies though so i’ll have to get on that)

“What the fuck?” 

He hadn’t expected to see anyone left alive on this street.

“Shut up and get down,” You hiss, reaching your good arm up to grab onto the man’s jacket collar before unceremoniously pulling him towards you. He stumbles, falling gracelessly onto you. A scream bubbles up in your throat as he accidentally puts pressure onto your already free-bleeding bicep, but you get ahold of yourself just in time, only letting the quietest of wounded moans escape you. 

“You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to kill me before talking to me all night - oh, shit,” The stranger trails off, swearing when you effectively stop him from speaking further by placing your switchblade right under his skin. It’s only then that he even pauses to take you in: your back is up by the police car door, sure, and your left arm has a massive gash in it, but you’re armed. There’s a pistol laying idly in your lap, kept company by a metal baseball bat. 

Not to mention, the knife at his neck. 

“What the hell are you doing, walking around unarmed and with a first aid kit? Also, how the hell are you unarmed and with just a first aid kit? What the fuck?” You let the questions out in a rapidfire fashion, and he can’t help but clock the slight rasp in your voice. It’s easier to recognize than the pained wheeze you’re trying very, very hard to suppress, but neither escape him. He’s trained to notice the little things, anyways. 

“You need to bandage that shit up,” The man ignores your questions, moving his head just enough to miss your blade but also enough to be able to look you in the eyes. “How long has it been bleeding?”

“That’s none of your business,” You grit out. “Answer my questions or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

“If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be panicking just yet. His gaze is sincere, but it’s too solid to be that of a bona fide idiot. You suck in a breath of air. Threatening him would be so much easier if he didn’t seem like a nice guy. It’s hard enough to live through the night, you don’t need guilt on your hands, and you know you’re going to feel guilty when you kill him. And you will kill him.

You need that first aid kit. You’ll do anything for it.

Anything, starting off with lying. 

“Sure,” You reply, steeling yourself for any sudden movements he might make now that you’re faking amicability. Maybe he’ll believe you to be vulnerable and try for your pistol or your bat, or maybe he’ll be properly cruel and finish off your arm. You don’t want to think about it. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve actually affected him after all. “Now speak.”

“Not unarmed, there’s a police-issue pistol in my jacket and a tactical knife in my jeans. I’m not totally nuts. First aid kit’s for my buddy, though, I’ll be real, you need it way more than him.” There’s something resembling concern in his expression as his eyes flit between your torn arm and your face, but that barely interests you. You haven’t truly registered anything after ‘police-issue’.

You lean in, pressing the edge of your knife against the skin directly above his adam’s apple. For the first time since you’d cornered him, your mystery purger’s breath hitches. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. It’s no matter. You no longer regret the fact that you’ll have to tear his jugular out yourself. 

“You’re a hog, huh,” You stare him down, any sympathy you might’ve had gone. For a moment, it seems as if he has no concept of what you’re saying. A second passes, though, and his gaze clears. 

“Firefighter,” He responds, though the word is garbled due to him attempting to keep his movements to a minimum. You pull back slightly, very slightly, to let him explain. “I… found a dead cop, jacked his pistol. I’ll show you my ID, if you want.” 

“Let me see it.” You nod your head at him as if giving him permission to live a little longer, though you both know full well that identity theft and identity fabrication are legal, too. Might as well see how much effort he puts into a fake. The man waits until you pull back just a bit more, enough to let him slowly reach his hand into his back pocket before producing a lanyard. 

You grab it out of his grip with your hurt arm, not willing to move your knife too far away from his throat. You simply don’t have a good enough read on - you glance down - San Choi, ACT Firefighter, Employee ID: 018-102-4 to allow yourself any leeway with him. 

His gently smiling face stares up at you from the plastic card, protected only by a clear sleeve connected to a red lanyard. San’s photo has black hair and an undercut, styled so his forehead is on display. A pair of dimples makes a guest appearance, and, overall, he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. The ID looks real, too, so maybe you aren’t totally fucked. 

The San under your knife has bleach blond hair that almost falls over his eyes, though you suppose you can’t blame him for skipping out on the hair product tonight. He seems slightly tanner than his photo, his skin beautiful even now as dust from the aftermath of the explosion starts to settle against it. 

Right. The explosion. 

Recalling the events leading up to you meeting San forces you to remember that you have a gaping, bloody gash in your left arm. You’re honestly lucky to be alive, having ducked and used the car you’re against for cover from flying debris after a building down the block had exploded. You’d just finished driving your knife into a cop’s side - third cop of the night, eighth of your career as a purge cop killer - to make sure that he was dead when you’d heard the bomb go off, and you’d dropped before even thinking about it. Something had hit your arm on the way down, and when the adrenaline had finally left your system, you’d taken note of your blood-soaked sleeve. 

You’d closed the car door after that, sealing your third murder of the night in the vehicle just so you could lean up against the door. It had been 6:31 in the morning then, and you had figured that someone would come by and kill you in the last moments before legality ensued again. You’d assumed that you’d fight, of course you would, but your arm being totally fucked definitely put a damper on your belief in your ability to overcome anyone or anything else. 

Instead of the disgruntled, trigger-happy purger you’d expected to eventually find, though, you’d been found by San Choi. San Choi, who’s currently staring at your wounded arm like it’s grown eyes and can stare back. 

“Come on, let me fix it up,” He pleads, lifting the kit up with the hand that’s farther from you. “You might not trust me, or whatever, but the purge is about to end as it is. I have a paramedic friend, Seonghwa, who’s taught me the basics of -”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell him, though you’re quickly losing your bite. He obeys regardless. God, your arm really, really fucking hurts. Before pulling your knife back, you check the watch on your wrist. 6:47. Stay alive for 13 more minutes, 780 more seconds. You’ll be fine. You take the shakiest breath you’ve ever taken. 

You pull your knife away from him. 

Nothing happens. 

“I’m going to use an alcohol free wipe and then wrap gauze around your arm, okay? You’ll just have to hold out until we can get you to a working hospital after that,” San speaks as if he’s talking to a child, or a scared animal, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t seem like a purger, but you technically are one. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to attack on a whim if you were him. He, very slowly and with his hands in your full view at all times, opens the kit and pulls out the requisite materials. 

“Gonna need you to rip your sleeve off above the cut.” He continues, leaning back as you bring your knife up to your clothes and slit the cloth right above your wound. You tear the remainder of the sleeve off your arm before throwing it behind you somewhere. San gently grabs ahold of your elbow - his palm is calloused in a way that tells you he lifts regularly, and you’re sure of this as he discards his jacket and you watch the muscles ripple in his arms under his thin black shirt - and places the wipe against your cut. 

Your reaction is instantaneous: now that you’re completely past the adrenaline stage, the feeling of something, anything against the gash has you reeling to cry out. Before you can even process that you’ve made a sound, a hand presses hard against the back of your head, shoving your mouth against San’s. 

He doesn’t know how else to shut you up. 

His lips are chapped, but the sensation of being kissed so suddenly jars you out of your pain. San attempts to pull back, and you can already feel the apologetic wince he’s about to give you, but he brushes over your wound with the wipe again and your pain doubles back. It’s you that pulls him in this time, pressing your lips to his sloppily but forcefully as if it’ll alleviate the burn in your arm. 

Kissing him only slightly muffles you at best, but you no longer care. The purge isn’t over yet. You could both die at any second. Hell, San could kill you at any second. His hand moves from the back of your head to cup your face as he leans in towards you to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped, yes, but they’re soft. He tastes like mint and copper: there’s a cut in his lower lip. You don’t mind. 

San pulls away for a moment, but only does so to grab the gauze from the kit. Once he’s wrapped it around your arm once, twice, thrice, he leans back in and your mouth accepts his own eagerly, your other hand coming up to drape over his shoulder. Neither of you know why you’re doing this, kissing a stranger with such fervor as one of you bandages the other up, but you both know that there’s really nothing else to do. 

It’s only after he finishes taping you up that the two of you pull away fully. His eyes are still just as kind as you’d thought them to be at first, though his lips are far more swollen than they’d been mere minutes prior. You admire your handiwork, eyes tracing his features as he admires his own, thumb very, very gently running over your gauze. Both of you raise your heads to smile sheepishly at each other at the exact same time.

Three things happen in rapid succession. 

“Good?” San’s voice is barely above a whisper, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just as you’re about to speak - 

“San!” A voice, low and hoarse, interrupts you, and you look up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at the space between your eyes. You’re frozen in place for a split second before you start reaching for your own pistol. Your fingers brush the grip when - 

The clock strikes seven, and sirens go off all around you, signalling the end of the purge. 

The gun is out of your face. Your hand moves off of your own.

“San,” The owner of the gun pays you no mind, suddenly, his entire focus on San. The gun-owner reaches a hand out, and the firefighter beside you takes it, allowing himself to get pulled up to his feet. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, Yunho, I’m totally good,” San responds, giving the taller man a cat-like grin of reassurance. Yunho’s got a fireman’s helmet on, and you suppose it’s good as protection. He must be a fellow firefighter, then. He’s tall, and though he’d seemed nothing short of severe mere moments ago, he seems softer, kinder now that the purge is over. The transformation is enough to give you whiplash. His right hand is wrapped in bandages, and this catches San’s sight at the same time it catches your own. “What the hell happened to you, though?” 

“That policeman you killed had buddies,” Yunho replies with ease, but you don’t miss San’s wince. Seems like he hadn’t just happened upon that police-issue pistol. You can’t help the small grin that fights to make its way across your face. “They tried to get into the station, we had to fortify ourselves. We’re mostly fine, just that Woo’s lost a finger. He’ll live once he stops whining about it. We were mostly worried about you, honestly, taking fucking forever just to find a first aid kit. Who’s this?”

Yunho moves the topic of conversation over to you so naturally that you barely even realize what has happened before San is reaching a hand out to you to pull you up to a standing position. You grab ahold of your pistol, though you shove the bat off your lap before allowing yourself to be brought up. Without thinking, you practically plaster yourself to San’s side. Now that he’s for sure what he told you he was, and now that you’re no longer in danger of dying, you can’t help but feel inexplicably connected to him even though neither of you know each other. San wraps an arm around your waist naturally, and neither of you miss Yunho’s eyebrow raise. Neither of you acknowledge it, either. 

“This?” San asks rhetorically, turning his head slightly to look at you. He’s smiling again, and you find that you want to see it more often. Maybe you’re experiencing the onset of delirium. You hope not. “This is…” 

“(Name),” You reply, being honest. There’s no need for you to lie. Besides, you owe San answers, right? You stick your uninjured arm out, letting Yunho shake your hand. San’s grip tightens around your waist. 

“I’m (Name).”

[cuttoothed]

For day 1 of @aspecarchivesweek for the prompt “wish”. Someday I will write something that isn’t jmart, but that day is not today.

Ace Martin character exploration; Jon/Martin; some Martin/OMC

Warnings: internalized homophobia (brief); internalized aphobia (ongoing); reference to having sex while intoxicated; reference to having sex reluctantly (though not coerced); outing of ace character in their absence

*

Martin spends a long time wishing he was normal.

It starts when he’s fourteen. Well, no, it starts much earlier than that, but it’s when he’s fourteen that the nebulous muddle of feelings coalesces into something impossible to ignore. That’s when all the boys and girls in his class start making eyes at each other while pretending they aren’t; start talking about who they’d like to snog behind the bushes at the bottom of the sports field, and Martin feels something twist in his stomach when he realizes that the person he’d like to be behind the bushes with is Stephen Dowling, who has dark hair and blue eyes and snaps gum between his teeth all day long.

Martin never says anything about it, of course, tries not to even think about it, but he knows it’s not normal. As if he needed one more weird thing about him along with all his sick mum and his jacket that pulls tight across his shoulders, the seams fraying because he needs to get another year out of it before they spend money on a replacement. He keeps his head down and secretly believes that this part of his life will never be over.

*

Eventually, this part of his life is over.

He is nineteen and living in London in a cheap flatshare with three other people, he has a job at a real academic institution, and he has a boyfriend.

Ramesh is sweet and funny and has soft brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Martin’s ever seen. His heart flutters in his chest every time they’re together, his breath catching in his throat and spilling out as laughter. Martin feels normal, because this is London and nobody cares if he walks down the street with Ramesh’s hand in his, if he kisses his boyfriend in the queue for the chippie. It’s like a weight Martin never knew was there lifted off his chest and he can breathe properly for the first time in his life.

He and Ramesh go out for almost a month before they’re in Martin’s flat alone one night, all the others gone out, and Ramesh presses him down on the sofa and kisses him and crawls a hand inside Martin’s jeans. Martin feels hot and cold all at once, his stomach coiling sick and every muscle in his body tensing up for fight or flight. He pushes Ramesh away—too hard, too clumsy—and guilt courses through him at the hurt look in Ramesh’s soft eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Ramesh asks, and Martin can’t say, his heart pounding and his hand clenched painfully tight against the arm of the sofa.

“Sorry,” he’s able to say eventually. “I just, umm…”

“It’s all right,” says Ramesh, though he still looks hurt and confused and Martin has the feeling it’s not actually all right. “I probably surprised you. We can wait for next time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Martin, grateful at the reprieve. They sit on the sofa and watch a film instead, and Martin scarcely follows the plot as he tries to calm the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him want to flinch every time Ramesh’s shoulder touches his.

Next time is the same. Martin apologizes again, and Ramesh says it’s all right again and then two days later breaks up with him.

“I just don’t think it’s working out,” he says, and Martin knows it really wasn’t all right after all.

*

Martin’s sick of wishing he was normal, and what is it they say: fake it ‘til you make it?

He gets drunk and takes home a man he doesn’t know and has sex. He scarcely remembers it the next day and he’s too hungover and miserable to try, but he’s proven to himself that he can have sex and that’s the important thing.

Having sex is normal. It’s what people in relationships do. Martin doesn’t know why he has the hang-ups he does, but he just needs to get over them and learn to relax a bit. Having a couple of drinks helps, he finds.

He has a few boyfriends here and there, and having sex really isn’t a problem. There are better things he could think of doing with his time, but it’s fine. There are even some nice things about it, like feeling close to someone. Intimate.

Eventually, he thinks, maybe he’ll stop feeling like he’s faking it.

*

It isn’t that he gives up on relationships. It’s just that there are so many expectations that Martin feels he always fails to live up to, so many rules that it seems like everyone but him instinctively knows. Trying feels like more hassle than it’s worth.

And then he gets transferred to the Archives and there is Jonathan Sims with his imperious glare and devastating voice and Martin is fourteen all over again watching Stephen Dowling snap his gum in Geography class.

“You really need to stop mooning,” Tim tells him. They’re at the Institute holiday party and they’re all a bit sloshed, and Martin can admit to himself that yes all right he was mooning a bit over Jon, who’s stood at the bar with his back to them, talking animatedly with Elias.

“I am not mooning,” he says, because there’s no reason he has to admit it to Tim as well. “I was just...contemplating.”

“Contemplating Jon’s arse,” Tim snorts, and then Sasha plonks down three shot glasses on the table in front of them and sits down in a rush.

“Who’s contemplating Jon’s arse?”

“Martin, of course.”

“I am not—” Martin begins to protest, but Sasha shushes him, pushing a shot into his hand. It smells of cinnamon and the liquid inside is bright red.

“Hopeless case,” sighs Tim, and drinks his shot. Sasha does the same and then gives Martin a sympathetic smile, her eyes a little bit unfocused.

“If it’s any consolation, Jon doesn’t shag anyone.”

“Sasha!” Tim scolds, and she suddenly seems to realize what she’s said, her eyes going wide.

“Shit,” she says. “Sorry, god, I shouldn’t have said anything. Martin, please pretend you never heard me say that.”

“Okay,” Martin promises but his brain is snagged on ‘Jon doesn’t shag anyone’, how she said it so easily, matter of fact, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. He looks up at the bar where Jon is still standing with Elias, his slim hands gesturing as he talks.

“Drink your shot,” Tim tells him. “It’ll help you forget about Sasha’s big mouth.”

Martin drinks his shot, which is absolutely sickening, but he doesn’t forget.

*

There is one bed in Daisy’s safe house.

It’s evening when they arrive and Martin is exhausted, a bone deep weariness that might be from the travel or the fear or the fog that’s seeped under his skin. Jon looks tired too, dark circles under his eyes and now that Martin’s really looking at him for the first time in months, he’s amazed Jon hasn’t just shivered apart at the seams by now. He is filled with the desire to take Jon in his arms, as if he might hold the fragile pieces of him together, and he thinks that he could.

He saw Jon, in the Lonely, even if they haven’t talked about it since. Saw how Jon felt about him, so yes, Martin thinks he could put his arms around Jon and it would be welcome. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t, except that there’s a part of him that still feels like it’s trapped behind glass, abstracted and numb, and it keeps his arms by his sides while his heart yearns against his rib cage.

In the meantime, there is only one bed, and they both stand looking at it for a few moments, considering the implications and the fact that they have only just found each other again after months of absence.

“There’s enough room,” Jon says eventually, his voice soft and tired. Martin nods; there is enough room.

It’s cold, and they both climb under the covers in socks and tracksuit bottoms and long sleeved t-shirts, pile the thick feather duvet and two blankets over them. It feels like being cocooned, their combined body heat gradually warming the mattress, the slow even sound of Jon’s breathing warming something in Martin’s chest.

He’s here, he’s here with you. You’re here with him.

In the gentle dark they gravitate together, drawn close by the longing that’s suffused all their months apart. When Jon’s lips press gently against his, Martin thinks his heart might burst. He kisses back, and at last that trapped part of him breaks free and he lifts his arms to wrap around Jon, pulls him against his chest. Jon makes a soft, surprised sound and he breaks the kiss.

“Martin,” he says, careful the way he has been since he brought Martin back, as if a wrong word might shatter him. “I need to tell you, before this goes any further—”

“It’s okay,” Martin tells him. “I don’t want to have sex with you either.” It feels so good to be able to say it that Martin could cry or laugh or both.

“Oh,” says Jon, and then huffs a soft laugh. “Well that’s—that’s good, then.”

He kisses Martin again, and leans in against him, close and warm and filling every part of Martin’s awareness. Martin knows he left all hope of normal behind years ago, before worms and fog and evil circuses. But the fact that he gets to have this—just this, with the man he loves; no expectations and nothing to fake; and for the moment at least, no fear. This is far, far better than normal.

And Martin couldn’t wish for anything else.