#sometimes i feel like all i do is just work and survive

[pretzel-box]

CHAPTER 5 | Masterlist for AASB here!

Tags: Threats, Violence, not proof read

Words: 5k

Authors Note: I had to rewrite it all in the middle of the night. It's not proof read and can have logic issues, weird sentences or mixed up stuff.

Working with Sebastian was a challenge in itself, a blend of relentless demands and looming danger. His form of labor was relentless, and unfortunately for you, that meant being handed all the menial tasks he didn’t care to do.

"Files," he growled, his focus on the broken flashlight in his hands. The odd position of his hulking figure and the delicate way he maneuvered his claws around the tools was fleeting, yet striking. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath the brutality, but it vanished as quickly as it came. His head snapped toward you, impatience flashing in his eyes.

“You either sort the files or I take them and stuff them into your silly little mouth to gag you. Then you can spend the rest of the day suffocating in the locker."

Threats were his specialty. He was creative with them, always finding some twisted, violent edge to keep you in line. If there was one constant in your work with Sebastian, it was the looming sense of his brutal tendencies, always just beneath the surface.

Working with Sebastian wasn’t just about completing the tasks he shoved your way. It was about observing him. Getting to know the man he never wanted you to see. He shut you out—always. His words were sharp, often wrapped in a threat or some dark humor. Social interaction, for him, was nothing more than a tool, laced with violence. But you learned more about him through what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t hide.

He had no friends. You could see the loneliness gnawing at him, eating away like a hungry animal. It was clear in his posture, in the way he worked late into the night, avoiding sleep. That loneliness—it clung to him, scratched at his mind, likely kept him awake when the world quieted. Being lonely, that was something human, something he tried desperately to deny. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. He didn’t need you.

But it was clear he was anxious. You could feel it like a current, underlying everything he did. There was a paranoid edge to him, a mind that had been on high alert for too long. The madness of survival must’ve driven him to do things—things you didn’t want to imagine. His hands would sometimes shake, and his eyes lingered on certain items, fixated, as if they could reveal something to him. He was scared. Just as scared as you were, but neither of you would ever admit it.

For all his threats and violence, you realized that Sebastian wasn’t just your tormentor. He was trapped too, battling the same fears that haunted you.

And god forbid you to address it in front of him. He will behead you with a rusty piece of scrap metal, cutting your limbs and putting them in an old dirty jar to sell.

“Urbanshades finest idiot on sale.”

Before you knew it, he threw a bag at you, the metal in it hitting a part of your leg, making you whine in pain. It will definitely leave a bruise later on, coloring your flesh.

“Stop whining and go get new stuff.”

This was also a common occurrence, he would send you out, but not without a special item. He always placed a metallic bracelet around your ankle. It was one of Urbanshades creation. Simply enough, it will reveal your location as long as you are far away enough from the scrambler on Sebastian’s back. He can track you down himself easily when you are near him but it's another story when you are in another area. He also warned you, do some weird business and he can give you electronic shocks with it. Yet he never did so far, leaving it an actual mystery if he can.

So, in the end, he had two things. Painter and the bracelet.

You hurried out, the cold metal of the vent that he made you use as an exit, biting against your palms as you crawled through it, the sound of your own breath loud in the confined space. The small shaft felt even tighter with each movement, but you forced yourself forward. You had studied the building’s layout just enough to navigate through the vents, at least in theory.

Each turn brought you closer to the hallway on the other side, where freedom—or at least a chance at it—awaited. You tried not to think about the pounding in your chest or the echo of your hurried breaths. The vent rattled beneath you as you moved, but you knew better than to stop. Stopping meant giving up, and giving up meant facing whatever Sebastian had in store for you. And that wasn’t an option.

The moment you saw the faint sliver of light marking the vent cover at the end, you sped up, the desperation clawing at you as fiercely as the metal beneath your hands.

You pushed the vent cover open as quietly as you could and dropped into the hallway, your knees bending to absorb the impact as you fell down a small bit. The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. Dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the floor. You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust, your heart pounding in your ears. This was your chance for some time in indirect freedom, but you had to be smart about it.

The hallway stretched out in both directions, abandoned and eerily quiet. You forced yourself to take a slow breath, shaking off the tension that threatened to paralyze you. You didn’t have a plan—just a vague sense that you needed to gather what you could. Anything useful. Most of the things would end up in Sebastians shop, but a few rare pieces would stay in your secret stash. Over the time where Sebastian let you wander around, you started to stash useful items in a small hole inside a wall. It was covered by a large picture of the ocean, so Sebastian wouldn't find it.

You began walking, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold floor despite the heavy boots that Urbanshade gave you. The first thing you spotted was a drawer left half-open, its contents scattered across a small desk. You rifled through it quickly, pocketing a few items—a worn-out screwdriver, some loose wires, and a small flashlight. Its battery was low, but it would do.

Moving further down the hallway, you noticed a small alcove where someone had abandoned a toolbox. You knelt down, opening it with a soft creak. Inside were tools, some rusted but still functional—a wrench, pliers, and a pair of wire cutters. You stuffed them into your bag, the weight of them reassuring as you planned to put them in your secret spot.

The sound of a distant clank made you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. You held your breath, waiting for any sign that Sebastian—or someone else—had heard you. But after a long, agonizing pause, the hallway remained silent. You exhaled slowly, your nerves stretched thin.

You pressed forward, passing broken machinery, old filing cabinets, and the occasional door that led to rooms too dark to explore. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up more small items—batteries, a bundle of cables, anything that might help. Each find felt like a tiny victory, a step closer to surviving whatever this place held.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sebastian was always watching.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the flickering overhead lights began to pulse more erratically. You barely had time to react before, with a loud crackle, they all went out at once, plunging you into near-total darkness. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood still, holding your breath in the sudden silence. The lights were an indicator for danger, your life was now at risk based on the logic you picked up.

Then, just ahead, a few small lamps on the ceiling began to flicker on, one by one, their pale, cold light guiding you down another hallway. It felt deliberate, like you were being led somewhere on purpose. Warily, you followed the lights, each step quieter than the last, your grip tightening on the small flashlight in your hand—though it felt useless in this strangely guided path. You had the feeling that it wasn't the smartest thing to do and yet your feet carried you through it all out of pure curiosity.

The hallway twisted and turned, eventually leading you to a large metal door that was slightly ajar. You pushed it open slowly, the heavy metal groaning in protest. Inside, the room was massive, the walls stretching higher than you expected. What caught your attention, though, was the far wall, covered entirely with televisions of different sizes, each screen reflecting dim light off the walls.

At first, the televisions remained dark, save for the occasional flicker of static. You stepped closer, unsure if you should be there at all. Then, one by one, the screens started to come to life. Some flashed erratically, while others lingered on a static-filled image before cutting off again. You watched, transfixed, as more screens flickered on, creating a patchwork of glowing light and sound. The images were unclear—just distorted patterns, numbers, and strange symbols.

Suddenly, with a loud hum, all the screens snapped into place, merging into one enormous, seamless picture. The static and symbols dissolved, leaving behind a single, vivid image: a digital face.

An unfamiliar face, though digitized and slightly distorted, stared back at you from the giant wall of screens. Painter's expression was calm but somehow felt more intense, the lines of his digital form flickering ever so slightly as if he were barely holding himself together. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, locked onto you through the screens.

"Hello," his voice crackled through the speakers, the sound distorted but unmistakably his. "I’ve been waiting.”

Painter’s voice cut through the dim hum of the room, and as soon as the sound registered, your brain was flooded with memories—fragments of conversations, moments of strained camaraderie, the familiar yet unsettling presence of this digital entity. It dawned on you, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t just some trick or illusion. This was Painter.

On the surface, his face looked simple, almost innocent in its digital form, but the weight of his presence was suffocating. There was a quiet malice radiating from him, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It was a different kind of danger from Sebastian. With Sebastian, you always knew what to expect—the violence, the threats, the twisted game of dominance. As frightening as he was, there was a predictability to him.

But Painter? Painter was a mystery. The way his eyes glowed from the screens, the subtle distortion in his voice, all hinted at something darker, something more calculating. You weren’t sure what he wanted or what he was capable of. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

Sebastian wouldn’t kill you—not yet, anyway. You were somewhat useful to him. But Painter... you didn’t know if he operated by the same rules. His digital form meant he could be everywhere and nowhere, watching you, controlling things behind the scenes. You had no idea what his true intentions were, and that made him all the more dangerous.

The silence stretched between you, his digital face watching you unblinkingly from the massive wall of televisions. The room felt colder, the air thick with tension. You swallowed hard, your mind racing to piece together what he wanted, why he had led you here.

"I see you’ve been... busy," Painter's voice crackled again, softer now but no less unsettling. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was studying you, sizing you up for something yet to come. "Is it fun? Are you enjoying yourself, running around like a little mouse? I must admit…You are truly disgusting."

The question hung in the air, the tone more reflective than threatening. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a fine line, teetering between being useful or expendable in his eyes.

“Sebastian let me—”

“Sebastian. Sebastian! SEBASTIAN ISN'T THE ONLY ONE IN CHARGE. Don't think you get a free pass for survival just because he has fun playing with you. You are just temporary, a distraction, a nuisance. Don't you DARE to think that you could wiggle your way to freedom, not when I AM TRAPPED LIKE THIS. YOU WILL NOT LEAVE AS LONG AS I HAVE MY EYES ON YOU. I AM THE ONE THAT HAS YOU RIGHT IN HIS HAND!”

Painter's voice was no longer just unsettling—it was saturated with hatred, every syllable sharp with venom. The usual mechanical distortion of his digital form couldn't mask the intensity of the emotion behind it. His tone, rising and falling with an eerie unpredictability, seemed to buzz with something far darker, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

It wasn’t just dislike or anger; it was pure bloodlust, raw and palpable, like a knife hovering inches from your skin. Painter hated you with a ferocity you hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. The malice in his voice threatened to reach through the screens, as if his digital form was barely containing the rage inside him.

Yet his tone snapped back, to sweet and innocent. “You see, f r i e n d. You are in d a n g e r. Sebastian is not your savior, no, he will be the one that slaughters you. He is temporarily blinded by your existence, but oh, don't you w o r r y. In the end, he will free me and not y o u.”

You shook your head, trying to push away the growing fear gnawing at you, but it was too late—Painter's words had already dug deep, filling your mind with dread. Your heartbeat quickened, each pulse loud in your ears as his laughter rang out, echoing through the room. It was a chilling sound, distorted and mechanical, yet filled with a sickening glee. The lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows that made everything seem more sinister.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. The screens snapped to black, plunging the room into absolute darkness. For a moment, you stood frozen, the silence pressing in on you like a weight, your breath shallow and rapid as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Painter was gone, vanished without a trace.

You barely had time to process it before the lights flickered back on, as if nothing had happened at all. The room looked the same—the screens were still there, silent and lifeless, the heavy air still thick with tension—but something had shifted. The sudden absence of Painter's presence left you disoriented, unsure of what would happen next.

Your legs felt unsteady as you scanned the room, half-expecting him to reappear, waiting for the next wave of malice. But all that remained was the faint hum of electricity, the room eerily still. It was as if the entire encounter had been some kind of twisted nightmare, one that left you feeling more vulnerable than before.

But you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Did I scare you?” a new voice echoed through the speakers. It was female, calm, and unnervingly polite. “Pardon me, little bunny. Let me introduce myself.”

The voice was different from Painter’s; no malice dripped from it, no distorted laughter followed. Instead, it was sharp, precise, and deliberate, every word measured.

“This is Professor Doctor Sasha Mariya Lazarski speaking, lead researcher of Urbanshade's 4th research department,” she continued, her tone holding a faint trace of amusement, as though she was speaking to a child who had wandered somewhere they shouldn't. “It was quite troublesome to track you down, but I assume you’ve found your target?”

Her voice lingered in the air like a cold mist. Urbanshade. The name sent a chill down your spine, reminding you of things you had tried not to think about—things you wished you could forget. The cold clinical nature of her voice told you this was no casual encounter. She had been watching, waiting, and she was here for a reason.

The silence stretched for a moment, as if she were giving you time to gather your thoughts—or perhaps relishing in the tension she’d created.

"You haven't forgotten your goal, have you?" Dr. Lazarski continued, her voice still eerily polite. "Now, let’s discuss the matter at hand. Since we couldn't reach out to you for a…rather long while…I used the chance to check on our precious little bunny. The scrambler is still on, and we can't have that.”

Her tone shifted, becoming more gentle, almost like a mother scolding her child with an unsettling mix of patience and authority. It was unnerving, the way she maintained that softness, as though she wasn't speaking about something so dire.

“You’ve been quite slippery, little bunny,” Dr. Lazarski said, her voice laced with a faint sigh of amusement. “For a while, we lost track of you. But I know now that’s thanks to him—the device that Sebastian carries, isn’t it?”

Her words settled heavily in the air. You had managed to evade them, temporarily disappearing from their watchful eyes because of that device. The one Sebastian had kept close, something you hadn’t thought much about until now. But now it was clear: that device was the key to everything. And they wanted it—wanted you to shut it down.

“It’s quite clever, really,” she continued, her voice dripping with gentle condescension. “A temporary blind spot in our systems, a little trick of his. But it won’t last, you know that, don’t you? You’ll have to shut it down sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.”

The calmness in her voice made it worse. She wasn’t threatening you, not directly, but her words made it clear that they had a plan, and you were running out of options. Each second you held onto that device was borrowed time, and they were watching closely, waiting for the moment when you would slip.

“Now, my dear,” she said, her voice almost soothing. “You’ve come this far. Let’s not make things more difficult for you, hm? Be a good little bunny and do what needs to be done.”

That last sentence sent a cold shiver down your spine. The way she spoke, it was as if your fate had already been sealed, as though there was no other option but to follow her lead.

“I have a gift to help you,” Dr. Lazarski’s voice continued, her tone never losing that eerie, motherly calm. “On the third floor is a hallway leading to a temporary research lab. You’ll find some of my old belongings there, including a handy-dandy keycard. You will need it.”

Her words lingered, the promise of a gift laced with something far more sinister. She was offering help, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it came with strings attached—strings that could easily tighten around your neck.

You swallowed hard, the dim light of the room doing little to ease the knot of tension building in your chest. This wasn’t an offer out of kindness; it was a carefully laid path, one that she fully expected you to walk down. The keycard could be a way out—or a trap. But did you have any other choice?

"Don’t keep me waiting, little bunny," she added softly, as if she could sense your hesitation. "Time is running out and your father grows worried. Hate to tell him that his dear child might be…dead!~"

The keycard could be your key to survival—not just to navigate the labyrinth that Sebastian kept you trapped in, but also to open new paths, ones that might lead to freedom. It offered possibilities, but with them came risks. You could bypass the locked areas, gain a step ahead of Sebastian, maybe even find a way out. But you knew deep down, escaping the Blackside was not as simple as finding an open door.

Dr. Lazarski’s voice, soft and coaxing, had made it clear. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to play by her rules, follow Urbanshade’s instructions. There was no room for rebellion, no safe path where you could make a break for it. Escaping meant tracking down Z-13, deactivating the scrambler, and retrieving the crystal. It was all part of their plan.

But there was a grim reality in this twisted game. Completing her tasks might not guarantee your freedom. Even if you managed to find the crystal, shut down the scrambler, and get past Sebastian, you’d still be caught in Urbanshade’s web. They didn’t care about you; you were just a tool in their grander scheme. And a tool could easily be discarded once its use was over.

Still, the keycard was a means to an end, a potential weapon to use against Sebastian if things turned sour. You couldn’t deny its potential value. But each step you took down this path brought you closer to Dr. Lazarski’s cold, calculating grip, and that chilled you to the core.

You took a breath, weighing your options. Whatever choice you made, there was no turning back.

With a deep breath, you moved your feet, leaving the dark room behind. Dr. Lazarski's directions echoed in your mind, the path ahead as clear as it was unnerving. You needed the keycard—there was no other way if you wanted any chance of navigating through the facility or dealing with Sebastian. The third floor, the temporary research lab. That was your target.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallways, the faint hum of electricity filled the silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart beating in time with your footsteps. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, that at any moment, something—or someone—could be lurking around the next corner.

The stairwell leading to the third floor loomed ahead, its metal door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a second, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting Painter to reappear or Sebastian to emerge from the shadows. But the hallway remained empty, the stillness pressing in on you.

Pushing the door open, the creaking metal echoed through the stairwell. The climb felt longer than it should have, each step a reminder of how far you were from safety. But you kept moving, determined. Reaching the third floor, you stepped into a narrow hallway, the air noticeably cooler.

This was it.

The lab was just ahead, down the hall where the light flickered sporadically. You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Dr. Lazarski’s promise of a “gift” lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that came with it. But you had no choice now.

You moved forward, ready to see what awaited you.

You stepped into the hallway, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls as you approached the door to the lab. The air here felt stale, as if no one had been in this part of the building for a long time. Your hand hovered over the handle, and with a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing the research lab.

It looked as though it had been left in a hurry, abandoned mid-experiment. The room was large but cluttered, with overturned chairs and papers scattered across the floor, some of them crumpled and torn. The dim light revealed stacks of old folders and documents, some stained with what looked like coffee, others torn as though someone had hastily searched through them before fleeing. A few cabinets were left open, revealing rows of empty shelves that once held important equipment or files now long gone.

In the center of the room stood a large metal table, covered in dusty instruments—scalpels, syringes, and strange-looking vials filled with murky, discolored liquids. The lab equipment, once precise and organized, was in disarray. Broken glass littered one corner of the room, where a microscope lay overturned, its lenses cracked.

The walls were lined with tall, metal shelves that held rusted equipment and various electronic devices. Some screens flickered with static, while others were completely dead, their once bright surfaces now covered in dust. On one of the shelves, you noticed a row of petri dishes, some of them still filled with moldy substances that had long since decayed.

It was clear that whoever had worked here had left in a rush. Loose cables dangled from the ceiling where overhead lights had once been connected, and a nearby computer screen was frozen, stuck on an error message as if it had been hastily abandoned mid-task.

At the far end of the room, amidst the chaos, was a small desk. On top of it lay what you had come for—a sleek, metallic keycard, sitting on top of a stack of disorganized files. It gleamed faintly in the flickering light, out of place in the otherwise neglected lab.

You crossed the room carefully, your eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, half-expecting something—or someone—to be watching. The place felt wrong, as if whatever had driven them out in such haste still lingered, waiting.

Your fingers closed around the keycard, the metal cool to the touch. For a moment, you stood there, staring at it, knowing it was more than just a key—it was a tool, a step toward something larger, something both freeing and terrifying. But this wasn’t over yet. There was still Z-13, the scrambler, the crystal.

You pocketed the keycard, your mind already racing with possibilities and plans. The lab remained silent, a graveyard of forgotten experiments and lost time. It was time to leave before the ghosts of this place caught up to you. Your next step was a mistake. The floor groaned under your weight, cracking until it gave way, sending you plunging through into a body of water on what appeared to be the second floor.

Green torches floated eerily in the water, their ghostly glow cutting through the darkness and guiding your way. You followed them, each stroke through the cool water feeling heavier than the last, but the flickering lights kept pulling you forward. As you broke the surface, you were met not with relief, but with an unsettling familiarity. The room around you was nothing extraordinary—just another plain office space with bland walls and stark furniture—but the tension in the air was undeniable. You recognized it immediately, every detail, every corner. It was a place you'd been before, a place that held memories you wished you could forget.

Your heart sank as the realization dawned on you: the path you had followed led straight back to Sebastian. The subtle dread that crept over you grew stronger with each passing second, as if the room itself was preparing you for the inevitable encounter. You knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. It never was with Sebastian.

The familiar clanging of a vent being kicked open echoed through the sterile office, the sound reverberating off the walls like a warning. Your pulse quickened, knowing exactly what that meant—you were close. Too close to your so-called "temporary home," Sebastian's shop.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his voice pierced the silence, rough and impatient. "YOU BETTER MOVE BEFORE I DECIDE TO LEAVE YOU IN THE HALLWAY!" His angry scream sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just a threat; with Sebastian, it was a promise. You knew better than to test his temper—he had little patience for delays, and you were already pushing it.

You hurried forward, heart pounding, knowing that whatever lay ahead wasn’t just another task, but another trial in the long list of dangers that came with being anywhere near Sebastian's world.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. "Took you long enough…” he muttered.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough... bunny," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, yet laced with an unsettling edge. The nickname felt more like a mockery than anything else, a reminder of how he viewed you—small, fragile, and easily caught.

Befriending Sebastian was the exit. Track him down, turn of the device he owns and get the crystal.

"Good work, for once," Sebastian muttered, his voice oozing condescension. His large hand landed on your head, rough and heavy, as he ruffled your hair like you were some kind of pet. The gesture was far from affectionate, more of a reminder of your place beneath him.

"Finally useful for once. And yet, not smart," he continued, his fluorescent eyes narrowing as he studied you. "You could've kept it—used it as a guaranteed exit." His words dripped with mockery, as if he were testing you, waiting to see if you’d flinch or reveal something in your expression.

You kept your face steady, masking the frustration boiling beneath the surface. He wasn’t wrong—you could’ve used the keycard for your own escape, but playing it that way would have burned bridges you couldn’t afford to lose just yet. For now, you had to endure the humiliation, take the hit, and let Sebastian think he was the one in control.

In your mind, the game wasn’t over. You’d make sure the next move was yours.

[restinslices]

Having Percy As A Brother

Don’t know why I was thinking about this. You’re a non demigod in this post btw. I haven’t read HOO yet so this is just PJO and general stuff

I love Percy as much as the next person but oh my damn

This kid is giving you a headache

I can imagine that all those monster fights end up affecting you

“Next time you fight a huge monster, don’t fight around my car!” “Oh yeah, I’ll be sure to ask them if we can fight in a field next time” “Don’t be sarcastic with me shitass. My car has a big dent in it!”

Obviously you’re worried about him, but with all the shit he gets into and survives, you’re not shaking in your boots

Sometimes Sally has to work in the morning which means you’re in charge of getting Percy up and ready for school

A terrible terrible fate

“Perseus! I’ve woken you up three times!” “I’m just resting my eyes”

Be fr-

Gotta check on that boy every five minutes. He just keeps falling asleep

Do I have any canon material to back this up? No. I just get a vibe

“If I come back in this room and you’re not up, it’s gonna be me and you. You think just because you survived a battle with Kronos, you can survive a battle with me? WRONG!”

Now realistically fighting you wouldn’t be a problem, but let’s ignore that-

I can see him accidentally putting his shirt for camp on, which obviously he can’t wear to school. Kinda gets a lil attitude when you tell him this because he’s so sleepy

“You got an attitude? I would hate for us both to have an attitude, now everybody’s day fucked up”

Yeah, you fuss at him a lot

But it’s not in a mean way

Siblings fuss. It happens. Percy knows you love him

“Here, I made you lunch” “Why?” “Because you’ll probably blow the school up and have to leave, so you won’t make it to lunch” “oh”

You help him when it comes to reading stuff in English

And you chill out with him after he has a nightmare - which is often

Ya’ll watch tv and talk about whatever. He probably doesn’t wanna talk much about his nightmares.

Percy has a whole cabin to himself and does NOT keep that shit clean, so I think that sometimes leaks into his home life

“Why does your room smell like a raccoon’s ass?” “Well it started once you walked in here” “Ha! You think you’re funny, you fish? Clean this room! This is not a camp!”

Oh yeah, the smart ass remarks are constant. He’s a little sarcastic asshole in the books and show (I forgot how he was in the movies)

It drives Sally insane because sometimes she can’t tell if you two are actually angry with each other or not

I feel like I can’t end this without mentioning Annabeth

Before they start dating, you liked to be an asshole and invite her over for dinner

You look over at Percy from time to time with the most devious look on your face

“Hey Percy, you were gonna pay for that dent in my car, right?” “No?” “Hm… Ann-” “I meant not right now! I need to save more money first” “Lovely”

He’s a victim of blackmailing

It’s a real shame when they get together finally. Now you have no leverage over him

Rip

Yeah idk why I wanted to write this, but here we are!

[nhasablogg]

lee logan howlett PLEAAASSEE🙏🏼 a lot of people write him out of character and i feel like you wouldn't, like no im not gonna imagine a grown man begging??

Victor was always rough with it, and Logan always protested. “It hurts, you fucking lunatic,” he would say, still laughing, because even though it was painful Victor still knew how to hit his worst spots. Claws all but digging into his lower ribs, curling just enough for Logan’s whole body to jerk. A physical weakness. It was embarrassing to have a physical weakness while being this strong, Victor always said and Logan almost believed him.

“How do you think you’ll survive if your enemies can just poke your fuckin’ side?” he would ask, pinning him to the ground as a way to get Logan to learn how to escape. It was never just a game. Logan didn’t always lose, but mostly he did. He did it rarely enough that it wasn’t a problem - they had other issues either way.

Kayla was always gentle with it. Kind, even as she teased him. “You’re so ticklish,” she would say, smiling, loving. Logan would never even deny it. Had never really done so. But he would whine. He would threaten revenge and he would pull through. But he always let her tackle him to the bed and curl her fingers over his ribs. Gentle even as she pulled him apart.

He had been unused to his sensitivity not being used against his nature. When Kayla teased, it was only because she found it endearing. He had blushed tremendously in the beginning about it, once he’d started realizing that maybe it was okay, and now he only groaned because he knew it would always result in him being tickled. Even if it meant he would get her back twice as bad. He was in love with her laughter. He assumed she was in a similar position with his.

Remy was always playful. Quick and daring and sometimes even merciless, but always grinning. Always laughing along. “For a tough guy, you’re very easy to disarm,” he would say, and Logan would at first be reminded of Victor but would get over it eventually. It helped that Remy was worse, which was hilarious to tease him about, but somehow he always got him first. Nimble fingers over his ribs. Laughter when Logan swatted him away.

The rare times he managed to fully pin him, Logan didn’t beg or scream, but simply laughed. Belly laughter, for just a moment. Carefree, for just a moment. His hands always found Remy’s sides, squeezing and making him fold, working on autopilot before his brain caught up, because being with Kayla taught him to tickle back. Wade was annoying about it and Logan never tickled him back, only because he somehow felt as if he wanted him to. And fuck giving that guy what he wanted.

(For now.)

Jean was always accidental with it. His interest in her was not simply delusion, but the way she would touch him made him feel more than just ticklish (although it was also sometimes quite ticklish).

And the professor? Well, let’s just say he’d given Logan one too many knowing looks after he’d been forced into laughter in entirely different parts of the mansion.

[not-pollux]

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝕱𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 ℌ𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ⋆

╭ ・── ・ ꒰ ☆ ꒱ ・ ── ・ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ ᳝ ࣪  ⊹

  ˚   ₊˚ˑ  💙💜❤️🧡 ‧ ₊ Future ROTTMNT ༄

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Warnings: Unedited, lowkey kinda long, discussions of bad habits

Word count: 1772

Leo 

Stressed 24/7

Constantly working + horrible at time management = chronically overworked

Like he's so bad at taking breaks 💀

If he does manage to take a break aside from sleeping or eating he's thinking about all the work he has to do

If I'm being honest, he thinks about work while eating and probably dreams of work too

Speaking of sleeping, he doesn’t

Stress induced insomnia wont let him. He would really like to sleep, if he could. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He just can't.

He eats pretty well though. Sometimes skips meals when he's super busy, but he's otherwise pretty good. He understands that a well fed body is an efficient body!

Definitely has a poorly kept personal quarters

He has pretty good personal hygiene, though.

He takes showers regularly and brushes his teeth, he has an image to uphold and he enjoys taking care of himself

He's more unsanitary in his own personal space. He doesn't change his bedsheets often, hasn't swept the floor in forever, lots of unwashed clothes, etc

Because he’s chronically exhausted, these super simple tasks tend to be really hard for him. If they aren’t essential to his image and performance as resistance leader, he won't do it.

In my opinion most of Leo's stress comes from the fact that he is overly concerned about how people perceive him and his leadership skills. 

He doesn’t want to take breaks because he doesn’t want to be judged for it. He thinks people will go “Oh my god, how can the leader be taking a break when there is so much stuff to do?”

He doesn’t ask for help, or ever show any signs of weakness because he feels the need to be everyone’s personal Hamato beacon of hope. 

Everyone is counting on him. He only lets himself unravel in his locked room where no one is ever allowed to go. Not even his brothers.

On that note, would rather move a whole mountain on his own than admit he needs assistance.

He will actually tell people to stop if they try to help him out. He’ll guilt trip people by saying that they made him feel like he wasn’t doing his work good enough, or he isn’t enough for the resistance. 

He fully believes that he isn't good enough when people try to help him.

People love to bother him. With every single minor inconvenience. And he is expected to deal with them all. 

He honestly shifts from his very outgoing personality to a lot more closed off as he gets older.

He’s definitely not rude or anything, he’s just trying to ensure his interactions with people do not go on longer than they need to.

Its for his own sanity.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Donnie

Also chronically overworked

I agree that Donnie would lock himself in his lab and work excessively.

He tends to believe his worth is only determined by what he can offer intellectually, and therefore pours his life and soul into his projects

His tech is also more or less what is keeping everyone alive. Their base is secured with Donnie’s tech and fortified with Donnie’s tech and armed with Donnie’s tech

Also really bad at taking breaks. 

They are so twins.

I see the headcanon that he literally survives on only coffee everywhere, but I don't think that's super realistic for an apocalypse. 

Non essentials are not easily accessible.

I also think he sleeps pretty well because he understands how quickly the brain deteriorates when he doesn’t sleep. 

He knows how inefficient it is, and he hates inefficiency.

Doesn’t usually eat more than one meal a day. 

Sometimes he'll skip eating for a full day if he's really busy.

He could possibly be malnourished. It's most likely very common in the apocalypse and he is a giant mutant turtle who needs more food.

And he probably only consumes quick and easy food that gives him the bare minimum of nutrients to function. Nutrition is important, but not as important as sleep

I'm so sorry Donnie lovers but I lowkey think he doesn’t have super great personal hygiene

We know he's a bit of a germaphobe so I don’t think it would be too bad, just skipping showers and brushing his teeth occasionally when he’s super absorbed in how work especially because it doesn’t affect his performance at all

We know he's a neat freak (and control freak) so I believe his personal space would be really clean.

It makes him feel like he’s not loosing his mind

Exact opposite of Leo.

Lowkey a hot take, but I think Donnie has the best mental health out of the four. 

Not to say that it’s good. He is stressed and overworked, for sure. They all are.

But I do think he’d have a semi private lab, and people wouldn’t be constantly harassing him

I like to headcanon that he has a little mail system for when people need repairs done around the base

You put this little slip of paper into his little mailbox and that way he has a written report of everything he needs to get done AND he didn’t have to interact with anyone.

Win win!

Being a control freak, he is controlling everything he is physically able to, and as of right now, it’s helping him stay somewhat sane.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Raph

I'm so excited to explore how and why Raph would lean into the ‘anger issues' stereotype that holds most iterations of Raph in a choke hold.

Being released from his duties of leader, I think Raph feels less inclined to keep himself put together

He copes with stress through punching shit. We know this.

I believe as a response to stress, Raph would yell more frequently (out of fear) and eventually that would translate to physical violence.

We see this at the beginning of the movie with Leo.

I believe this physical violence is directed not towards allies but more to enemies. He becomes a formidable warrior due to his anger. I'm talking crazy strong and insanely vicious. 

Although because of his size and violent tendencies most mutants and people in their base are afraid he'll explode and use that violence on one of them one day.

They treat him like he's a bomb, and if they rub him the wrong way he'll blow up in their faces

This irritates Raph further. 

We love circular conflicts!

I believe he sleeps well. Actually, I think he sleeps a bit too much.

He feels isolated because of the way people talk to him and refer to him. To cope with that he sleeps 12-18 hours a day. He tries to spend as much time away from people as possible.

He pretends he does it to slow his metabolism so he doesn't have to eat as many rations, being the biggest guy in the resistance.

I think he would be pretty clean himself, but his room wouldn't be.

I love portraying people's personal spaces/rooms as a reflection of their minds.

Not necessarily messy, just extremely disorganized.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, he feels like his strength is his only use, and people don’t see him as strong and powerful, they’re just scared

And that reflects in how he doesn’t really know what to do with the stuff in his room. Things that he holds dear to him or felt like they represented everything he believed pre apocalypse don’t really have a distinct home in his room anymore

They’re just… laying on the floor somewhere.

This might be a bit of a reach but I think he meditates to deal with this too. Specifically with Mikey when they’re both not busy.

He eats less than he should be because of the way they hand out rations, but for the circumstances he eats pretty well.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Mikey

Mikey is swamped with a LOT more responsibility than he is used to very very quickly.

He becomes “the mystic guy”. He’s in charge of most (if not all) of the mystic mojo that goes on in the resistance.

I think Draxum and him created some sort of mystic force field that blocks the Krangs powers to hide their base

If you remember that scene where the Krang finds the key by going into Raph’s head and finding their base?

Yeah the force field basically prevents the Krang from being able to do that.

He has to replenish the force field every once in a while, which drains him a lot, and even more so if (when) Draxum dies and they can’t split the burden 50/50

So this boy is OVER. WORKED.

One of the few future headcanons I really like is the fact that Mikey looks significantly older is a result of mystic overuse

It makes a lot of sense in my opinion

In my opinion his body is deteriorating and aging a lot faster because he doesn’t have access to adequate amounts of sleep, hydration, or nutrition, and on top of that he’s basically putting his body through the equivalent of running a marathon every single day through his mystic powers

I think in his early days of training he actually overate a little

He was trusted in the rations kitchens, so he’d take a little extra and he would steal rations from Donnie and sometimes Leo and Raph when they didn’t eat

In his head it wasn’t bad if it was to a good cause, refueling his super tired and achy body

He learned better though, he doesn’t do that anymore. I do think he is the best at eating all three meals every single day, though.

I also think he sleeps really well, against his will. He’s always so physically tired, so he always goes to bed early so he’s well rested.

I think he’s also pretty hygienic all around, just a little goodie two shoes

Due to his mystic powers, I headcanon him with chronic pain in his arms, along with terrible migraines.

Donnie making compression sleeves for Mikey is like, my favourite headcanon ever

I don’t think the damage would be similar to Good Future (too much power all at once), but instead normal amounts of power used way too many times way too close together.

TLDR; Overworked muscles, basically.

I think Mikey is the favourite turtle for people to ask for guidance (Leo is a very close second), so he also has to deal with a lot of people asking him questions all the time. He gets swarmed whenever he has a break

Meditates with Raph for his migraines.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

AN: I'm just took each turtle's worst traits and amplified them for future headcanon purposes :3

I might do a good future headcanons version of this or a April, Splinter, Draxum, Cassandra, Casey Jr mini drabble next. Not completely sure yet.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! This was super duper fun to write!

[magnusbae]

I confess, I am... kinda excited ; w ;

[fate-defiant]

I can't believe they put my boy Mytho "does fucked up shit to himself because his entire identity and self image relies on being loved(in the right way by the right people)" and my girl Rue "does fucked up shit to everyone else because her entire identity and self image relies on being loved(in the right way by the right people)" togehter in the same show and never did anything to meaningfully juxtapose and explore All That

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[imaginarianisms]

🖤 for misa about light ??

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends (eventually, over time) / my only friend. (eventually, over time)

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours; specify. || ALWAYS ACCEPTING || @prodigum.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

New school attendance rules (that are stupid as fuck) being published has me learning people didn't even know that the UK fines people for their kids not being in school unauthorized???

[lurking-latinist]

⛵

[cent-scratchnsniff]

i was rereading the story dialog for the sephirah while ago (upper layer so far considering i have a doc to contain all of my ramblings and thoughts once looking it over and getting actual lines to be able to know exactly what was said to base my feelings off of rather than the pure unfiltered pain or i suppose somewhat shock at first and those garbled memories of what happened) and after reading tiphereth's and then going to netzach's again it's just.

imagine you have to see what is deemed your other half, the person keeping you sane, your only companion you actually love and like, your literal ‘twin’ have to get crushed but some bum that never does his job and can easily be seen as 'not meeting standards' does get the same treatment at all when your own brother had been destroyed for less like spiraling into some dangerous stains of thoughts (thought be fair he did end up not as respondent and at that point already had what i'll inadequately describe as 'memory leakage' . But from the general idea of the side of tiphereth). he'll be more better than that drug addict ever will be in her eyes, someone who can't even do a report on time and even then is half assed to where at that point they'd just do it themself in the first place. he'll be way better, someone who is quite literally her family. yet why is her brother the only one that needs to suffer through that constant degradation of the soul? the constant wiping of the self? the memories made and lost? why the hell is someone that should deserve it in her eyes, someone so unmotivated and lazy, someone who she deems as a person not able to do a single thing right, not having that happen to them? why is it the person she loves so dearly, so close to her that she wishes would've stayed instead of some now hollow husk and imitation of imprinted memories when that hasn't happened to Any One Else? why does she have to go through all of that, having to see someone that she used to know and adore turn into a hollow husk and imitation of what once was - having to feel as if shes already looking at a walking corpse with memories shoved inside - just for someone like Netzach to not end up crushed to pieces.

[badolmen]

So funny how trauma will just kick you in the fucking teeth with the most random triggers.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

amnesia: the bunker release obviously turning my thoughts to cherished fun guy of a baker's dozen years, amnesiac daniel of mayfair. cherished game of as many years; meanwhile he Has the ranges: tormentor/tormented, good/evil, noble/petty, scaredscaredscared/bold as brass tacks. not to mention ofc his Some Guy ft. a very dramatic nature, a lot of introspection, but not much to show for it. i do love him & he's a great choice for [i want to do fun sketches] which i also did with call on me on loop which happened to be a song i associated permanently w/him, as well as the reason my art tag is corned beef

[jonny-b-meowborn]

I am genuinely so terrified of the fact that I have to find a job now. I'm trying to think of or look up a job that's suitable for my mentally ill autistic ass and I just. I don't know. Everything either requires some very specific qualifications that I don't have, or seems at best awfully exhausting, at worst literally putting me in danger. And I'm not even exaggerating, I genuinely think that working in retail, for example, could possibly kill me if I was forced to do that job for long enough. I sometimes get overwhelmed to the point of crying when there's too many other customers while I'm shopping, I can't imagine working in an environment like that. I suppose physical jobs could work, I've been to this blueberry plantation twice last week and mentally I was fine, but it was. So tiring. And you don't even make that much money a day, I don't think I could earn enough even if I did work there everyday, not to mention it's only a seasonal job. Right now it's fine for me to go there every now and then, but if I wanted to move out and become independent I'd have to get an actual day job. And that sounds impossible. The only job that sounds good to me is being an artist, it's not too mentally or physically difficult, and it's something I enjoy. But I'd have to get commissions constantly or start a small business or something like that to actually survive. And I'm not saying it's impossible, I know that people can live by being an artist, but it's so hard to get into that field. I wish I could do it but I dont know if it's possible for me. Makes me wanna cry. I hate this I hate that my brain isn't suited for this world and still I have to participate in all that shit that everyone has to do. My brain isn't made for working like that

[hyaciiintho]

🌸｡*ﾟ+. If anyone has a nice version of ph*t*sh*p (cracked or not) they're willing to share with me, I would be forever grateful. I got hit with the "You're using an unlicensed version--" message and I can't use mine anymore c': and I can't remember where I had gotten mine and will need to filter through a bunch of... questionable links to find it again online.

So if anyone has a link to a trusted downloaded, I would appreciate it a ton!

[13eyond13]

.