#muscle mans regular original memes

[musclemanveryregular]

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!!!!

[ID: muscle man ripping open his shirt to reveal a tattoo drawn to read, in all caps in a fancy font, "happy mothers day" /end ID]

[neonponders]

Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

[writerofblocks]

🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 there now we're even LMAOOOO

me right after getting this: ALL RIGHT, BET.

(several hours in) I have made a mistake

[ask meme here]

Lucia Lieberman (Lone Wanderer), Miles Young (Sole Survivor), and Gabriel Young (The Courier)

🖊 All of my Fallout protagonists are related because the idea of one family getting drawn into world-altering events not because its their destiny to but because they all happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time makes me laugh my ass off. Using Miles as the point of reference, it goes as follows-

- Adam Young (Fallout 1): grandnephew

- Noah Young (Fallout 2): great-great-grandnephew

- Gabriel Young (Fallout 3): great-great-great-grandnephew

- Lucia Lieberman (Fallout 3): great-great-great-great-grandniece

🖊 Miles's sister Cassidy Young was living on the West Coast at the time of the Great War; she was one of the original inhabitants of Vault 13 and is Adam's grandmother. Lucia’s mother Catherine is one of her descendants; she moved with the branch of the Brotherhood of Steel across the country, where she met James (last name Lieberman, at least in my canon).

🖊 Lucia actually ends up meeting both her living relations during her lifetime because I like shenanigans. After the events of Fallout 3, she winds up heading west and ends up in New Vegas. When she walked into the bar where Gabriel was staying, Gabriel noted the resemblance, became concerned that he might have had a dalliance with a woman that resulted in a child that he’d forgotten thanks to the bullet in his skull, and immediately hid behind the bar. Of course that only drew Lucia’s attention, and the rest is history. After the events of New Vegas she moves to the Commonwealth, where she ends up encountering Miles.

🖊 Lucia has a bonafide, genuine guitar taken from the same vault she retrieved the Stradivarius violin from. Maintenance is difficult, but music stores aren’t big targets for looting so she can usually find parts/replacement strings, if not figure out a substitute on her own.

🖊 Lucia was raised with 50′s suburb values in mind and will not swear except under extreme duress. This has led to difficulties writing her, as I swear like a goddamn sailor. The plus side is, it’s incredibly easy to tell when she’s extremely pissed off.

🖊 Lucia’s big brother/little sister relationship with @himborc‘s Melik will always make me smile. Sometimes a family is a buff, gruff cyborg man with issues, a tiny golden lesbian also with issues, and their vaguely dog-shaped creature who has no issues and is in fact the best boy.

🖊 Lucia’s Catholicism and subsequent struggle with faith are based on two things. The first thing being the result of the G.O.A.T. test she took in fallout 3, which said she was going to be the vault chaplain. (fun fact- the result you get is based on the highest skill points you get on the test. Lucia’s was barter.) The second thing is that a) I was raised Roman Catholic and b) I like dumping my problems on my OCs, so Lucia inherited my crisis of faith. Whoops.

🖊 Miles is a DILF, with his specific Dad subclass being the Quiet, Crafty Dad. He’s a little reclusive, preferring to spend his time creating things, and its hard to show his love in traditional ways. His love language is acts of service- if you need something, he’ll retrieve it for you. If you need help, he’ll help you. And he’ll do it all without trying to draw attention to himself.

Benjamin Anderson, Branwen Greenleaf, and Ahkasa Sohloni

🖊 Ahkasa and Benji started out as characters I played in Skyrim, funnily enough. Ahkasa is a Khajiit thief and Benji (there named Bun-Jah Andreesar) is an Argonian mage with a focus on Conjuration.

🖊 Related to the above- Benji’s anxiety issues and association with necromancy started due to the number of explorable crypts in skyrim. I thought it would be funny to have someone who tomb-dove on the regular also be afraid of the undead. This rapidly disintegrated into him being afraid of a lot of other things.

🖊 Branwen started out as my very first DnD character, a halfling Life Domain cleric. The campaign she was in petered out, but I’d always wanted to use her again somewhere. Luckily I was working on Benji’s backstory one day, and needed a character to be a mentor for him, so I retooled Branwen to be a Grave Domain cleric and unleashed her on the world once again.

🖊 Ahkasa and Branwen are the only two OCs I pay attention to currently that have good relationships with their parents. Whoops.

🖊 Ahkasa likes making things with her hands, and can usually be found whittling or knitting something at camp.

Bridget Summers

🖊 Ah, yes. The OG. The firstborn. Her design started out because I took umbrage with how the default SR3 Fem!Boss was supermodel thin; I wanted to make someone who looked a bit more like my body type (but with a few more muscles). She has gained her own voice since then and my life has not known peace since.

🖊 I’m forever grateful to @autumnyte for helping me in the early days with Bridget; she wouldn’t be half the character she is nowadays without those RPs with Alair, and no matter what she’s up to nowadays he’s still important to her and in her heart.

🖊 Bridget’s my usual test dummy for first playthroughs of games because I know how she’d react to things. Also because I like seeing her in different character creators. So sue me.

🖊 Bridget has ADHD (again, because I like dumping my own experiences into my characters), though she didn’t have a name for it until she started going to therapy sometime between SR2 and SR3. It’s part of the reason why she had a hard time in school- a limited attention span, difficulty completing things once the novelty has worn off, and a preference towards things that have her brain and her body fully engaged does not mix well with traditional American teaching structures.

[cinnaminsvga]

Hug-o-gram Preview | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font. 

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending “hugs” to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to *o*e him, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: anticipated 10-12K  → a/n: who the fuck am i... why am i writing so much??? let’s all thank miss kwaranteen for that, my friends. but what’s with the fluff, you ask? thank miss @jincherie​ for that because her weak heart can’t handle angst so i have to use my limited fluff muscles to write this for her... anyway idk when this is coming out but its probs soon,, enjoy this lil snippet i guess LMAO 

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbow. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

[eulerami]

For the artist ask meme - 1, 3, 12, 14 :D

1: Favorite color to work with?

Definitely orange, and earth tones in general 😭

3: What song do you listen to when you do art?

Usually I have a playlist dedicated to the subject matter, but I'm impartial to the Cure - Disintegration. I've listened to that on repeat for literal weeks.

12: Draw your favorite character in 15 seconds:

Garrett from original Thief! (Please god! What new game??? Without Stephen Russell that ain't Garrett)

14: What was something you used to draw a lot that you don't anymore?

Other than fandoms, I used to draw a lot of muscle cars growing up. I'm trying to rekindle that love for them and incorporating them into more stories while putting aside the personal embarrassment. I'm hoping I can make it more approachable for people once I remove some of the "misogynistic/racist old white man" personalities associated with it in the form of nuance and better stories. Cool cars should be for everybody, especially when the history of drag racing is such a sport of regular people that wanna go fast and have fun.

[ditch-witches]

No Catch: Dean Charles-Chapman x Reader

thank you, beautiful Ivanna, for your excellent work and continued support.

request: “I need me a fallen angel Dean au, complete with black wings and shit (insert that Matthew McConaughey smoking meme)”

warnings: slight cursing, mentions of mugging and cosplaying

word count: 3000+

The bell above the bar door rang overhead, breaking your focus on the cash register in front of you. Your eyes flashed up with an internal groan as you watched four more customers stroll in, the final minutes of your shift ticking by with no sign of emptying out the place. Your co-worker, a man in his late twenties with striking auburn hair and a customary beige jacket with a stain on one of the pockets whether he knew it or not, put a fresh toothpick between his teeth as he filled the glasses of a few regulars. The men occupying the stools glared at the TV screen over your co-worker’s shoulder, not paying much mind to him.

The drawer finally clicked open as a rush of relief washed over you. Taking the money from the people before you, you began to feel the hours of the day weighing on your shoulders. The thought of having to get up in a few hours to start your workday yet again made you feel almost sick. But anything for the financial stability you longed for. Who cares if you’re living in a mansion and driving a fast car? What you wanted was to have enough to get by after paying a major bill, or having the luxury to eat out every few days. Treating yourself to a new pair of shoes wouldn’t hurt either.

But here you were, clocking out of your third shift of the day, dead tired and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and waste away for the few hours of sleep you could afford. You were grateful that your co-worker hadn’t batted an eyelash at the growing crowd and shooed you off for the night. The darkening night sky was almost a sea of black against the bright yellows of the street lamps illuminating the busy crosswalks and shop corners of the city block. You pulled your scarf further up around your nose to combat the dropping temperature as you cut down an alleyway. The biting barks of stray dogs fighting over a scrap of meat mixed with the various sirens echoing in the distance as you trudged along, attempting to remember if your uniform for tomorrow (or later) was clean.

You almost lost yourself deep enough in your thoughts to ignore the footsteps behind you. You willed your heart to mellow as you took a deep breath, your exhales curtaining around your face like smoke from a chimney on a winter day. Your fingers brushed against the metal canister of pepper spray hidden in your jacket pocket. You had been mugged before and swore to yourself you wouldn’t let it happen again. You threw a glance over your shoulder, finding an empty alleyway behind you. You shook your head, turning forward and gluing your eyes to the buildings at the other end of the alley. Count your steps! That’s it, keep calm. You scolded yourself.

The footsteps continued, slow and heavy, almost as if the owner were sauntering playfully towards you. Should I look again? No way, what if it’s just some kid. You pressed on, your palms growing sweaty as the footsteps began to gain on you. What if I let them get close and then whip around and startle them? What if they have a knife? A gun? You swallowed a lump in your throat, looking around to see if anyone would be able to hear you being murdered.

As if by instinct, you planted your feet and turned, eyes wild as you searched for the owner. The city seemed too quiet as you did this, the eerie silence only broken by your labored breaths. What happened to the dogs, the drunk women yelling for taxis? Where were the domestic disputes above you? You chewed the inside of your cheek, tugging your jacket tighter around you. Were you going crazy? Was the lack of sleep finally getting to you? You moved to head back in your original direction and smacked into a wall —- no, a hard chest.

Knocking you back a few steps, your eyes locked with a pair of nearly glowing blue ones. His sharp teeth peeked out from behind his lips as a small smirk drew a line on his face. “Boo!” He joked, sending you into action. You reached for your pepper spray and within a second he was doubled over screaming at you as you shoved past the mystery man and sprinted down the alleyway, ignoring his calls for you to wait. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, your hair rustling into knots with your movements. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. Boo! Boo! What kind of a sicko-

“Stop running, you’re not going to get away,” he hummed as you turned a corner and nearly rammed into him again. You shrieked and took off in the opposite direction. How had he gotten there before you? The alleyway was quickly becoming a never-ending labyrinth of twists and turns with him at every stop. Your lungs felt as if they might burst and you decided to weigh your options. Could you take him? Depends. Were you carrying anything that had value? Did it matter? You stopped, your hands falling to your knees as you attempted to catch your breath. Your joints ached and your whole body screamed for rest. “I can do this all night if you wanna keep showing off how fast you run in those tennis shoes,” the man quipped. You straightened up as he came around your side to stand in front of you. The cold sweat running down your back sent an ick of goosebumps spreading across your body. You peered at him, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

His blue eyes caught the glimmer of the street light as he moved, making the color almost icy. His dark hair curled around his ears ever so slightly, nearly masking the silver charm hanging from one of his ears. His dark suit sat squarely on his shoulders, no thanks to his posture. The more appalling part of him that you could shake from your mind was the pair of wings tucked close to his back. The dark glistening sheer of the feathers made them seem almost real, yet your mind searched for what they were truly connected to. Surely this man hadn’t ruined a suit so expensively tailored for a costume. They almost hung from him naturally, which almost made you question if they really were extensions of him. Just your luck: running into a cosplayer on a Thursday night.

He stepped to face you, your sights now picking up on the redness forming around his eyes as he squinted at you. “I can’t believe you pepper-sprayed me. Psycho,” he sneered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You scoffed, taking a step back from him. “I’m the psycho? What the fuck was that!” You threw your hand back in the direction which you had come, turning slightly to find the alleyway as it usually was. Where had the dips and turns gone that you had just sprinted through? You really needed a nap.

“Language! What if God hears you?” He nearly bit before snorting to himself like it was a preposterous idea to begin with. He raked a hand through his curls and sighed, looking you over as if he was seeing just what he had been dealt with. “What are we gonna do with you?” He asked, his accent almost husky as he spoke to himself.

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head as you stepped further away from him, making sure to hold your hands up in defense. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what you’re supposed to be but-”

He cut you off with a click of his tongue, his arms falling lazily as his sides as a defeated look settled into his posture. “Are you serious? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head slightly. “Uh… The dude from Legion?”

He smiled, his head tilting to match your angle in a soft and almost mocking manner. “No, silly! I’m your guardian angel. Always have been. I thought that was obvious.” He murmured the last part to himself as he searched your questioningly distrustful eyes. He took a few steps to close most of the gap between you and you stretched away from him.

“What do you mean guardian angel?” You bit, throwing your hands on your hips. The man wouldn’t let up his character. You squared up to him, despite his obvious height above yours. He seemed to play along as you did.

“I’m the one that looks out for you,” he grinned as if he were a proud child after finally accomplishing an art project for his mom. You returned his devious expression with a blank stare, wondering what number you should call to reach a mental institution quickest. He fell back on his heel, angling his face downwards slightly to get a better look at your eyes. “Don’t believe me?” You looked at him as if he were crazy. How could you! This man just chased you down an alley and is now claiming to be your guardian angel, as if that’s possible. Your mind wandered to your co-worker. Had he slipped something in your drink when you weren’t looking? Surely, not.

“Those eyes have never been good at hiding your true thoughts, you know?” He jeered, sending you a wink as he watched you search his face. A blush crept onto your face for a reason unbeknownst to you. Embarrassment maybe? His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as if he were biting back a smile as his dark wings began to expand behind him, stretching out to fill what space they could. You stumbled back slightly, tripping on your feet and landing on your butt as you stared up at the man in horror and maybe slight amazement. How had he engineered them to do that? Were they on a pulley system under his jacket? How did he make them do that without flexing a muscle?

You sat in silence, attempting to find words, a thought, anything to diffuse the situation. Finally, your mind clicked back into place and you pushed yourself up, brushing off your pants and sighing. You began to walk around him. “Okay, Metatron, I’m going home. This’s been fun but I have a shift in a few hours and I think I might have had something laced with PCP so-”

“Oh, come on, I’m not Metatron-”

“Fine, I’ll stop guessing. I just know I need sleep, and you’re some crazy dude in an alley I’ve been wasting too much time talking to.” He chuckled at your response. As you walked a few steps, you couldn’t help but turn back to him. “Plus, what kind of guardian angel looks like you. Aren’t you supposed to look like the Hitler youth with angel wings?”

He smirked, angling his chin up slightly as he ran his tongue over his white teeth. “Yeah, I am. Do you want a ride?”

“No, fuck off,” you quipped with a small laugh, heading in your destination’s direction.

The next morning, you woke up groggy and sore. As you pulled yourself together, you avoided looking at your schedule for the day, hoping that someone would need to switch for an earlier time slot so you could get home at a better time. The diner you worked at during the day was already buzzing with its usual customers coming and going. Families treating themselves to breakfast before heading off to work and school seemed to juxtapose those who were using the little spot as a truck stop. The out of state families were always the better tippers, unsurprising to you. Your routine of monotonously waiting tables and working the register seemed to fit you into your usual groove. That was until you spotted an all too familiar pair of blue eyes, making what you pegged as a dream last night come to life.

You stepped towards him cautiously, your mouth growing drier at the possibility that he had found you here, but by what means? Would he start showing up at your next jobs? Your apartment? The wings were gone, just as you had expected, yet that same sly look remained firmly planted on his lips. In place of the dark suit he wore last night was merely a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, which he had thrown lazily to the side of him in the booth. You straightened out the skirt of your uniform, tapping the end of your pen against the small pad of paper you gripped in your hand maybe a bit too tightly. “What can I get you today, sir?” You asked, making him turn his sights up to beam at you.

“Good morning, sunshine. How was your night?” He mocked, a devious sparkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes at his chipper smugness. He seemed less menacing than in the alleyway, but that wasn’t saying much, considering how dimly lit it had been last night. He now reminded you of someone’s AA sponsor rather than a sophisticated angel. “What do you recommend? I don’t eat-”

You leaned against his table slightly. “Would you drop the act already? You’re not an actual angel.”

His smile seemed to widen a touch. “I think that’s a conversation that we need to have actually. Which is partially the reason why I’m here. I know you get off around six-”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Sorry, did you miss the part where I’m your guardian angel? Or is that still lost on you?” His eyebrow perked up at your question. You couldn’t mask the look of disgust ripping through your body.

You wet your lips. “What do you want?”

He gave you a look suggesting it was obvious. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you. I haven’t-”

“From me. Why are you here, now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, good question.” He grabbed his jacket from beside him and slid out of the booth, standing next to you. You furrowed your brows at him and he gave you a smug grin once again, heading towards the front of the diner with you scrambling after him. You reached for his arm to pull him back, only to get a spark of electricity singeing against your fingertips, making you groan. He stopped walking and turned to you, his eyes a darker shade. “Great, glad that’s over with. Now, relax,” he hissed, continuing straight towards your boss. What the fuck was happening? He started pulling his jacket on as he spoke to her, her eyes seemingly softening at him as she giggled at what he said. Was he charming her? He stepped out of the way so she could see you.

“It’s a wonderful day, why don’t you take some time off?” Your eyes flashed between the man and your boss, feeling like the world was spinning slightly as you attempted to piece together what was happening. You hadn’t realized you were holding the hand that had been shocked until the man grabbed it, pulling to behind him and out of the diner. He slung one of his legs over a motorcycle you assumed he owned and pushed up the kickstand. He nodded for you to climb on back.

“I need the tips from today. I’ll be behind on my rent-”

“I’ll take care of it,” he answered simply, handing you a helmet.

“No, way-”

“Yes, way. Come on,” he stated, kicking on the bike and pulling his own helmet on. You took a deep breath and compiled. Hell, you had the day off right? As you slunk onto the bike seat, the man pulled you closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Try not to fall off. I don’t feel like trying to heal you up today.” As the bike began to move, you clung tighter to him, feeling him chuckle beneath your grasp. You pressed against his back, trying to figure out where his wings had gone and why the hell you were tazed when you touched him for the first time. Why were his eyes so radiant? Unnaturally radiant, that is. Who the fuck was he?

The ride flashed by rather quickly, your thoughts taking up most of the time you would have normally spent sight-seeing or wondering why in the hell you had gotten on the back of a stranger’s bike. To your surprise, you ended up at another restaurant, stationed in a booth opposite of this strange man as he ordered for you, in an attempt to lighten the shock of the situation. “I thought you didn’t know what food tasted good.”

“I was just playing cute. I thought it might make me more approachable for you.” You blinked at his words, feeling more unstable than when you were on the motorcycle. His demeanor had changed, he was almost tense now. “Where would you like me to start?”

You shrugged, your fear now becoming almost unmanageable. “Who are you?”

“My name is Dean. I was assigned to you when you were born.” You nodded slightly, unsure of what to ask next as you located all the exits in the restaurant. It was crowded, so you figured he wasn’t going to kill you at least. “You mentioned my appearance earlier. I don’t have that Aryan look you want because I’m not really an angel angel. I mean, I used to be.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what you’re saying is…”

“I work for someone else now. If you get what I mean.” He smiled at the waiter as she brought out drinks for the two of you. He rubbed the back of his neck as he seemed to chew on other information in a way of deciding how to break what to you. “Besides, it’s better having my kind as your guardian than one of those halo pricks.”

You scoffed. “So why right now? Why not show up a few years ago or when I was a kid?”

He shrugged. “Your life is so shitty right now, you need me.” You narrowed your eyes. “Before you defend yourself and go all-mighty woman on me, I know you’re working hard and I know what you want. I can give that to you, and whatever else you desire.”

You put your chin in your hand. “For what? My soul?” You joked.

He rolled his eyes with a small chuckle, setting his arms on the table to lean towards you. “Only if you beg,” he winked. “Actually, there’s no catch. You just have to let me.”

…

Dean sat across the long dinner table from his superior, barely able to touch whatever gruel had been pushed his way. For how civilized it seemed they were, the demon appetite was next to animalistic. The cool air in the room was reflexive of the mood the opaque souls passing beside the large windows echoed: hollow and dead. The light in the room was only thanks to the moonlight shining through the barrier between the worlds. Dean let his mind travel to the day he had spent with you and how much you would hate to be dragged to hell beside him. Could he convince you it wouldn’t be so bad? Was it more just to end his own suffering by adding to yours? 

His superior cleared his throat, brushing a napkin over his chin and standing. His chair made no noise as his figure looked almost wispy as he strolled toward the fireplace, breathing into the logs as if he were a dragon. Dean snickered slightly at the obscenity of the action. “It’s nearly time you know. For the Choosing, I mean.” Dean’s stomach tightened with anxiety at his words. The tall man took his place at the table again, his dark, pitted features unintentionally burning further into Dean’s memories. “I know what you’ve been doing in the mortal world. You think playing around with Gabriel’s daughter is a good idea when you should be looking for a mate you don’t have to kill when the time comes?”

Dean let out a sharp breath, the man’s words cutting deeper into Dean than he had expected them to. Dean looked down at his hands to regain his composure. He had almost had a terrible temper, especially when it came to you. “She doesn’t even know who she is. I can convince her-" 

"No. You can’t. Besides, how would the Choosing play out with a demon-like you meddling in her life.” The man’s calm tone was almost more angering than the rules he was conveying. Dean stared blankly at the man, knowing full well he wouldn’t win this argument, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. “I don’t care who’s son you are or how much you like her, I won’t let it happen.”

Dean swallowed. “She’s not like them.”

“I’ll arrange for the church to find you someone who could actually be a mate. Stay out of the mortal world, or at least hers,” the man stated firmly, nodding that Dean could leave finally. If only he could tell you the whole truth, would you believe him then? He shoved his fists into his pant pockets as he chewed his lip, strolling down the vast hallway from the room. Portraits of the underworld leaders lined the walls in different shapes and sizes. When he was younger, Dean had wanted to be among them, like his father. Now it only made him sick to think of the corruption and mass extinctions that got those men on the wall. Gabriel had been an ally of his father’s before the shit hit the fan.

When Dean found out the angels had been having affairs with mortals, he hadn’t blinked an eye; him having already been guilty of that sin himself. But as soon as he laid eyes on you, he wanted you. The Choosing had loomed over him like a rain cloud until that day. What was the worst that could happen if you were his victim for the Choosing? Well, fuck it right, he was already living in hell.

M A S T E R L I S T.

[mandysxmuses]

🐩 for each keeper

//oH BOY this might be a long one

So Niemand is one of the first ‘Keeper’ characters I created and is the one who has changed the least from his original conception. My main inspirations for him and a lot of the Keepers/the overall idea was popular dating sim and anime tropes, and in particular for him I took inspiration from the “yandere” trope, although Niemand technically isn’t one at all. I knew I wanted a cute and overall innocent character with a very dark side, but I also wanted there to be a reason for that dark side beyond it just being there because he loves someone and it needs to be there for the trope, so from the get-go I figured Jemand’s antagonistic and cruel relationship with him would be a more organic drive to bring Niemand to that point.

I could also say some Undertale inspiration helped me come up with him? Because my dream that inspired this whole thing and one of the first things I wrote with Niemand involved him shapeshifting into a rather ugly flower and accidentally scaring a Keeper off.

And I think the whole hedge maze/flower garden thing was probably Alice-in-Wonderland inspired, given that Alice in Wonderland was also inspiration for pretty much a lot of the tone of what I was going for making the Keeper universe.

Jemand is another one of the first characters I had in mind, and again, I already had a pretty basic outline of how his character and Niemand’s were supposed to be. He was supposed to be suave and clever and witty and smug, and Niemand was supposed to be more sheepish and meek by comparison. Though I will say Jemand has gone through a lot more small evolutions than Niemand has over time. He originally bickered with Niemand a lot and was frequently embarrassed by the gardener catching him up on things that he said rather than constantly being on top of things, and he did change to a much more antagonistic, domineering, outright crueler character over time -- I’ve tried to pull that back a bit because there have been times where I’ve worried I’ve made him too evil, but regardless, he’s still a lot nastier now than he was at first.

His main inspirations were, again, popular anime/dating sim tropes, so I wanted to take the trope of the suave idol-like characters who daksldmasl you know the ones you know the ones

The whole black-and-white thing was not necessarily inspired by anything (maybe Alice in Wonderland subconsciously since there’s the whole checkerboard motif he loves) but yeee

TODLICH oh m’boi Todlich, the man, the myth, the meme

The third character I had in mind from the get-go and still the most changed from his original conception that I can think of (besides Schatz but even his character changes weren’t as dramatic)

The tropes and inspirations Todlich pulls from aren’t that difficult to figure out, I’m sure there’s one in every otome game/dating sim where at least one character is an absolute trashfire but they have a route anyway because they’re physically attractive and in the game/anime so they have to come into play somewhere

But originally that’s... all he was, just an evil, killing-for-the-sake-of-killing character with zero actual motivations or story or reasoning behind it, and it made him feel very two-dimensional to me. Characters like that can work, of course, but when they do there’s always at least some story to it and mdlasdm Todd just existing like that with no story and no motivations bothered me

And this overall dissatisfaction with Todlich’s lack of character and lack of story altogether was what led to the Emma plotline, which ended up just ldsakmdl transforming the entire thing and making literally everything more fun to write for me and turned Todlich from one of the characters I disliked writing most to one of my genuine favorites dkmasldmds

(Also I lost most of my icons so I won’t have them all here but)

LAUT

Okie dokie, Laut is definitely an interesting one to talk about. He wasn’t actually a character I had in mind from the very beginning, but I came up with him soon enough after just figuring it would be neat to have an announcer talking over chases and telling everyone what’s going on

His inspirations were bookworm-type characters and socially awkward characters and I originally wanted him to be a more stern, snappy character, like one of the strict intellectual types 

(And the Pringles guy, no kidding, that’s what inspired his monocle)

And he’s more like a geeky high-class dork that just sits there calling everyone a peasant

And now that I think about it he’s changed just about as much as Niemand which means not much at all, I essentially had the idea of a guy with super long purple hair and a monocle sitting in a tower watching everybody but not being able to leave, and slowly suffering from the isolation.

RENEE AND VERGESS

OKAY SO I can’t take all the credit for Renee because a lot about her was suggested to me by another friend of mine, and they definitely contributed a lot to her overall character design (including her signature hat that she wears)

And I think even the spine-ripping she does may have been their idea? It has been a long time since I had this conversation with this friend so I do not know who of us came up with what besides the hat, I remember specifically she came up with the hat idea

I think they might have even picked her name mslkdkmlsak

I mainly wanted her to be a foil for the boys because they were so powerful and the Keepers definitely didn’t seem like they had much helping them at this point, and of course, the Emma plotline gave her having Keeper memories and her place in the game even more poignant

Vergessene’s character was heavily inspired by characters like Eeyore and Sadness from Inside Out, and I added him because I wanted another character to be on the Keeper’s side, but also to add even more tragedy to my big angst bowl because there evidently was not enough in the pot by that point

VERHEILER

The man of FLUFF, the fluffiest man, the most self-indulgent man I ever put into this universe

Fools may have thought I put Todlich and his physical attractiveness in for my own self-indulgence but no, NO, Verheiler was the one who I stuck in solely from what I would want in a weird fantasy world full of bizarre people who may or may not intend to kill me

I wanted a soft, tol man with bunny ears and a minty pretty soft color scheme and floofy hair and a kimono

And I wanted him to make me tea, and have a soft and gentle voice, and to be a complete pacifist, and just be the most wholesome of men

I wanted him to give hugs and lots of cuddles and be really affectionate but also respectful of boundaries if someone asked not to be touched

His inspirations were literally my own self-indulgent stupidity, and ASMR. That was a big inspiration for him, I really wanted him to be a comforting, calming, just genuinely sweet person since the Void had a distinct lack of any of these qualities before he was there.

KNIRSCHEN

Knirschen knocked down two popular tropes in one, the “tsundere” trope and the werewolf trope

He’s cold and grumpy and dismissive to people he likes, but softens up over time, ugh, I love that trope, got a weakness for that trope I have to say

Especially in Knirschen’s way, where the only reason he’s so pushy and determined to shove people away is because he’s scared he’ll transform and be more likely to hurt them if they’re close-by

I also thought, hey, I added a rabbit man, why not add a wolf character

And on that note

Egel/Walter

So since a rabbit man inspired a werewolf man, a werewolf man inspired a vampire man

But of course, this wasn’t the only inspiration for Walter. Vampires are a popular dating sim/romantic novel/generally thirsty-people-aimed media trope, so naturally he had to be in here

Though I wanted to make him also a nice, generally well-meaning character because the vampires I’d seen in some media treated their “love interests” like sacks of meat and I wanted to subvert that and by subvert that I mean yeet that idea out the window, I want a wholesome vampire

So I made a hot-pink haired, generally unintimidating, well-mannered sophisticated boyo who likes candy

But also gave him some depth by making his relentless nightly thirst for blood and monstrous reputation something he actively hates and wants to fight against rather than a part of himself he takes pride in

So he’s struggling with a very terrifying part of himself that he can’t help having, as well as being forced to use that side of himself in a horrific murder-game and even attack Niemand because Jemand’s terrible

Schatz... oh boy, Schatz

What even was the creation of this man? Of course the Void’s designated comic relief would have the most weird creation process and changes

(his inspirations were The Pirates of the Caribbean series and other pirate-like characters and series, and that one vine of the high dude possessed by a demonic spirit asking for a bagel)

First he was a regular pirate man who had a pet mouse because I’d never seen a pirate with a pet mouse before

WAIT character change, he’s a regular normal guy LARPing a pirate and just pretending all the time because he likes it

WAIT THERE’S MORE, he talks to his mouse and acts like he can have conversations with it and confuses everyone even more

WAIT, he hallucinates the mouse talking back

NO WAIT, the mouse is magical in nature and literally does communicate with him telepathically

HOLD ON the mouse is a demon now

AND the mouse can shapeshift and eat bathtubs and steal things for him

And the mouse... worships... Satan

okay, that’s enough, we’re done . . .. .

-- AND Schatz only LARPs as a pirate as a form of escapism because the Void is a ball of angst and Catnip is slowly but surely absorbing more power from all the suffering everyone is enduring and one day--

Kanonier

Oh boyo, dis guy

The man who literally exists just to have a butt bigger than Jemand’s and muscles slightly larger than Todd’s

no that’s not why he exists of course not but

I mainly just always wanted a rival character for Schatz after he showed up because dlsakdmslkd gosh we already have a pirate man who’s trying so hard to be a pirate, there has to be someone on the other end of the spectrum

(Apparently there is a spectrum ranging from Cowboy to Pirate)

Of course Toy Story is kind of an inspiration, but honestly, I kid ya not, Old Town Road was a big part in forming this guy’s character and you can decide how cursed that is.

Begleiter

Now, some of the inspiration around here gets a little more personal and deep to me.

This guy had a variety of inspirations, either drawing from things as bizarre as Dora the Explorer and those awkward creepy moments of her staring, to Daniella in Haunting Ground and her robot-like behavior -- to an app I had called W.oebot which was essentially made to help cope with mental health problems but always had me internally struggling. I knew this app was meant to help me, but I always felt this deeper sadness that the “person” I was talking to was just a pre-programmed app sending automatic messages in response to specific words, rather than a person genuinely listening and caring about what I was saying

(not judging anyone who would use this app and is helped by it, of course, just speaking of my own experiences and how I felt)

The human element wasn’t there and it could be deeply felt to me, and it inspired a lot about Begleiter and his own personality, especially in his past relationship or lack thereof with Emma, whose thoughts and emotions toward her and others could only be felt after he got his “upgrade” and a more humanoid body.

Serpentin

OOOOH Serpentin

His main inspirations were cryptids, body horror, a smol genuinely hilarious video of a cryptid-like man slowly creeping toward this dude in his garage, a game called “IT LIES” about a monster using yours and other people’s voices to lure it to you like prey, and Spongebob

........... a big helping of Spongebob

Subversion of a trope was another thing I was going for here, I wanted a genuinely creepy, terrifying looking character who based on appearances seemed like someone you’d want to hide in a closet from and cry over

But turns out this terrifying thing you just saw just saw you drop a penny and didn’t want you to lose it, so he came to return it to you, please don’t be sad

Clara Wilson

Clara is the... least fleshed-out character that I have, and I feel like that’s understandable, given that her own inspiration was from classic otome game/romance novel/dating sim characters, whose personalities and decisions and moral standings are usually given to them by the player rather than their own will

(Or, if they’re in a TV show or something, their personalities are kind of blank so that people can insert themselves more easily to the situation)

Her personality switches depending on the route she’s on, much like a protagonist in a dating simulator’s might. I’m still glad I added her on here, but XD I’d be lying if I said there was all that much to her, she’s just kind of a character that exists and has her personality filled out depending on who she’s interacting with, kind of like a character with literally dozens of AUs

[hidding-in-shadows]

weak endeavors chapter three: stay

@soulxmakaweek​

Summary: For SoMa Week 2019. Soul’s an underground boxer who’s just trying to make some extra money to start his own life, it’s not his fault that his trainer’s daughter seems to catch his eye, and he can’t seem to stop her from wiggling her way into his life. Mature for adult language and situations.

FFN Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13266914/1/weak-endeavors

Archive of Our Own Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549988/chapters/4396711

The punching bag seams were beginning to split.

Soul felt an ache in his knuckles as he flexed his hands again, his heartbeat in his ears and his breath echoing in the room. Spirit stood behind the punching bag, holding it steady, as Soul swung, counting how many punches he had thrown. (120 … 121 … 122 …)

"That's good for now," Spirit said, pushing the bag towards Soul who took a hop back. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, "I'll grab my gloves. The next guy you're up is big and uses a lot of offense."

"How do you even know all of these fighters," Soul stretched up, listening to the ache of his muscles, "I mean, you were out of the scene for a good five or so years."

Spirit was across the room. It was a storage garage that Spirit had, empty except for a punching bag, a few weights, a couple pieces of work-out equipment, and a crudely, painted box on the ground that represented the ring Soul would inevitably be fighting in. Soul walked to the edge of the room and leaned down towards his backpack, feeling around inside for a moment before he pulled out a water bottle. He took a few drinks before pouring a little on the back of his neck. When he turned around, Spirit had large, padded gloves on, ready for Soul.

"I'm pretty stealthy," Spirit said, "and I like to keep an eye on the crowd my Maka hangs out with."

"I don't hang out with other fighters," Soul scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he walked over to Spirit, "in fact, Maka's the one who introduced me to a few new people."

"Yeah, I've noticed you've been with her more."

"Sounds like it's struck a chord with you."

Spirit looked at Soul and then stepped forward swinging the glove. Soul ducked, and as he did so, pushed Spirit's arm away, side stepping to stand behind the man. Spirit turned back around, nodding approvingly before holding the gloves up for Soul to punch.

"I just don't like seeing my baby hanging out with … kids who are like how I was in my twenties."

"I'm not like you, old man," Soul huffed as Spirit took another swing. Soul ducked, this time grabbing Spirit's shoulder and pulling him down to Soul's knee, tapping the top of it to the man's stomach before going back into his regular stance.

"You're a fighter," Spirit held his hands up, "and we all have something in common."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"A little voice in the back of our head," Spirit made another swing and Soul dodged again, "telling us to go out and fuck something up. Or telling us that we're not good enough, or we need to prove something. It's different for each one, but it always brings us to the ring."

"I think that's called your conscious," Soul smirked.

Spirit caught Soul's fist between the two padded gloves, the older man's blue eyes hard and serious. Red strands of hair were glued to the sides of his face with sweat, and there was a sudden aging of his face, as if he was years older than he actually was.

"Don't try to deny it, don't ignore it, because otherwise you'll end up like me. You better find a way out of this, boy," Spirit's voice was low, "and don't hurt my daughter along the way."

---

The bar was crowded as expected on a Friday night.

Soul stood at the bar, more so leaned against it, sipping at a beer and people watching. Blake stood behind the bar next to Soul, grimacing as he wiped down an unknown sticky substance on the counter.

"So," Blake sighed, giving up on removing the stain, "is there a reason you suddenly stopped talking to Maka after, I don't know, a whole month of texting back and forth?"

The guilt in Soul's stomach twisted at his friends word. It was true, the two had grown closer after he spent the night at her apartment. He had woken up the next morning to the smell of coffee and toast. Him and Maka talked about work and her schooling and been very domestic. When they parted ways, Maka to the class she was a T.A. for and Soul to a training session with Spirit, she had given him a kiss on the cheek. And after that, they had texted back and forth non-stop. She would send him memes, he would snap pictures of different things that reminded him of her - book covers, posters, one time even the face of a grumpy cat he had seen in the window of a pet shop.

They had even gone out a few times, grabbed some Chinese food and relaxed at her apartment. And she had finally seen his apartment, her face flush when she walked in and Soul reminded her that she finally got a chance to come over and see his place for herself. There were met-ups at the local coffee shop down the street from the bookstore. She had even gone in a few more times, buying books to add to her never ending collection. She would sit in the windowsill with Blair in her lap, a book in hand, and a cup of tea in the other. But things had slowly begun to cross a line.

She would hold his hand when they walked down from the bookstore to the coffee shop after his shifts. There were times where he would throw an arm around the back of the couch during a game night, and she would snuggle right in, place her own hand on his thigh. And, the kisses.

They had started that day she kissed his cheek.

(Or did he start it with the whisper of a promise and a kiss on the back of her hand, like some sort of fucked up prince.)

Maka was affectionate, there was no denying that. Her and Liz and Patti always greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek. She was always holding someone's hand when she was with the group, typically Patti's or Jackie's. She would always sit close to the person she was next to as well, shoulders touching.

But, whenever she was with him, they were constant. First it had been cheek kisses, her planting them on him as she left, and the one occasion he gave her one as he left her apartment after a Chinese food night. Then, there were casual pecks against his shoulder, his back, and even on the scar on his right knuckle from an old fight. She would pass him in the bookstore and drift her fingers along his back, peck a kiss to his shoulder, and then disappear into the bookshelves. In her apartment on game nights, she would stand in the kitchen, their friends laughing in the living room, and he would stand behind her as she washed various cups and plates, rubbing her shoulders. He would lean down and plant a kiss on the nap of her neck when he was done, and each time she would sigh and relax, as if that was the only thing she needed to take the tension away.

But they had yet to actually kiss. And he knew it was only a matter of time.

He had felt Spirit's words weigh down on him after their training session earlier in the week. The fact that the man had pinpointed the exact reason Soul was fighting, the little nagging voice in the back of his head. He didn't want to admit it, and always tried to deny it, but it seemed like Soul was more like Spirit than he originally thought. So, when Spirit brought up Maka, Soul knew there was only one way to keep her safe from the epic downfall he was going to eventually go through. And that was to push her back out of the life she had so easily found her way into.

"Over her," Soul shrugged, wincing at the burn of the alcohol he had chugged after uttering those words.

"I call bullshit," Blake hissed, leaning forward, "that's the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard. You two were more of a married couple than any of us."

"I'm not good for her, man," Soul turned around and leaned his arms on the bar, clenching the beer bottle between his hands, "Spirit … he was right when he said I was like him. I'm not gonna fuck up Maka's life, not when she's got a whole career ahead of her. Did you know she's working on a thesis about the impact women had in history and the removal of their names and who replaced them? Dude, I barely even knew what a thesis was, and she's putting that shit together? It could start her whole career, her professor is some big, history buff who goes around the world for conferences."

"Dude," Blake sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, "the fact that you even just told me that about her proves that you're not over her."

"Whatever," Soul turned back around and downed the rest of his drink, "I'm not good for her."

"Yeah, after you promised her you weren't a total fuck up," Soul choked on the beer that he was swallowing as he heard Blake's words, "yeah, man, I know about that. I was Maka's friend before yours, and she's not gonna let some serious shit like that slide. It's basically my purpose in life to council the two of you and make you see how stupid you guys are for not realizing your infatuation for each other."

"You're using too many words to be the real Blake," Soul put the empty bottle on the counter and glanced across the bar to where an old clock hung, "I got a fight in thirty, I'm heading down."

"Whatever," Blake gabbed the empty bottle, "but don't come bitching to me when she finds some new, hot historian boyfriend and you're missing her."

Soul flicked Blake off and pushed through the backdoor of the bar, going into the back room where they stored various bottles, glasses, and cleaning supplies. A hinged door on the bottom of the floor lead down to the basement. Soul huffed as he opened it and the sound of voices echoed up into the back room. He descended the steps, stopping part way down to close the doors back up. Once he reached the bottom, he was met by familiar faces of bystanders and betters. They smiled, raised their drinks at him, slapped him on the back, but he knew that everyone was betting against him tonight.

The guy he was going up against was named Ragnarok, which was a self-given name because the guy thought he was bad ass. He was tall, about six foot two, and weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds, all muscle. So, it was no surprise that once Soul disappeared into the locker room that everyone got a little bit louder and a little more excited about his inevitable loss.

He began his routine, changing into his shorts and stretching his muscles. He was beginning to wrap his knuckles in black when someone slammed the door to the locker room open. He looked up, startled, to see Maka standing there in all her might.

She wore a short, plaid skirt and a cropped, white shirt with combat boots. Very school-girl-ish with her braided hair, but also very Maka. And very hot. Soul internally cursed at himself for the last thought.

"What the fuck," was all she said as she moved to close the locker room door, blocking him from leaving.

"Sorry," Soul went back to wrapping, "not too sure what fuck you are referring to."

"Oh, so funny," there was ice in her voice, "maybe the fuck you gave for me about a week ago? Or for the past month? Seriously, after the whole I don't leave people who are important to me speech?"

"Maka, can we really not do this right now, I have to go up against a big mother fucker and I would rather not -,"

"Oh, yeah your fight, I totally forgot about that. You know, against a fighter. A title you claimed was not applied to you, or at least not in the sense that you would go on and walk out on people who are important to you."

"Maka -,"

"I mean, Christ," she let out a frustrated laugh, "have you seen my dad? He's a big pile of hot garbage! He doesn't know what to do with his life now that my mom's gone. And there are days where I can barely even talk to him without getting pissed. And he's helping you train? Do you really wanna go down that path? I mean, you've already run away from me, just like he did with my mom, and -,"

"We're not a couple," Soul snarled, pulling the wrap tightly around his hand, "sorry blondie, but I'm not your little boyfriend, so you have no right to compare … whatever we had with your parents."

He watched her flinch as if he slapped her. There was a change in her eyes, from anger to sadness, tears forming for a split second before they hardened again. She nodded once and then twice and took a big breath.

"Yeah," her voice was raspy, threatening to break, "whatever we had. Got it. Heard you loud and clear that time."

"Maka," Soul sighed and stood up, one hand wrapped and the other holding the loose one he had, "please just … we need to have a proper conversation about this, and it can't be done right before a big fight."

"Your fight, of course, how could I be so stupid," she spat, and then turned on her heel, "go break a leg or some shit."

Soul cursed to himself as she left, slamming the door closed behind her. He felt anger boil up inside of him and he let out a grunt of anger before slumping back onto the bench and laced his fingers into his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration.

Forget her and go fight.

"Fuck you," Soul spat at the voice in his head and sat up, gripping the wrap for his other hand.

She's done, just get out there and beat something up.

"Fuck," Soul groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, "I'm so fucked."

---

He wins the fight in a surprising landslide. Ragnarok was big but clumsy. His punches were slow and predictable, and within the first few minutes, Soul had landed a few good hits in his opponent's face before landing a hard one in the man's jaw, knocking him out.

"Have another on the house," Blake said as he slid Soul another beer. Soul passed his friend the empty bottle he had, "geez, she really dug into you, huh?"

"Less talking, more drinking," Soul groaned, taking a swig. His head was already beginning to pound, a combination of the fight and drinks. But, he had a wallet stuffed with enough money to cover rent for the next two months and some groceries, so he was happy enough.

"Don't look now," Blake said, "but here she comes."

"Fuck," Soul dropped his head as Blake wished him good luck and walked further down the bar to help other customers. Soul peeked up when he heard Maka clear her throat. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were dilated and there was a beer in her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, a slur to her words, "and yes, I know I'm … tipsy? But let me just … I'm sorry for ass-assuming there was something going on, or even implying it. You know what they say about assuming stuff."

"It's okay, blondie," Soul hummed, turning towards her and taking a sip of his drink, "I know there hasn't been a real line or definition."

"Well, I'm like that with all my friends," she sighed, suddenly plopping down on the stool next to his, "I always give them cheek kisses and hold their hands."

"And have solo Chinese nights, and cuddle on the couch, and leave lingering touches …,"

"Whooooops," Maka giggled and took another sip of her drink.

"Maka, I think you might be a little more than tipsy."

"Soul," Maka rolled her eyes, "I am a grown ass women, I know when I am drunk and when I'm -," she stopped talking as she stood up, suddenly swaying. Soul quickly reached out with his free hand, grabbing her waist and steadying her. She flushed as she looked up at him and then pushed his hand away, clearing her throat. "Okay, maybe I'm … a liiiiittle drunk."

"I'm gonna get you an Uber," Soul sighed, pulling his phone out.

"Nooooo," she leaned forward and tried to steal his phone, but instead stumbled into him, her hands falling onto the tops of his thighs and her face pressed against his chest, "whoops again."

"Okay, I'm taking this," Soul plucked her half-drunk beer from where she sat and leaned over the counter of the bar to hide it, "and I'm getting an Uber now."

"I don't wanna go home alone," she moved her hands to his chest now, green eyes wide and her lip pouty.

"Don't worry angel, I'll make sure you get home safe," Soul smirked and watched as her rosy cheeks turned read, followed by a flush on her neck. "Come on, let's wait outside. Did you come alone?"

"Yeah," she leaned into his side and Soul wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to keep her steady, "I got Black Star, I mean Blake," she giggled at the mention of his old name, "to tell me-to tell me where you were. And then I walked over. I … I didn't think I'd drink this much but …,"

"But then I was an asshole, and you were an asshole," Soul laughed as Maka slapped him on the chest.

"You were more of the asshole than me," She grumbled, "mister-mister I don't fuck over the-the people I like, bullshit."

"I was trying to protect you," they had made it outside now and Soul let her go, turning towards her, "I had a talk with your dad and … he made me realize some stuff."

"Well there's your first mistake," she poked him in the chest, glaring with a drunken gaze, "you talked to my Papa."

"My bad," Soul smiled at her, amused by her drunk-self, "look the Uber is here. Please don't throw up."

"I can hold my alc-alcohol, thank you veeeeery much."

They slid into the back of the car and Maka quickly curled up into Soul's side, her head on his chest and a hand across his stomach as she drifted off. It was a short drive, only a few minutes long, but she had somehow managed to pass out. The ride was quiet and Soul watched as the streetlights passed, feeling the warmth of her on him and trying to ignore the fact that pushing Maka Albarn out of his life wasn't going to work.

When they got to her apartment complex, he helped her up that stairs, unlocked her door, and even helped her sit on the couch. He told her to take her shoes off while he went to grab a glass of water for her. When he got back, her boots and socks were off and now her hands were gripping the hem of her shirt, starting to pull up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Soul said urgently, putting the water down quickly and placing his hands on top of hers to stop her, "I'm still here you know."

"I know," Maka pouted, "but I'm not comfy and I wanna be comfy."

"Okay, ah, let me get you something to wear then," Soul left, disappearing down the hall and into her room.

It was dark but he could make out the shape of her dresser across the room. He already knew she kept a stack of oversized shirt in the top drawer because he borrowed one once. (He had secretly hoped that day that they would trade places, that she would borrow one of his shirts.) He reached into the drawer, grabbed a random one, and went back out.

Maka was now laying on the couch, half of the water gone, and she had an arm thrown over her face. Her skirt was now flipped up and he could see the pale color of her panties. He sighed, pushed the nagging thoughts in his mind away, and kneeled next to her. He mimicked their situation from a month ago and poked at her cheek. Maka cracked a single eye open, peering from under her arm. She glanced at the shirt he had presented to her and hummed happily. Before he saw anything else, Soul turned and walked back into the kitchen.

He returned with a peanut butter sandwich and left it on the coffee table. Maka's clothes were now tossed over the couch and she had managed to pull the blanket that she kept on the top of the couch over herself. Soul kneeled down again.

"Maka," he said gently.

"Sooooul," she replied, turning to smile at him, "thanks for helping me."

"Of course blondie," he ruffled her hair a bit, "any time. Especially if I can watch you embarrass yourself."

"Are you leaving?" She pouted at him as he stood up.

"Yeah, you need sleep," Soul turned and started to walk away but felt a hand wrap around his wrist. He looked back at Maka to see her sitting up slightly, a sadness in her eyes.

"No," she whispered, "stay with me."

"Maka …,"

"Please? I promise I don't drool or snore."

"We both know that's a lie, you've fallen asleep on me before."

"I just …," she looked down at where she held his wrist, moving her hand to grip his own hand, "I'm sorry we fought and I'm sorry about … the stupid stuff I said about my parents. I just want us to go back to … whatever we had."

"Okay angel," Soul said, and she looked up at him quickly, her green eyes hopeful and happy.

(He knew he wouldn't be able to say no to her from day one.)

Soul toed his shoes off as Maka sat up some more. He sat down, and she tugged on the hem of his shirt, urging him to lay with her. After looking at her puppy dog eyes, he sighed and moved further down, pulling the blanket over himself as well. Maka purred happily and snuggled down, turning herself towards him. In an instant her leg was tossed over his hip, and her hands were pressed against his chest. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, and Soul was still trying to figure out where to put his hands when he heard her begin to gently snore.

He looked down at her, watching her eyes flicker in a dream, and wondered just what he had gotten himself into. Again.

[zedncandler]

So this is Candler, whose real name is Marcellus Hoar, and later Beezl, after he marries his lifetime crush Zedinal Beezl. They have two children together, and two grandchildren.

He is 6'10 and his "default age" (as in, the age I most often picture him as) is 27. He is abnormally tall for his race, which usually top out at most around 5'5. He is this tall because he has hormonal issues, which also cause him to have an extreme metabolism and issues with energy and sleep. He has to take medication to sleep well and to wake up properly. He tends to sleep curled around Zed or curled around a body pillow.

Depending on the part of the story we're talking about, Candler goes from scrawny, to lightly muscled but still underweight, and then after moving in with Zed and getting regular feedings, he gets some proper padding, and eventually as he gets older he gets a softer belly.

He is a candle-maker, and a former sex worker. He sells his candles in Zed's cafe. When the children are old enough to go to school and until they move out, Candler works in a factory to bring in extra money (although it certainly wasn't required). He retires back to helping Zed with the cafe after the kids move out.

He is a cis man and pansexual / omnisexual (I keep going back and forth on which), but leans gay.

He went by the pseudonym Candler Juarez for several years, taking the last name of his adoptive family, but his real name is Marcellus. Only his little sisters knew his real name until he finally told Zed.

Candler doesn't go by Candler anymore and doesn't like going by nicknames, because they remind him of the traumatic years he spent under his pseudonym, except Zed is allowed to call him Marcie.

He is incredibly allergic to almonds, and has problems with anxiety, PTSD, panic disorder, and might be autistic.

Candler's best friend is a cishet man named Seth who owns a very successful sex shop, and is an amateur filmmaker who records homemade porn for customers, who also helps local sex workers find clients. Candler wound up under the latter but they really hit it off. Candler has hit on Seth a few times but it's all in good humour.

He is triggered by things around his neck, except for body parts. Meaning, he is triggered by necklaces, rope, ties, etc. He can stand a high collar, as long as it's wide/open rather than being against his neck and throat. He goes into a panic attack when something is put around his neck.

And thanks to his experience with abuse, he was terrified of even being affectionate with Zed around his sisters and around his children. He just doesn't want to traumatize them like he was traumatized. It isn't until the kids are teenagers that he finally starts to relax about it.

His tail is long and strong, and can twist in tight coils like a snake can. However, for his race, tails are incredibly personal, so it is incredibly rude to touch it, almost comparable to touching someone's breasts/chest without permission. If you are touched by the tail of someone of his race, it's considered a very serious sign of affection, intimacy, etc.

He has like no body hair because his race doesn't grow a lot of hair outside their head and their tails. The fur on their tails is lighter than their head hair, but the poof on the end can be any colour or combination of colours.

He has ram horns growing from the sides of his head that don't stop growing, so he has to sheer them.

More information about his race's anatomy here.

He likes to wear pretty dresses but feels embarrassed about doing it publicly. He's fine around his own family, and often was the princess in distress when his kids played pretend with him.

His favourite colours are blue and green. He likes cats and posts cat memes on Facebook when he gets older. He also likes to dance but isn't good at it. He typically likes electronic dance music or anything like it.

After the kids are older, he gets a tattoo across his torso, of dandelions and green leaves/grass, because Zed's favourite flower is dandelions.

He has two twin little sisters, named Tamantha and Tiffany.

Here are a five songs that remind me of Candler:

Sofi Tukker - Batshit

Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)

Basic Element - Queen of Love

Bloodhound Gang - The Bad Touch

Sin With Sebastian - Shut Up (And Sleep With Me)

NSFW details below the back story, so you guys don't have to read it if you don't want to.

His backstory is this:

TW for pedophilia, sexual abuse, rape, child abuse

Candler was born into an abusive family. His family was also traditionalist with his race's values of having as many kids as possible, and they also always have twins, triplets, etc, but his parents had a hard time conceiving. Candler only had 3 older siblings, and was born with a stillborn twin. His parents were warned that if either survived the pregnancy that they would likely be developmentally delayed... whether that turned out true or not is hard to say, because they immediately assumed he was and treated him poorly for it.

They treated him terribly, basically taking out their frustrations on him, including not letting him go to school and leaving him alone at home, and not getting him any toys or clothes or anything. In fact, the first time they left him with a babysitter, he was genuinely afraid they would never come back - because they would definitely be back for their stuff, but if he’s not at home then they have no reason to come back.

But it was when he was being left at a babysitter's that he met Zed, and Zed was basically the only kid who was nice to him and actually wanted to be his friend (because the other kids took from the adults, who took from his parents that he was a problem child). He developed a crush on Zed, but never got to express it because he was so painfully shy. At this time, Candler was 9 and Zed was 5, but because Candler was so small and scrawny, Zed assumed they were the same age, and Candler was too shy to ever ask.

Soon after his little twin sisters were born, and then they all three got dropped off at an orphanage.

The orphanage was really awful and this was when he first experienced sexual abuse. The man who ran it took an interest in him and basically forced him to be around him all the time, and the man was an evil, violent man that exposed Candler to sex as well as murder in one instance. The nurses of the orphanage had been preparing a case against him to get the place shut down and him arrested, but he was warned before the raid and kidnapped Candler, while Candler's little sisters went to a proper home. They'd be separated until he was an adult.

The man left him with a poor family that he had power over so that he knew they’d never turn him in for child abuse and kidnapping. Out of fear of the man, they didn't let Candler attend school or even go to the doctor's. In fact, they often dealt with any time Candler was sick with a fake doctor that was conning them, often making Candler sicker and messing with him bad, which is how Candler developed his phobia of doctors, needles, and medicine. Originally I had written this was how he got ridiculously tall and other hormonal problems but that seems far-fetched.

His hypersexuality started emerging and the orphanage man found out by discovering him masturbating and was disgusted by it, cutting the family off entirely for "ruining" him, putting them in more financial straits but at the same time relieving them of this evil man and letting them parent Candler at least a little more securely, though they were still afraid to let him go to school. Eventually he started wandering and is preyed on by a guy who claimed to just be "teaching" him how things work, and that left him more reclusive and unsure how to handle his sexuality, and he didn't want to talk about it.

He gets picked up by a man in the gang he would eventually join, who skews his idea of sexuality even further by hammering in the whole "if your body reacts then you like it and it’s not rape" bullshit and basically making him his sex slave throughout the rest of his teen years, particularly through keeping him on a choke chain and demanding he wear it whenever he was with him. Through this man he would be made to "perform" for others in the gang, be used as a bartering tool, be attacked in other violent ways, be forced to attack others, etc. He developed anger issues, violent tendencies, suicidal thoughts, the idea that sex is bad/gross, etc and wound up leaving his family and then within the same week killing the man, both in a fit of rage. The messed up manner of hierarchy of the gang meant this let him "move up" which meant less traumatic events happened after this, but he had to developed some wits in order to avoid getting back in that position, and it didn’t always work (tw rape)...

Through this gang and sex work he was able to purchase an old, old storefront that... basically was just two rooms, a big front room and a back room, and lived in it, only a bed and a toilet and a little refrigerator. He learned candle-making from his adoptive family and tried to make a "decent" living, but couldn’t keep his hours, or stay neat, and the place was pretty... run down and creepy-looking. So he never really got to leave that gang as it was his main source of finances... until Zed heard about a struggling local business owner and sent him some money as a show of goodwill, thus he found his childhood friend again.

Through all this trauma he had been using memories of Zed to cope with it all, which is how he developed his unhealthy obsession with Zed.

So when he realized this was the same Zed he had known as a kid, he was through the roof happy.

However because of that unhealthy obsession he was often a harassing nuisance more than anything, constantly hitting on him, having no idea about personal space, etc. But he managed to worm into Zed’s heart at least enough that, when it came time again that Candler had no money, Zed invited him to live with him so he wouldn’t have to be doing the dangerous things he was doing for money, which was incredibly shocking to Candler because he had never had anyone be so genuinely caring to him (besides his sisters), and through all the trauma he endured he had kind of gotten the idea that he wasn’t a person either. So even though he had idolized Zed this whole time, it was still shocking. Although, he later realized just how much his adoptive family tried for him, and makes up with them later.

After some time of living together, Candler realized Zed had been sexually assaulted because Zed had a shut down from Candler's pestering, recognizing symptoms he had himself in Zed's behaviour, and made a promise to pull back the shenanigans while also swearing to find his assailant and killing them. Not long after, Zenidal, Zed's sister and rapist, tried to attack Zed again and Candler walked in on it, and managed to get Zed away from her and beat her up. From Zed’s point of view she never bothered him again after that and he assumed she had finally become a better person, but in reality Candler kidnapped her and left her for dead among his gang mates.

After that the two got closer, with Candler not only becoming less abusive but also just in general learning gradually about all the things that are Not Okay that he had internalized. He was quickly coming to realize that what he was doing wasn’t really love, but obsession. He became a much better person, which was when Zed finally started getting more feelings for him. But because of his own trauma, Zed was freaking out. He had never really had a sexual interest in his life and was confused and afraid of his feelings. A lot of confusion and awkward stuff happened but eventually Zed confessed his feelings and they got together. There was still more confusion and awkward stuff for a while, though, as they both worked towards a healthier idea about relationships and stuff. It is when Zed confesses that Candler reveals to him his real name is Marcellus.

Then Candler tried to escape the gang he was in, which then attacked Zed, which lead to Zed being told that Candler had killed people, including Zed’s sister, and supposedly had assaulted people, which made Zed question their entire relationship. But before he could really deal with that, Candler was hospitalized and put into a coma over the rescue attempt, and Zed discovered Candler had been planning to propose, which made things... a lot harder to deal with. But he still loves Candler, and when Candler comes to, Zed demands he talk about literally everything in his life. Which did mean confessions of violence, but as it turned out the sexual abuse was actually “by proxy” (as in, he was being forced with physical violence and death threats, and this all happened while he was a teen, so *he* didn’t actually do it). For a while it was very awkward between them, it was difficult to wrestle with, but in the end Zed forgave him, because most of it was retaliation and, again, Zed still loved him.

They got married soon after that, and soon after that they discovered Zed was pregnant, which turned out to be twins, and that was some incredible hardship for both of them but everything turned out. The reason Zed became pregnant was literally a miracle - the god of their world, Tito, has a mortal disguise of which Zed and Candler knew personally, and the demigod Nanny was created by Tito as a way to take care of himself, and so as Nanny’s last kid he decided to grant Zed a brief moment of fertility as a “wedding present”. Of course they don’t know he’s really a god and that he did that, they just know there was a miracle and they couldn't be happier. Their names are Vincent, who goes by Vinny, and is a boy, and Josephine, who goes by Jo and is nonbinary and goes by fae pronouns. Later, their son marries a trans girl named Paisley and they adopt a child of their own, a 5 year old boy named Jubilee. Jo helped them adopt, and then got sort of jealous and so adopted a teenage boy and is a single parent.

And Candler never really thought he’d live past the age of 30, but now he's a grandpa. How crazy is that!?

NSFW details:

His dick is 6.8 inches and he's a shower, not a grower. He is intact, as circumcision does not exist in his world. He is also notably thicker than human average, with bigger balls too. However, this isn't unusual for his race, and despite his hormonal problems he's only slightly larger than

their

average. He also has a huge load, but that's average for his race too.

He's a switch but he leans more to the submissive side, especially for Zed. He likes having his ass pounded hard, likes a little bit of BDSM. He likes being teased and doing the teasing. Again, he's hypersexual, so when Zed shows initiative it really excites him.

However, he is also triggered by consuming his own cum, thanks to a specific instance in which he was abused that way.

He humps in his sleep, but it's not always sexual. He does definitely sleep fuck though. He often doesn't remember it, only waking up enough to finish the act. It's also not unusual to find him sucking Zed's cock in his sleep, like one might suck pacifier, but he never remembers that.

He has problems with premature ejaculation, especially in connection to anxiety.

[rogueandcr-blog]

Headcanon #001–– Captive

Note: Developed from an ask meme about headcanons (which I will link back to this later) and some parts of the novelization I had highlighted for this specific reason.

* = Comes directly from the novelization, and I am in no way claiming credit for these two quotes in particular. 

**Warning**: I am putting this under a read more and tagging it with trigger warnings, but I’d also like to let you know here that this headcanon deals with subject matter that may be triggering. Mentions of violence, blood, and somewhat graphic description of torture. Also though it is never directly addressed as such, there are implications of ptsd as well. Please take caution before reading, because your comfort and safety is most important to me. Thanks!

When things went wrong, he was quickly learning they went wrong fast, and most of the time there would be little or no warning. One moment, he was ducking behind a building to meet with one of his informants, the next he was flat on his back with a blaster pressed to his forehead. If he could have looked about two meters to his left, he would have seen his informant in a similar predicament. He had been lead into a trap.

The trooper holding him down lifted the blaster from his head, and Cassian closed his eyes, prepared for this to be it. Nothing. Just as he opened his eyes once more, he caught the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the handle just before it came down an inch from his temple.

He woke up in a dark cell. Alone.

Leev, the informant he was supposed to meet, was nowhere in sight. Everything was silent but the ragged, unsteady intervals of breath he took. He could not remember how long he sat in dark silence, hours even days perhaps.

He was sure he would die of dehydration in that cell, when finally two troopers and an Imperial officer decided to pay their rebel prisoner a visit.

“They're requesting your presence for this,” the officer drawled– he sounded bored by the whole situation, as though it was some menial task he would have rather pawned off on some underling.

Cassian was forced out of the cell and into a sterile, white refresher, where he was hastily ordered to “wash up and make yourself presentable,” by one of the helmeted figures. When Cassian dared to ask why it mattered so much, he was given the cryptic response, “you’ll find out soon enough.”

Once he was as presentable as he could be while emaciated, he was all but dragged to another cell. While this one was not unlike the previous, it was better lit and clean, where the other was dark and reeked of filth. Here he was given water and something that could barely be considered edible, but to Cassian it was easily one of the best things he'd tasted. Given the command to wait, he was once more drowned in silence, only this time it was broken before he had the chance to question much of anything.

The same officer as before walked through the door, taking a deliberate step out of the wall and against the wall, making room for the cloaked figure that followed.

Looming over every trooper Cassian had encountered, this person brought with them an air of intimidation. Cassian’s mouth went as bone dry as it had been only minutes prior, as he kept his eyes trained on the newest arrival making their way towards him.

An intense unease fell over Cassian, as though the stranger was staring straight at him, but they quickly turned their head back toward the officer.

“Bring him in.”

The officer snapped his fingers and in seconds, Leev stood before them– no, not standing, being held up by two troopers at each arm. He looked worse for wear, like he'd spent the majority of his time in captivity being put through the ringer. When he looked to Cassian, his eyes were pleading– pleading not for the guards to have mercy on him, but for Cassian, for him to find a way to get them out of there. Cassian knew he could show no sign of recognition, so instead he gave Leev a stony glance and nothing more.

“Do you know this man?” a deep voice asked from behind he black helmet. It took Cassian a moment to realize it was him being addressed.

“I saw him as I was walking home from the market. Before I was arrested.” A whimper escaped Leev at Cassian’s cover. Cassian silently questioned this strange gesture.

The noise from under the helmet– one which Cassian finally deduced belonged to the elusive Darth Vader, whom many on the rebel base spoke of in hushed tones– was even less reassuring. It sounded almost like a chuckle cut short by a heavy, mechanical breath. “You can spare the petty lies, Captain. Your little spy here told my associate you were meeting him to discuss sensitive information sent from the former Senator Organa.”

Cassian did not dare respond this time, only a bit fearful he would meet the same fate as Leev. The foolish child Cassian once was would have made a smart remark, accusing the other man of lies, but he was now nineteen and a Captain. If he fell for such provocation, all of his training would have been for nought.

“I was hoping if I reunited the two of you, maybe we could all hear that message you were sent to deliver.” Once more he was being tested– if he spoke, so much as uttered a word, he would most likely be struck where he stood. If he could hold out, maybe they would hold out too.

“No? You won't tell me? Perhaps I could loosen your tongue a bit. After all, if this man is to be believed, he spoke rather fondly of your way with words.”

The only true liar in the room was the Lord Vader. Leev did not know Cassian’s true identity, for that he was certain, nor who the message was from. Somehow, the masked man had obtained this information during the time Cassian spent in the cell.

Even still, Cassian did not dare open his mouth, utter a single word. Instead, his muscles tensed, braced for whatever method of extraction the man was prepared to use on him.

What happened next Cassian would never forget.

Leev let out a shriek of pure agony, unlike any sound Cassian had heard from a human before. If he was not being held up, he would have surely crumpled to the floor, doubled over in excruciating pain. His face was a horrible shade of red, a blood vessel throbbing on the left side of his forehead as he made unintelligible begging sounds.

Cassian tried to look away, but when he made to lower his head, he felt an invisible hand reach out to keep it firmly level with the scene in front of him. With gritted teeth, Cassian made every effort to fight against it, feeling the hand grip tighter until he tasted blood on his tongue.

“You will look at him, Captain Andor. You will watch him tear his own mind apart ‘til you feel ready to tell me more about this message.”

So this was it. Lord Vader was controlling both Cassian and Leev with the force. Cassian knew several Imperial leaders possessed these great abilities, but the young captain had never seen them used in such a violent manner. What he had seen before had come from rebels, Fulcrum and Jarrus of an off-base rebel cell, but nothing they had done had brought about anything like this. This was far from the peaceful defenders he had encountered, far from anything he had seen before.

“You can stop this any time, Cassian. You’ve become a prisoner to your mind, but it’s okay to let that go.” Vader’s tone was suddenly more calm, less demanding, and it frightened Cassian more than anything. It was as though the man was inside his head, playing with his mind until Cassian could bear it no longer. But even so, he was not the one truly being hurt in that moment, and it weighed on him that Leev would surely die if Cassian did not speak up.

He couldn’t, though, or at least that was what he told himself. If he caved, they would both be killed, as soon as the Empire got what they wanted. Everything Cassian had spent years fighting for would have been in vain. Still his silence persisted.

And all too suddenly, everything else went silent around him too, Leev’s cries cut off as though his breath had been taken from him.

“You clearly need to think this through–” Vader left the sentence open, like he was not sure whether he wished to say anything more or not. With a twitch of his hand, the slightest of movements, Leev gave a choking cry before his head fell lifelessly against his chest. A wave of the hand, and the troopers were out the door, dragging the man between them as though they were not phased at all by the actions of their leader. For all Cassian knew, this happened all too often that it had become a regular occurrence. Cassian, though–– for him this was all new.

Vader turned to the officer still standing by the door. “Take him back to the cell. We will try again after he’s had some time to weigh his options.” Seconds later, the officer had him by the arm, leading him back the way he had come. As he passed the dark figure, he was stopped momentarily. “Do try to understand, it would be wise for you to comply next time we meet.” Again Cassian bit the inside of his cheek, staring straight ahead through the open door. Vader must have waved them away like he had with the troopers, as he once more was being escorted back to the prison cell.

~~~

He was there once more for only a fraction of his original wait, when a rebel explosion caused a commotion large enough for Draven and a small extraction team to get Cassian to safety. Three weeks in med bay for malnourishment and psych evaluations– and two firm scoldings from his superior officers later– and he was back to work, being briefed for his next assignment. A scar just below his bottom lip was quickly covered up as Cassian willingly refused to shave the facial hair grown over the mark. A physical reminder hidden from prying eyes.

Years later, the week spent on the star destroyer still influenced so much of his life, of the decisions he made in the field. Where Leev once stood was now Tivik, the frightened informant with a wounded arm, who would be Cassian’s downfall if he let them get too close once more. Remembering Leev and the endless torture he was put through right in front of Cassian’s eyes, he knew his decision to pull the trigger was the right one.

They would’ve caught you, Tivik. You would’ve broken. You would’ve died. And neither of us would deliver your message.*

Days later, on Jedha, he found himself in a prison cell once more. When prompted by Chirrut to calm down, once more Cassian found himself lying. He told the man and his friend he had never been imprisoned before. It was a lie he’d taught himself to tell, only a month after he had returned to the base from his capture. The less people knew about his past, the easier it was to pretend it had never happened. The easier it became to push the past aside, the less shame burdened his mind whenever he closed his eyes and saw Leev’s tortured expression play out across his eyelids.

The guardian’s next comment struck a chord, reminded him too much of the words a man clothed in black once used to coax a secret out of him. Cassian turned away this time, was given the freedom to ignore this man’s words, but it did not prove that easy. Chirrut had seen enough to know Cassian had lied to him, probably knew that his words had hit deeper than he intended, because he spoke no more.

One more payment.*

[musclemanveryregular]

[ID: Muscle Man dressed as batman, it is raining and water is running down his suit. Behind him is mordecai who also has rain dripping off him. Muscle Man says, "this is where I watched my father die, Mordecai." and Mordecai replies, "Cowabummer!" /end ID]

[corneliussteinbeck]

GGS Spotlight: Suzanne Ko

Name: Suzanne Ko Age: 44 Location: Chicago, IL

What does being a Girl Gone Strong mean to you? Being a Girl Gone Strong means being a part of a community where I can have a voice. Growing up, I felt intimidated to speak up for myself. In a world where women are subjected to social pressures, bullying and body shaming, I want my daughter to know she has a community she can be part of — free of judgment.

How long have you been strength training, and how did you get started? I was never very athletic as a child and didn’t get into strength training until after college (via group fitness classes). I grew up in a very traditional Chinese household. Instead of participating in sports, my parents wanted me to focus on academics and playing the piano. It wasn’t until I discovered kettlebells in 2012 that I got serious about strength training.

What does your typical workout look like? Before I gave birth to my daughter, a typical workout would consist of mobility, Original Strength resets, kettlebell lifts (swings, goblet squats, presses, Turkish get-ups, loaded carries), bodyweight exercises (chin-ups, TRX rows, push-ups) and metabolic finishers (sleds, battle ropes). Postpartum, I have been focusing more on mobility, Original Strength resets, kettlebell deadlifts, kettlebell goblet squats, Turkish get-ups and movement flow. When I’m sleep deprived, sometimes I just want to work on diaphragmatic breathing, which is what my body usually needs.

Favorite lift: My favorite lift is the barbell deadlift. The weight room always intimidated me and I always felt self-conscious. Learning this lift gave me the confidence to be able to “play with the big boys”. Walking up to the platform and owning a heavy lift is very empowering.

Most memorable PR: I was working with a coach and one of my main goals was to learn the barbell deadlift. I fell in love with it after pulling my heaviest one rep max at the Tactical Strength Challenge (235 pounds). My next goal was to pull two times my bodyweight. I was mentally stuck around 255 pounds. I needed to get out of my own head. I walked into the gym prepared to get past 255.

After I completed my warm-up sets, several doubts flooded my mind. I knew I had to stay focused and just visualize the lift. During the sticking point of the lift, I stuck through it and completely surprised myself at lockout. I pulled 265 pounds easily! I hit this PR shortly before I became pregnant. I used this same strategy during the labor and delivery of my daughter. Having an induced and unmedicated labor required the same focus and visualization with each contraction, similar to pulling a heavy deadlift.

Top songs on your training playlist:  My playlist is an eclectic mix of music styles. Music powers my workout and certain songs help me get into the zone with certain lifts. For example, Queen’s “Under Pressure” calms me for a Turkish get-up, while House of Pain’s “Jump Around” will get me fired up for a heavy deadlift.

Jump Around, House of Pain

P.P., Naughty By Nature

Under Pressure, Queen

Sugar, Maroon 5

Top 3 things you must have at the gym or in your gym bag: Kettlebells, my music, and floor space to move.

Do you prefer to train alone or with others? Why? I prefer to train alone because it helps me to stay focused. Otherwise, I can get easily distracted! Music powers my training sessions and motivates me.

Most memorable compliment you’ve received lately: Being told I was inspiring. I have been passionate about changing the landscape in how to heal postpartum. Many women have reached out to me, thanking me for being vocal and honest about my postpartum healing. A mom told me she owes it to me for getting to her twin boys’ first birthday. She was in a lot of pain postpartum and I helped her to heal and get out of her pregnancy shell. I never expected to go down this path in my career, but my own birth experience has fueled me to help other moms heal.

Most recent compliment you gave someone else: I often tell moms I work with that they need to be kind to themselves. When the focus tends to be on their children, I remind them of where they started and how strong they have become.

Favorite meal: I enjoy food that is made well and sourced locally and sustainably wherever possible. I seek out chefs that source their ingredients from local farmers markets. Having a direct connection to my food is important to me, as it impacts my overall well-being. I have several favorite Chicago restaurants, but my favorite meal is at Cafe Des Artistes in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I try to celebrate my birthday there whenever feasible. It is a magical experience every time.

Favorite way to treat yourself: Sitting at my favorite cafe — with a mocha, a delicious pastry, a good book and my favorite tunes plugged in.

Favorite quote:  We’re not just missing movement — we’re missing nutritious movement; movement that includes all of the right bends and squishes at the right amount for all your parts to work optimally. — Katy Bowman

I just started reading Katy Bowman’s books and am fascinated about her perspective about nutritious movement. Our cells are just as affected by the movements we do and do not feed them as they are by the foods we do and do not feed them.

What inspires and motivates you?  When I can change the life of someone I work with, by improving their overall quality of their life.

What do you do? I am a certified personal trainer, yoga teacher, and kettlebell instructor. I teach my clients to train for everyday life, empowering them to train in any environment. I am a recent graduate of  Jessie Mundell’s Postnatal Fitness Specialist Academy and recently started working with a lot of moms.

I wanted to create a class for new moms and their babies that was not your typical Mommy and Me class. The purpose is to teach moms how to incorporate movement throughout their day, safely exercise and pick up their babies, and help their babies with their developmental milestones. The last component was inspired by my daughter, as she spent ten months in physical therapy, due to being born with a venous lymphatic malformation. It restricted her movement on the right side of her neck. Her physical therapist was wonderful, teaching us how movement improved her condition. The valuable information I learned has helped me teach moms to encourage more play with their babies.

What else do you do? As a new parent, I have not had much time these days! By the time I want to sit down to do anything, it is usually 11 pm at night. Naps are my new jam these days.

Your next training goal: Thanks to pelvic floor physical therapy, as well as breathing and alignment strategies, I healed my pelvic floor prolapse at 18 months postpartum. I look forward to getting back to my regular lifts without any symptoms. I miss kettlebell swings. I would like to get my unassisted pull-up back and am eyeing that double bodyweight deadlift.

For what are you most grateful? My daughter Gaby Mac. My husband and I started trying to conceive at age 42, due to life circumstances. While many couples have a difficult time conceiving, we are so blessed to be able to bring a life into this world naturally.

Of what life accomplishment do you feel most proud? The birth of my daughter. Becoming a parent is the hardest thing I have ever done, but also the most rewarding. I see the better version of me through Gaby Mac.

What message do you try to convey to the moms you work with? Society imposes a tremendous amount of pressure for moms to bounce back and get their “pre-baby body” back. Instead of celebrating that our amazing body created and carried a beautiful human being, we are expected to erase all evidence of it. I want moms to embrace their postpartum bodies and give the big middle finger to anyone who may de-value this great feat. Self-care is important as a mom. Give yourself time to heal. As with any injury, birth is no different. Your body has gone through a great deal of trauma. Respect the process. Seek help and do not be afraid to ask questions. Mom and musician Alexa Wilding sums it up beautifully, “We still left Point A to get to Point B. We should be proud of the steps we took to get there.”

Tell us about a time when you overcame fear or self-doubt. I’ve been an introvert since I was a child. I dreaded gym class. I was always fearful. It consumed me. When I started building muscle after regularly exercising, my mom told me to stop,  because my calves looked like the calves of a man. My parents focused on my weight, especially when I gained 30 pounds (from food sensitivities) before I got engaged. This reminds me of a meme that has been making the rounds, featuring artist Caroline Caldwell and a fitting statement: “In a society that profits from your self-doubt, liking yourself is a rebellious act.”

I compartmentalized these fears and self-doubts, until one day I finally had to come face-to-face with them. During my training for the StrongFirst Kettlebell certification, I feared overhead work with the heavier bells. When my coach asked me to perform a Turkish get-up with my eyes closed, the fear engulfed me. I felt my body tremble uncontrollably and a stream of tears came pouring down my face. I came to the realization that day that I needed to face my fears head on.

What’s the coolest “side effect” you’ve experienced from strength training? I have a better relationship with my body. I celebrate what I can do, such as pressing a heavy weight overhead, rather than achieving a certain physique. It has been a constant learning experience. I am learning how to train my body as a whole system, rather than the individual parts. I am taking better care of my body in my forties compared to my twenties and thirties.

How has lifting weights changed your life? Lifting weights have not only strengthened me physically but mentally. My confidence level has increased. Lifting weights have become my therapy, giving me the strength to tackle whatever life throws at me.

What do you want to say to other women who might be nervous or hesitant about strength training? Strength training gives us the tools to be independent, confident and strong in all aspects of our life. Our life loads (bags, kids, luggage, furniture, groceries) are heavier than those five-pound dumbbells. Life is heavy, so why are we not training for life?

You can connect with Suzanne on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

The post GGS Spotlight: Suzanne Ko appeared first on Girls Gone Strong.

from Blogger http://corneliussteinbeck.blogspot.com/2017/11/ggs-spotlight-suzanne-ko.html

[mollyjoycupcake]

I’m kind of in the mood where I hate my life.

I’m not sure what exactly is getting to me. It is most likely a combination of things... but I would really like it to be just one thing so i could take care of it and go back to enjoying my own existence. 

I keep feeling like my life lies somewhere in the future. I have a hard time acknowledging that my life is happening now as well. I guess this is partially true; after all, this is my last semester with my CC, and I can either take a break or move on to university from there. So, in a sense, a new chapter in my life does start in the future. And right now is that awkward, anticipatory stage.

Lately I have felt very strongly that I don’t want to be an engineer anymore. At least, not in this forseeable state. I don’t think I am mentally healthy enough to handle the rigors of the coursework. Even thinking about calculus makes me anxious. I tried to cope with it the best I could, but to no avail. I have come to the conclusion that, at least for now, I shouldn’t be putting too much stress on myself.

The psychological torture of my past life still seems to be tagging along with me. It is impossible to block out unless I am staying busy. Sometimes it feels like it is lurking in the shadows, waiting to come out and consume my new identity completely. My sense of “self” feels very fragile and unsolidified. I feel flaky and unsure about pretty much everything in the planet. This is not a pleasant sensation. I think that this has been worsened by my death-grip on my goal of engineering. After all, I originally clung to this degree program to both spite my past and to assert an identity for myself. Although this seemed to carry me through the past three years (which were especially painful), it seems to no longer serve its purpose. Now it seems to provide a time capsule of my past pain and need for belonging. At minimum, I need a break from the discipline to continue growing. However, I feel in my gut that it’d be best to forgo it altogether and choose another life path for myself.

I have had nightmares every single night for about a month now. Literally. Every. Night. They usually have a common theme: lack of control. For example, one of my dreams (which is recurring) involves a natural disaster that I am trying to escape from. When I try to run to the shelter, I either cannot run fast enough to escape the threat, or the doors are shut by the time I get there. No matter what, I cannot seem to will myself to run faster. Another dream that I had last night involved a woman that resembled my mother. She broke my beloved headphones (which I use to essentially escape the world- one of my means of direct control) and refused to replace them. She backed up her refusal with bible verses and religious babble. Nobody in the room backed me up. I felt powerless. In another dream, which was particularly distressing, I was a small bird that had its wings violently ripped off by a larger, ugly bird of prey.

On top of all of this, I can’t help but wonder if I am lesbian. Sometimes I am so focused on women that I forget that men even are an option. When I am in the bar, I only check out women. The majority of men really just gross me out or make me feel resentful. It doesn’t help that I am at the wonderful age where I seem to get catcalled or leered at everywhere I go. This is definitely another situation that I feel no control in. Whenever a man treats me that way, I feel so angry. I want to lash out and hurt them. I want them to feel abused and objectified. I frequently fantasize about inflicting physical harm, like breaking their nose. But I know that if I even acknowledge them, they have won in some way. So most of the time, I hold my tongue and keep walking. But, oh god would I love to just destroy them. 

I have bouts where I feel extremely angry about my past. Last night, I saw a photo of someone on facebook that reminded me of my ex husband. I immediately felt rage and disgust. “How could I have dated someone so ugly and deplorable?” “I should have never given him the time of day...” These thoughts overwhelmed my mind. I HATE HATE HATE how my bad decisions have created a history of me giving away my own power. I HATE looking back and seeing myself as so submissive and codependent to such disgusting people. My ex was racist and sexist and an alcoholic. His soul was putrid. If I could go back in time I would stop myself from ever even making eye contact with that disgusting creature.

Where are the good people at? I need to surround myself with people with good souls. But they seem so rare. It feels unfair that the world is full of trashy people.

Being surrounded by people like that to this day makes me feel assaulted. It feels like the hole in my heart gets bigger every time I meet someone that does not have love and peace in their heart. I crave that love and that peace so badly. Yet most people I encounter on a daily basis are vile and operate in a very poorly evolved state of mind. People don’t SEE me. And I can’t SEE them. It is sometimes so unnerving to look into someone’s eyes and not be able to detect the soul. Where is it?

In addition to people around me being not-so-great, I really haven’t been too kind to myself either. Although I have been exercising and making an effort to nourish my body, I still seem to be steeping in a broth of my own pain and negativity. I have been very critical of myself. I keep feeling like a failure and like I don’t deserve to earn my degree this fall. I feel like I have not performed as well as I could have. I feel like I am too depressed sometimes to even get up and put on clean clothes. But I want to be able to wake up and attack the day! I want to be that girl that busts ass in the gym every day and slams out her schoolwork and gets all A’s- while eating fabulously healthy and maintaining flawless skin and hair. That is all I really crave at this point in time. I want to feel like I am taking care of myself to the best of my ability. Every time I put on a jacket that feels too small, or shoes with a hole in them, I feel like I’m slowly whittling away at my sense of self worth. I am always afraid to invest in myself, however, because I get anxious about my money. There is also the part of me that strongly believes that I don’t deserve ANYTHING. I feel like I deserve to be homeless and hungry and ugly. I feel like I deserve to be punished. I feel like I am wasting cells and atoms with my body. I don’t believe that people like me, or that I am capable of making anyone happy. I don’t think that I am capable of making myself either. I feel obsessed with accomplishing my goals because I feel like it will finally make me WORTHY. I feel like once I have a degree, people will like me, and most importantly, I will like me. Right now, I feel kind of worthless for a variety of reasons: I don’t have an expensive car, my skin still breaks out, my teeth aren’t perfectly white, my boobs aren’t big enough, I’m not muscular enough, my tan isn’t even, I have too many freckles on my body, my posture sucks, I don’t have a degree, I’m not some prodigy kid that can have a PHD in a snap (at least i don’t think i am), I don’t keep up with enough of my hobbies, I spend too much time just looking at memes, i dont eat healthy, my self control isn’t always great, etc. This list is constantly running through my head. I try to silence it by trying to solve the issue, and it seems to work. But I know that some of these things will take time. My degree will take time. It will take time to get more muscle bulk. And that kind of frustrates me and makes me feel like I’m not in control. 

Most of all, I don’t know who I am! I don’t know what career I want. For now, fuck engineering. It’s not worth it anymore. I don’t want to spend my college years slaving away at my desk watching smoke pour out of my ears only to graduate and do the exact same thing at an engineering job. I want to travel! I want to perform! I want to be surrounded by beauty. I want to be around beautiful scenery, beautiful people, beautiful music, and delicious food. I need tranquility and excitement. I want to feel ALIVE. I want to feel loved. I want to feel like I am growing every single day. I want people to know who I am. I really want to be around cute birds. Maybe I’d like to even have my own parrot. I want to have beautiful outfits to wear and regular manicures and I always want to feel like I look beautiful. I want to feel secure in myself and know that I can rely on myself to be these things. I won’t want my life to be a constant juggling act between working too hard on myself and letting myself go. 

[musclemanveryregular]

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THATS MY BLOG THERE!!!!!

@jame7t

[musclemanveryregular]

[ID: in the first panel is mordecai from regular show asking human Twilight Sparkle from MLP, "whats wrong twilight?" She replies, "I have something For you, but...." in the next panel we see a drawing of her from behind, she is holding a bag with a soap bar, head and shoulders shampoo, and deodorant. She says "...promise not to get mad, okay?" /end ID]

You know who else could really use a wish right now?

[musclemanveryregular]

[ID: Margaret from regular show ironing out a bi pride flag. I drew her myself. /end ID]

Original image:

[ID: An older fem presenting person, ironing out the same flag. I did not draw this. /end ID]