#like going for this sort of sense of horror of seeing a tank for the first time

[lagsemantics]

shockwave but its an metaphor for the horrors of war beyond man's comprehension

or alternatively: me at 3AM going into the kitchen in search of shredded cheese (8 found dead, 36 injuried)

based on that one cover by Mark Bright. you know the one.

#oh and also i've been listening a lot to the tank chats by the british tank museum lately #and i sort of wanted to go for a wwi war machine vibe for him #like going for this sort of sense of horror of seeing a tank for the first time #📼 transformers art tag #transformers #shockwave #maccadam #tf g1 #original art #artists on tumblr

[artiststarme]

What if Vecna cursed Steve instead of Max?

Steve has ignored his own problems for as long as he could remember. He would leave his unfinished homework at home when he knew it was due that day. He’d purposely avoid going to the doctor in order to live a little longer in ignorant bliss, to hell with the threat of further damage. He’d even leave his gas tank at a quarter full when he knew he had a long drive just so he wouldn’t have to look at an empty wallet. 

So, when his nightmares got worse and his nose started bleeding at random times and he started seeing things that weren’t actually there, well that was just another thing to ignore completely. He put a bandaid on the issue with a bottle of Tylenol and started wearing sunglasses indoors. But as the week wore on, the bags beneath his eyes began to bruise and his hair lost its pizazz. 

Robin was worried about him, that he could tell. She would hand him a homemade lunch any time he drove her to school. On their shifts together at Family Video, she would stick him in the back to rewind tapes, sort through new shipments, or even take a nap. Every day, her eyes would get more concerned until her face developed a look of perpetual worry. But, Steve ignored it. So, he had a few bad nightmares that caused him to wake up in a fit of panic. Who cares that he’d taken to carrying an extra shirt in his car because he was having so many nosebleeds? Not him. 

When the kids coerced him into finding Eddie, he was hesitant but woefully inept in arguing with them. He didn’t expect his old dealer from high school to hold a broken bottle to his throat. Certainly didn’t expect to be turned on by it either but that was something to contemplate at a much later time, preferably never. 

They found out that the Upside Down was back at it again and later found out that Chrissy and Fred had been having nightmares, nosebleeds, and depression. That they were having strong feelings of worthlessness and guilt. And if that didn’t summarize Steve to a T, he didn’t know what did. 

And Robin knew too. She called him out on it, at first in secret but when he brushed it off, she told the group. Steve would never forget the horror on Dustin’s face when he found out that he was cursed. It gave them a new sense of determination. They had to save their babysitter, nay- their friend, no matter what the cost. 

But Steve? He wasn’t sure he was worth the effort. His life certainly wasn’t even slightly as important as the lives of any of his friends. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice any of them so he was immediately against any and all of their plans. 

He almost died too. When they were lounging at his house, strategizing and such, Vecna got him. He started to lift into the air and could feel his bones creaking under an invisible force. Robin and Nance called Dustin right then to tell him about the effect music had on the victim. Eddie, poor, poor Eddie, started singing Tears for Fears right away and Steve was so enamored with his deep, dulcet voice that he managed to escape. When they asked his favorite song later that day, Steve lied and said it was the Head Over Heels that Eddie had sung. 

He didn’t want to out himself by saying it was Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen. Steve was nothing if not an enigma. A man of layers upon layers hiding from his friends and everyone else behind a facade. 

They believed him, why wouldn’t they? Dustin forced a walkman into his hands and headphones over his ears. Then Robin and Eddie forced him to keep them on. The blaring music and grating voices helped him tune out of reality and focus on his thoughts. 

He was going to die and he was fine with that. As long as everyone else was safe, he’d take the L. He felt like his entire life led to this moment. Nothing he ever did was ever meaningful, ever important. But his death would be because he would save the lives that mattered. Robin, Dustin, Nancy, Eddie, Max, and Lucas would be safe. And they had each other so they would be fine. Dustin, the kid he saw as the little brother he’d always wanted, he would have Eddie. Steve knew that Eddie was his new favorite anyway. Robin? She had been mooning over Nancy since they had met up at the trailer park. She could be her best friend with Steve out of the way. Everyone else there just put up with Steve for the others so they wouldn’t miss him either. 

While he was zoned out, they decided that Steve would be the bait for Vecna in the Creel house. He could lure him there while Nancy and Robin killed his physical body from the Upside Down. They told him he just needed to focus on good memories because Vecna couldn’t find him there. 

But when push came to shove, Steve didn’t have any good memories. Even in the fun times, the times that were supposed to be fully happy, there was always a background tinge of sadness. From the earliest times he could remember to the times of late, he couldn’t think of a time he’d been truly, completely happy. 

His childhood birthday parties, he was supposed to be having fun and being a kid. Instead, he had to play the part of happy families in front of all of his dad’s work friends. He got presents but he also got abandoned by his parents any time they wanted to go on a trip. 

His first win at little league? His dad gave him his first concussion when they got home because he tagged Joshua Evans out. Joshua’s dad worked with his dad and Steve had embarrassed him by costing his team the point. 

His first A on a history test? His teacher pulled him back after class and accused him of cheating because there was no way Steve Harrington could ever study hard enough to get an A. He was much too dumb for that, right?

Even the more recent times with his found family, he couldn’t think of any times he’d truly been happy. He’s always content at work around Robin. But there’s always a fear that she’s going to leave and he’ll lose everything. She was his only true friend and when she went to school, he knew he’d be all alone. 

The times when Dustin or Max or Lucas asked him for rides? Even when they’re happy singing along in the car or laughing with each other, Steve feels a sharp sense of jealousy because he knows he’ll never have friends that care about him like that or want him around. He never had and he never would. 

And so, when Vecna finds him, Steve is all too easy for him to catch. As the Party scrambles to figure out his favorite song and settles for the wrong one. As El tries to traipse through Steve’s happy memories but finds none. And as Robin, Eddie, Dustin, and Nancy scream at him to fight. Steve gives up. And Vecna has his final victim.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog

#Or so he thinks until Eddie starts singing Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen which wakes Steve up out of shock alone #Hope you guys have tissues on standby #stranger things #fanfic #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #eleven hopper #max mayfield #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson

[spoonful-of-citrus-flowers]

Crossroads of the Usher Children: Pt. 1

To preface this: I think whatever Verna is, it's clear that, first and foremost, she’s a creature of choices and consequences. I kind of disagree with the view that it’s off-putting that Verna would be both compassionate and cruel to the Usher children. It does make sense that Verna would be sympathetic because although most of the Usher family (save for Lenore) are not good people, none of that is why they have to die. None of the kids were able to have any say in that decision (most of them weren’t even alive!).

But although Verna can’t prevent their deaths, she can make it a peaceful one – but that all relies on the choices the kids make. Since most of the Usher family doubles down on their worst impulses, she, in turn, is cruel. A creature of symmetry, as she puts it - choosing to act as a sort of crossroads, so to speak, where the manner of their inevitable death is determined by which path they take.

Prospero/Perry Usher: She appears as a mystery guest, prompting Perry to follow her into the bedroom, and tells him directly that there’s still time to stop it, to be satisfied with what the party has been so far (implying he should stay with Verna). But Perry makes his choice to not do so, and ends up dying from the acid in the tanks.

(Personally, I think the last kiss Verna gives him as he’s dying is what she would’ve done to kill him if he’d decided it was enough – just have him die of more or less natural causes during the party, at the high point of being so close to achieving something). Instead, his last moments are full of horror and pain.

Camille L'Espanaye: Verna’s the security guard, telling Camille she doesn’t have to go back there to see what Victorine is doing with the chimps. But Camille does so anyways, because she hates Victorine and wants to find evidence of her doing something wrong – so focused on doing that she doesn’t even realize one of the chimps is out of the cage. Then, as we know, she gets mauled to death by that same chimp.

Napoleon/Leo Usher: Verna is obviously the cat shelter worker/owner, but I’d argue her first interference was with the cat illusion, where Leo thinks he’s killed Pluto while on drugs. This one is interesting to me, because it shows that Verna is deeply knowledgeable about what people will typically do.

Most people will hesitate to say “Hey, honey, I think I might have killed the cat in a rage while I was on drugs last night” and might actually say what Leo initially did – that maybe they accidentally let the cat out. So, his “crossroads”, observed by Verna, was to either save another (or all, even!) of the cats in the kill shelter, but he chose to only get the one that looked just like Pluto in order to pretend that nothing happened to the cat and erase any of his responsibility for doing something bad.

Of course, we know by the very end of the episode, that Pluto was indeed accidentally let out, and appears by Leo’s body. Similar to Perry, if Leo had decided to stop and not try to get a Pluto doppelganger, he wouldn’t have died that way.

Part Two here!

#the fall of the house of usher #verna #prospero usher #camille l'espanaye #napoleon usher #perry usher #leo usher #starting off with the first three siblings bc otherwise it would be extremely long lmao #part two is obviously victorine tamerlane frederick and lenore #yes lenore is a grandchild but this theme still applies to her

[naavispider]

YOUR FIC ABOUT SPIDER RUNNING OFF WAS AMAZING AND SO DAMN SCARY 😭😭😭

I got a little ask for you, if it’s too gorey I totally understand:

What if, while trying to escape the soldiers through the vents, Spider escapes into laboratories? They’re empty, but on one of the operating tables the kid sees something so horrid that his body, breathing, even heartbeat goes still.

There, on the table, lies a dead, half-dissected Na’vi.

If that’s too much, then perhaps Spider sees that Na’vi yet unharmed, but the tools around them imply that the poor child of a Eywa was going to be dissected like some sort of animal or plant. The sight shakes him to his core and the world turns into a blur as he is apprehended, and suddenly Quaritch is in his face but he doesn’t react, still deeply in shock as his eyes water at the unfairness, at the cruelty of it all. Miles notices the body and realises what the boy had witnessed.

My question is — how would he behave in that situation? Would he still go through with physical punishment? Would he believe that the horror Spider saw was enough to deter him from going on another escapade? Would he perhaps feel bad?

CW: body gore, description of corpse, swearing

As he crouched in the too-small tunnel, it was the smell that first alerted Spider that something was wrong. A hazy, blue light was shining up eerily through the slats in the vent, and Spider's heartbeat thumped loudly as he crawled slowly towards the grill. The smell was a mixture of sterile cleaning supplies and something much, much worse. It was like a decaying animal, which Spider was no stranger to after living for years amongst the forest, but this was somehow fouler. It was obvious the stench had been tried to be masked by the cleaning supplies.

Peering down through the slats, Spider could make out a large room with a shiny floor, and tables with tanks set upon them, with occasional tubing connecting different set ups. He couldn't see much more from this angle in the ceiling. He stared for a moment longer, knowing that he should just move on - but the room was too curious. It looked like some kind of lab, and there was no one in sight. It was completely quiet, apart from the sounds of bubbles from some tank or another.

He took a deep breath before using the keycard to skilfully unscrew the grate at the corners, a technique he had perfected on this little adventure through the air vents. The lack of a reaction to the noise he was making when he slid the grate to the side confirmed the lack of anybody down below. He poked his head down fully to double check anyway, hands almost slipping on the smooth metal of the chute with nervous sweat. The room was bigger than he'd first assumed, and that strange blue light was coming from several upright tanks filled with a thick fluid that looked something like the stuff Grace Augustine's avatar was kept in. Bubbles were floating to the surface like little orbs drawn to the top by Pandora's flux.

Not a soul was in sight, so he nervously gripped the sides of the chute and lowered his body down. He landed silently, padding over to the nearest desk for cover. He couldn't discount the idea that someone could walk in at any moment.

The floor was cool under his bare feet, and he cast his eyes over the papers on the desk, trying to ward off the shiver it caused him. He'd never been amazing at reading, but he wasn't stupid. There were stacks of different coloured paper files, some in neat piles and some spread out open. His eye caught one labelled, 'Specimen 21 and Oxidation due to Fibonacci neurotoxin'. He frowned, repeating the words until he extracted some sense from them. The Fibonacci was a plant that the Na'vi used to dip their arrows in before battle with the Sky People, or if the occasion called for it, with other clans. Why were the RDA studying its effects? He opened the file.

He was not prepared for the wall of text that painted the paper, immediately deciding that was too much hassle. "I'm happy for you, or sorry that happened," he muttered to himself, flicking past the text to the other pages, looking for images. The file opened on a double page spread detailing a diagram of...

Spider swallowed. That was a Na'vi, and around the drawing were smaller anatomical diagrams, of what he assumed were body parts, though they looked anything but. There were lungs breaking apart, a heart with sections shaded in black, and captions detailing what must be the effects of the neurotoxin on a Na'vi body. Necrosis begins immediately. Membranes disintegrate upon contact. Flesh swells.

Spider gasped, taking a step back from the desk. The RDA were evil, but being faced with the brutality of their war games brought it into stark clarity.

Wait, if the file was called Specimen 21, and it was about a Na'vi...

The smell.

Goosebumps sprung up over Spider's entire body, and he suddenly became very aware of the area behind the tanks, almost like someone was suddenly watching him.

Heart hammering, Spider turned slowly. Between the blue, fluid filled tanks, he could make out what looked like a table behind. He didn't want to move, but his feet carried him forwards anyway. He watched as if he was a passenger in his own body as he edged closer to the area, putting a hand on the outer-most tank as he rounded the corner to see what lay behind.

A cry escaped his lips at the sight.

He wanted to run, he wanted to scream. He wanted to sink to the floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to say the ceremonial prayer for creatures that had returned to Eywa.

Instead he froze. Though he wanted to, he couldn't tear his eyes off the dissected corpse of the Tipani clan member, lying so still and open on the cold metal table. The man's face looked eerily peaceful for the state his body was in, and Spider understood that no wonder the smell was so pungent. Blackened flesh and congealed fluid filled the man's open chest and stomach. It looked like acid had been poured inside the cavity, corroding everything it touched and making his torso seem unrecognisable from the smooth blue stripes that should be there in its place.

He blinked an angry tear out of his eye, as at that moment a door suddenly burst open, followed by loud shouts and angry voices, all swarming into the room where Spider stood. He recognised his name, but he was frozen in place; he couldn't move. Seconds later, what seemed like a whole unit of soldiers had surrounded them, and a large blue hand was on his shoulder. Spider still hadn't looked away from the Na'vi, and jumped as he realised that someone just like the Tipani man was grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Spider!" Quaritch called, pulling Spider around to face away from the man on the table, bending down to be at eye level.

Spider found Quaritch's eyes but was still too lost for words to say anything.

Quaritch had known about his. There was no other explanation for the recom's hardened frown, the set way that his eyes were pinned on Spider... the complete lack of surprise at finding a dead Na'vi mutilated on the table a few feet away.

Shock gave way to anger as Spider stared at Quaritch.

"What do you think you're doing boy?" Quaritch's eyes were angry too, and roughly shook Spider's shoulder as if to bring him back to reality. "Huh? You think you can just steal a keycard and go off parading around Bridgehead? You think this is a holiday camp?" The man growled and let go of Spider's shoulder, stepping back and appraising him as he balled his fists, clearing trying to control his frustration. "Fucking hell!" He let out, and Spider blinked, finally realising that he'd been caught - that the game was over.

When had it turned into a nightmare?

"You knew about this?" Spider choked out.

Quaritch glanced at him, then closed his eyes in an irritated frown, addressing the other soldiers. "It's fine, I got the kid from here. Thanks."

The rest of the men cleared out, leaving the two of them alone in the lab. The blue light flickered over both of their faces as they waited for the door to finally inch shut. Then, Quaritch grabbed Spider's arm and hauled him out from around the tanks, back into the open space where the Na'vi was no longer in sight.

"Yes, Spider, I knew about this. Why the Hell were you here?"

Spider stood his ground, narrowing his eyes. "You..." He didn't know what he was trying to say. "Why is there a Tipani warrior on the table?"

Quaritch's tail lashed. "I understand this was a shock for you to find, Spider, but what did you expect? The Na'vi use chemical warfare themselves, of course the RDA is going to learn from that and use it back against them!"

Spider shook his head. "You... you experimented on him..."

Quaritch sighed heavily. "Listen kid. We're at war." His tone rose angrily again. "I don't see you complaining every time a damn savage dips their arrows in the stuff. Or is it okay for them to murder innocent men and women?"

Spider hissed - something he hadn't done in a long time. He couldn't help it.

To Spider's surprise, Quaritch let out a laugh. One that sent a shiver down Spider's spine.

The man looked at him again before speaking. "Kid, they've really done a good job on you."

Spider bristled at the insinuation. How dare he. "Screw you! You think I'm brainwashed or something?"

"You're doing a damn good job of acting like it!"

At this, Spider didn't know what to say. Quaritch took advantage of his momentary silence.

"It's okay for them to use the toxin, but not us?"

"No, the difference is they don't display their dead to be used and experimented on! Everyone deserves dignity, especially in death!" A lump was forming in Spider's throat. Hold it in. "That warrior should have been returned to Eywa."

Quaritch was nodding, but his whole demeanour was sarcastic. "Uh huh? Brainwashed, just like I told you!" He gesticulated as if it was obvious for anyone to see.

"Fuck you!" Spider cast around for the closest object to him, picking up a stapler from the nearest desk and hurling it at Quaritch. The man ducked, for a moment unsure how to react, but he didn't have time to say or do anything before Spider reached for the holopad lying on the desk and threw that as well. Quaritch dodged it and it smashed with a clatter on the hard floor.

"Put it down!" Quaritch shouted as Spider went for the stool next, lobbing it at the recom with as much force as he could muster.

Quaritch hit it away without too much difficulty, lunging towards Spider just as the boy turned to the tanks.

Spider could tell that Quaritch had clocked his intentions and before he could muster the strength to tip the tank over, strong arms grabbed him from behind.

"You gonna be cool?" Quaritch yelled as he wrestled Spider over his shoulder. "Or are you gonna carry on acting like a five year old?"

Spider wanted to scream. How could Quaritch just be treating him like some bratty kid? He threw his arms against the man's back and kicked as best as he could against the recom's firm grip on his legs. "Put me down!"

"Cut it out!" Quaritch yelled, walking them over to the door. "Jesus Christ, you're embarrassing!"

Spider roared in frustration, finally going limp against the man's hold, only because he couldn't be bothered to fight any more. His blood still pounded in his veins and his breathing was still deep and uneven. He searched for Quaritch's kuru to pull, knowing it was a low blow, but the man had tactfully pulled it in front of his shoulder.

His face burned when they stepped out into the corridor and he was faced with being carried through the hallway like a toddler. "Bastards!" he shouted. "Put me down! I can fucking walk!"

Quaritch stopped, unceremoniously rolling Spider off him and pushing him to walk in front. Soldiers muttered as they passed for the entire walk through the base. Spider ignored them, only occasionally throwing out the odd insult of his own, until noise from behind alerted him to a scuffle. He stopped in confusion and turned to see Quaritch with an RDA soldier pinned up against the wall by the scuff of his uniform, looking shocked to find himself there.

"Problem, soldier?" Quaritch growled.

The rest of the corridor was silent.

"N- no Sir!" yelped the man, who had turned bright red.

Quaritch let him down roughly, and shoved Spider on without an explanation. Spider had no idea what had just transpired, but he quickly gathered that although Quaritch was allowed to be mean to him, it seemed nobody else was.

#spider socorro #miles spider socorro #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar 2 #my stuff #oneshot #jc avatar #avatar fanfic #hmm i'm not sure how this one turned out #some unexpected feels at the end there? #who'd have thought

[heartfullofleeches]

Scenario: Elliot's helpers are tasked with kidnapping their next victim (reader's sister, twin, lookalike) but they mistake reader for the target and reader is terrified doesn't know what to do, why the hell is Elliot here

(Changed it slightly as Elliot doesn't usually go for people that look like you. Tw: slight body horror)

Your head hurts.

Darkness shrouds your field of view; a sweet scent lingering in the air slightly overpowered by a musk similar to spoiled meat. It makes you feel nauseous; heart pounding so loud you can feel each beat through your teeth. What's going on?

A cry for help sits in the back of your throat. Despite most of your senses being shot, you could tell you weren't alone. You focus that energy on trying to remember what happened before this. You were at home, dealing with a cold while your roommate took your shift for the day at work. There was a knock on the door. A woman - begging for help. She insisted that she was being chased and asked to use your phone. You can't recall much after that.

"Hey, I think they're awake. What should we do?." A muffled voice speaks.

"He's across town with the butcher right now. Traffic in the area, so he'll take a minute to get back. Take off the blindfold. I wanna see their eyes one more time."

Another replies. Their voice is scratchy, and oddly familiar. Someone walks over to you. Calloused fingers push the blindfold up. You can feel the stitches on the person's palms as they glide up your face. Eyes adjusting to the dim room light, your first vision back is a tinted eye staring back at you through a red lense. The figure chuckles.

"Good morning, sunshine."

The man wears a black mask with large beady eyes like an insect; gas mask filters stitched into its lower half. He wears a doctor's coat over an old tank top and jeans; his entire body covered in scars and healing wounds - flesh discolored in certain places. There's something wrong with his left arm as he touches your face again. The skin is clammy and the bone beneath feels sharper than normal. Your stomach churns as you see it pull around his bicep, showing pieces of metal beneath.

"You're right. They are rather nice. Shame I'm not in need of one as I have plenty spares currently, but someone would pay a nice penny for them."

"Told you so!" Another figure hops down from a counter. They wears a black mask with a red smile panted across its lips, and a red checkered hoodie over top. The smile has some kind of glow to it; giving their appearance a sort of look that makes it seem like you're looking into a void. A hunting knife is strapped to their chest from the harness over their shoulders. The jacket is familiar, but you distinctly recognize the voice as the woman at your door.

You stare at the two; breathing heard from behind you. "What.. what's going on?"

The woman laughs. "You're gonna be apart of a movie, babe. And I get to be in charge of your makeup before I slit that pretty throat of yours."

"It's nothing personal." The man chimes in. "The director always picks the perfect star for his roles, and the best corpses to harvest. Not that I think about it, it might actually be somewhat personal. Never seen him as angry as when he told us to snatch you. Won't let us touch a hair on you until he gets first cut."

Fear takes hold, but before you can yell for help, a car pulls up outside. It's headlights shine the walls of the shed you were in. The two in front of you look at each other before heading to the door. The woman waves as she exits.

"See ya soon~"

And with that - you're left all alone. Maybe not alone as one might think, as footsteps sound from behind you as they leave. The third party walks in front of you, dressed in black from head to toe. A mesh mask hides their features; hands behind their back. Panic crawls up your spine as they pull them forward; object in grasp. You close your eyes; fearing for the worst - when you hear the sound of a cap.

You open one eye. It's... a water bottle. The figure presses it against your lip, tilting your head so you can drink. You keep your mouth shut, worrying it might be poison, but it's clear they aren't letting you off the hook. As the cool liquid hits your tongue, you realize it's nothing more than water. They wipe the driple off the corners of your lips and return to their spot as the door opens again.

"Tada!"

The two from earlier walk back in; joined by another who's eyes grow wide beneath his pale mask. You recognize the sweater he's wearing. It's the one you bought him on your first date after you spilled a drink on the one he had been wearing.

"E-Elli?"

He remains silent.

"Elliot- what's going in? Who are these people?"

The man turns on his heels, dragging his associates outside. The door rocks back open slightly from the force of which he slams it at. You can see the resulting argument from its crack.

"What the fuck is wrong with you idiots?! You got the wrong person!"

"The fuck are you talking about?" The woman shouts back." You gave us the picture of the one we were supposed to grab and they were were only one home."

"I gave you two pictures. Two! I did it specifically so you wouldn't fuck up if something happened. Their roommate probably took their shift today."

"Who are they to you, by the way? You've never acted like this bef-."

Elliot sends a sharp kick into the other man's abdomen. "Shut up, and go home. We'll talk more later."

The two hurry off as he enters the shed again. Elliot kneels in front of you, undoing the ropes tying you to the chair. He rubs the bruises on your arms, but you pull away.

"What the fuck was that, Elliot?"

He chews on his bottom lip. "A prank. A really fucked up and stupid one, but-"

"You call that a prank?! Are you fucking insane? I thought I was going to die! What could possibly make you think that was a good idea."

"I.... was going to ask you to marry me."

"W..what?"

Elliot offers a half smile. "You know better than anyone that I'm a big fan of horror. My friends were able to get me on board with this stupid idea of staging a kidnapping so I could propose in my own way. I knew how bad it sounded, but I didn't stop anything.

You don't know how to respond; quietly allowing him to take you home so you can rest. Later that night, Elliot sorts through his parent's things for the family engagement ring - hoping some good could possibly come from this night.

#Elliot my oc #yandere slashers #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere writing #yandere fic

[fr-likes-chocolate]

Pt three of Quesadilla island Simulator

——

Of course, Dapper and Ramon didn’t take the news of the hidden cryo tank room lightly, Chayanne had to slap his hands over their mouths before they could yell out.

“Shhhhhhh! Shut it!!! You can’t make a commotion! We are going to get taken like Tilin and Trump!” Cheyanne hissed. Ramon and Dapper both gave muffled protests but complied. Chayanne pushed them into his room, “Look. Trump is the reason I know about this cryo tank room. After he told me about the room he, along with Tilin and Juanaflippa disappeared almost immediately after. You two need to keep this quiet before we go missing too.” Chayanne hissed at them. Ramon and Dapper glanced at each other and nodded. Chayanne sighed, “We can talk about this tomorrow let’s ju-“ Richarlyson burst into the room, “Guys!! Bobby’s game avatar died and I can’t find him!” He cried. Dapper, Ramon, and Cheyanne looked at each other, “We are too late... They got Bobby...”

A week later Chayanne slipped off his headset and sighed, The Federation knew... Why were they not saying anything about it, why had he not disappeared like the others? As he walked down the hall, he heard footsteps behind him. Chayanne stayed calm as the person put their hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Turn into the next door on the left.” A cold shiver ran up Chayanne’s spine, was that... Flippa?

Chayanne did as she asked, walking into the room, he felt a cold hand gently guide him to a chair, then had him sit in it. He waited quietly, unsure of how to feel. Soon four figures entered quietly and stood in front of Chayanne. He studied their faces with horror worming itself into his heart. He hoped that the four would do something aside from stare at him with their cold and soulless eyes. Finally Chayanne called out to them.

“Bobby, Tilin, Flippa, Trump... What did they do to you?”

——

From the moment Richarlyson logged on, he knew something was wrong. One of his ‘dads’, Felps, had been missing for two days now, and now Cellbit, another one of his dads was worried. He started to worry when Cellbit told him to stay with Forever, and that he was going to look for Felps. Worry turned to panic when he got a notification saying to immediately log off due to an emergency. He excused himself quickly, ran to a safe spot, and then logged off.

As Richarlyson made his way back to the dorm, he looked back to see Leonarda and Dapper jogging up to him. “Hey, Richas- why the hell is there some sort of emergency? There's no fire alarm or anything...” Leonarda asked, Richarlyson shrugged, “No clue. My guess is that it has to do with the simulation. Maybe a virus infected it.” Dapper nodded quietly, lost in thought.

As the trio walked down the halls, they sat in silence. Dapper obviously had a lot on his mind, ‘Probably something to do with the conversation he was having with Chayanne and Ramon I walked in on.’ Richarlyson thought, he shuttered at the thought. He had left quickly after Chayanne said that Bobby was probably gone in the same sense as the three other testers were. That scared Richarlyson because no matter how smug and annoying Bobby was to him, he still loved him like a brother. Richarlyson hoped he was ok.

As the trio rounded the corner, they slammed into two figures who had been bolting down the hallway. Richarlyson bonked heads with one of the men, making all his senses go fuzzy. All he saw as he fell to the ground was the man’s brown hair with a shocking white streak running through it. He heard Dapper shouting something and hands grabbing him. Soon he was in the dorm, sitting on his bed, The two men were standing near him and Dapper was talking to them frantically. Finally, his head started to clear, he felt his face and was met with a large bump on his forehead. ”Dapper o que diabos aconteceu? quem são eles?” he groaned, at this, both of the men went wide-eyed at him, “....Richarlyson?” the one in red asked, he nodded, “Sim, sou eu, quem você pensava que eu era?” Suddenly it clicked, he knew these two, the white-streaked man with cat ears and his elf-eared companion. “Hey Dapper? I realized what that alert was about...” he murmured, dapper nodded solemnly at him, “You have no idea.”

#quesadilla island simulation #qsmp #au #qsmp chayanne #qsmp cellbit #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp dapper #qsmp eggs #qsmp felps #qsmp bobby #QSMP dead eggs #qsmp federation #GUESS WHOS NOT DEAD YALL. (im delulu and mourning their deaths still)

[mecharose]

ur not escaping my asks tonight I just need to go digging on ur blog for more about the rando cinematic universe (u or i need to make a shorter way to type that cus my attention span was screaming by the end of rando) brb

im gonna use this ask as an excuse to finally explain the main characters :D

these two are basically the overall "main characters" and appear in all eras (not every story tho):

Gilly (fae): the faerie queen of the forest. she assigned herself to be the immortal protector of a noble family of monster hunters/scholars, the Hawthornes. to her, they're her beloved family... until she's brutally betrayed in the 1890s. usually a helpful/nice character, kinda feral and trickster-y

Eyeball Guy (fae): moon faerie, goes by cool names like The Eternal Night Incarnate and Cosmic Sky Eyeball. accidental creator of vampires, later a vampire hunter. usually appears as an antagonist/villain - he doesn't WANT to be though, and is slowly going insane from guilt and self hatred

most stories indirectly revolve around one of their plot lines - Gilly stories are like tee hee fuck capitalism! :3 and Eyeball Guy stories are TRAGEDY AND MADNESS

the rest are named in chronological order of appearance w a very quick description for each below the cut:

fantasy era (the dawn of time until like early 1900s):

The Vampire Hunter™ (vampire): a 300 year old vampire hunter-turned-vampire. kills or turns any vampire hunters who find her for advice.

Cyn (human): silly goofy vampire hunter sidekick! later, a magic-creature serial killer after finding out their beloved mysterious vampire hunting buddy was secretly a primordial cosmic horror (eyeball guy!)

Luisa (vampire): Cyn's lesbian older sister. became a vampire hunter to protect them from their fucked up tyrannical family, was later turned into one when seeking advice from the Vampire Hunter™.

Montague Hawthorne (human): aka "the gilded age capitalist witch." betrays Gilly, to free his family from being forced to face magical dangers. technically the "BIG BAD" of the fantasy era, bc he turns the Hawthornes into capitalists like the Rockefellers

Caelia Hawthorne (human): ^bros younger sister, victorian mad scientist experimenting on magic and magical creatures >:)

Moira (fae): giant sea serpent. hates humans bc she got captured and imprisoned in a tank. possessive sidekick of evil pirate jesus, unsuccessfully trying to use her to get revenge on humanity

Evil Pirate Jesus (aka Jamie!! she has a name now!!): unwanted child of Cyn and Eyeball Guy, also the first human/fae to exist. has powers to generate & control light, also heal herself. she doesn't care that she has powers or is magically significant and just wants some parental figure to adopt her (cough aka Montague Hawthorne)

modern era (1970s onward):

Nelly (mostly human): 2013-era descendant of jamie. she can see the giant sky eyeball bc she is distantly related to it -- she doesn't know this and thinks she's imagining it, and tries many psychiatric interventions to get rid of it with 0% success

Annie (human): time loop girl! trapped living through the year 2013, 37 times in a row.

The Moth King (fae): sometimes the RCU is so fairytale, bc the moon faerie has a little moth knight :3 controls shadows & exclusively lives in the Fae Realm. maya's monster husband

Maya (human): a renaissance faire blacksmith who gets kidnapped to the Fae Realm and survives off sheer caution and common sense

Irina: massive dumbass who gets kidnapped by the fae **on purpose** bc she wants a hot faerie wife. a very fatal plan indeed

i'm pretty sure that's literally any character i've talked about in any sort of detail. and so I bestow: context :P (thx for reading if u got this far aha)

#rando cinematic universe #rcu worldbuilding #asks #lux-scriptum

[toosmallformyowngood]

Hear me out, karl heisenberg gets like 10,000 knives and stabs miranda with them. He then spins the knives to create a blender like action so she becomes pulp. Also he could of done that to kill ethan as well there was no need to mutate into a useless tank thing.

Exactly! See, you get it! He had so many options but clearly all four of the lords share a single braincell and it has never been in Heisenberg's possession in his entire life. Either that or the theatre kid ™️ instincts took over and he simply couldn't help but do everything in the most complicated and dramatic way possible (though I argue would that blending Miranda into the world's worst smoothie is sufficiently dramatic anyway). My good sir just decapitate her. Or poison her! Iron poisoning is a thing! And it's stated he has power over electromagnetic radiation which we never see used in game, so, like, just microwave her ass. Air fry that motherfucker until she's crispy chicken. Agian, so. Many. Options. And he went with zombies because of course he did. I mean granted it wouldn't really be a Resident Evil game without zombies (though personally I think the concept of RE works with a surprising variety of antagonists and environmental horror and yes I know this is a hot take that I'm going to get lambasted over but I will stand my ground) so he sort of had to take one for the team but c'mon man. You can indulge your inner mad scientist later, we've got a bitch Mirander to kill.

Also! Speaking of Heisenberg's mutated form, the design fucking kills me every time I see it because like, the top 99% is perfectly fine but then you look at the very bottom and he's got this one tiny wheel he's rolling around on. Unicycle looking motherfucker 😭

Like, look at this shit

"Oh hey, that's a neat design! ... Wait a minute..."

"Computer, enhance!"

FUCKIBG DINKY ASS WHeel Bitch what the fuck my man's popping a wheelie constantly. Also that would wear out so fucking fast man what the hell? I'm willing to bet he weighs a lot in that form and one commercial grade wheel is not going to cut it. How does he even maintain balance with the very visibly insecure weight distribution?!?

Granted, this design, despite being official released art (not concept art) is slightly different to the actual in-game model because in that one he has two wheels side by side like the kind you'd see on a lorry. I get the arguable benefits of less surface area in contact with the ground to an extent but again, in terms of balance and structural integrity sir you are going to fall over. You are not a racing bike Karl you are a fucking tank please act like it. It is arguable that me might not have "chosen" this form (as in, like, building it or something) because with the other two lords who's transformations we see, it's clear that both are entirely organic and involuntary mutations rather than them going "okay I want to put a mouth here, and an arm here" etc, etc. Sort of like when a tadpole turns into a frog it doesn't really go "yeah I'd like spots, spots look cool", it just turns into a genetically predetermined frog. Following that logic it can be assumed that rather than "putting together" a mutated form with various metals around he simply... grew it out of his skin, for lack of better terminology. Of course arguing that it may be pseudo organic or even an inorganic secretion (like those seen on the scaly foot snail) sort of falls short when you factor in the fucking wheel because his powers are over electromagnetic fields, not rubber (which is ironically an insulator). So unless he's been eating rubber bands in his spare time who knows where that wheel came from. Also given the argument of organic mutation, how would his body know "yeah that's what a wheel looks like". Alcina and Moreau's transformations make sense from a scientific standpoint (if we suspend disbelief about the actually transformation sequence itself) because all the traits depicted therein are in fact very real assets possessed by our pre-hominid ancestors and thus from a genetic standpoint could at any point reoccur in a modern human, but never in my life have I seen it heard of a creature rolling around like its showing off it's new heelies in the school parking lot. Look I know it's a video game but this single fucking wheel has sent me on a tangent I could rant about it for hours but I will shut up now so I don't talk your ear off (I have so much more to say but I am using all of my restraint). As much as I love RE 8 there are so many plot holes and things that just plain don't make sense even with the suspension of disbelief that comes with it being fiction designed to entertain for the sake of entertainment. But anyway in conclusion Karl is a dumbass and I love him.

#asks #anon asks #lom speaks #re 8 village #re 8 #re8 heisenberg #re8 karl heisenberg #re8 village #re8 lords #re8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil headcanons #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil viii #lord karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg headcanons #lord heisenberg #god thats so many tags

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Another day, another night at the aquarium

What a weird day this is turning out to be.

On an ordinary day, there would be an audience. There would be visitors to the aquarium, perhaps many of them -- and they would all come to the same conclusion, at the end of the journey, whether they had been there to begin with. On an ordinary day, the people who came to the aquarium would want to see what there was to see, they would go and have their picture taken in the aquarium, and they would say, "Yeah, it's cool, it's a tank filled with fish and it's got an underwater world in it!"

On an ordinary day, the aquarium would be, as you might imagine, a sort of aquarium-cum-shopping mall, a fish supermarket. On an ordinary day, there would be a place to see the fish in the tanks, and there would be a place that you could go and buy fish food and aquarium rocks and trays and lighting fixtures. The fish would be, as you might imagine, kept in tanks and displayed in rows, arranged on shelves or in cabinets. And you would look at the fish, or maybe you would look at some pictures of fish, in the way you looked at all fish. You would see that they're just fish, nothing special, nothing worth special care, but the fish food is expensive, so you buy some and take it home, and you eat some of it. And you might take some fish home with you, some "guests."

If you went back, after an ordinary day, to see the fish that you had seen the day before -- or even to see those very same fish again, if you're a regular -- the aquarium would just be a store. It wouldn't be a museum. It wouldn't be a place where you could be alone, contemplating the strange and the wonderful; it wouldn't be like the "aquariums" in the fantasy novels where all the fish are so beautiful that they outshine the sun. In the aquarium you could see the fish. You could look at them. The fish were right there, they were swimming around, they were swimming in the shallow water, they were in the big tanks, some of them were hanging out on the sides, some of them were in the middle, some of them were at the bottom, or at the top -- and they looked, well, they looked very normal.

I'm exaggerating.

On an ordinary day, there was never really a question. There was never a sense that you ought to go to the aquarium at all. Why would you bother? You would just see the fish, and then you would leave. It would be like going to a restaurant, like buying fish food, like taking some home with you. An ordinary day in an ordinary aquarium just consisted of eating food and going home.

But what a strange day this is turning out to be!

Last night was a different story, though.

Last night was like no other night at the aquarium. Because, last night, the floor of the tank was covered in a thick mat of algae, and all the fish were too. Most of them. A few of them were still moving about, trying to breathe. Some of the fish were trying to move and couldn't, while others were so dead that they looked like a plastic toy sitting on a table -- not, the toy would have gone to pieces, but its pieces were all still there, only now they were all in one place. Some of the fish still looked alive, and that was the real horror. They were still alive, and they were alive in a tank full of the dead.

And that was last night.

And the aquarium hadn't always been like that.

Last night was one of many, many evenings when the fish were all alive. There were many, many nights when the fish were swimming in the shallow water, and looking, well, normal. You could tell that it was just fish, it didn't feel like fish, but it was just fish. There was no need for anyone to go there, or to care -- fish were fish, there was nothing to care about. It felt like a shopping mall, where the fish were right there, but you could just go there, just look at them, it didn't matter if you bought any fish food, it didn't matter if you bought some aquarium lighting, and it certainly didn't matter if you brought a few fish home with you.

Why would anyone go to the aquarium, then? Why would anyone go to a mall?

On an ordinary day, there wasn't any mall -- or at least, there was a mall, but there was no reason to go to the mall. There was nothing for people to do there. They could just go out and have a nice day.

So people didn't go to the aquarium.

On ordinary days, the visitors to the aquarium were a very small minority of the population, and those visitors were almost always people with an obsession, an obsession with the fish. This was the same kind of obsession one had, for example, with baseball, and with "good" rock music. This is what people came to see: a room full of fish that people were obsessed with. You didn't see the fish in a room full of fish in the morning, or at the end of a long day at work; you saw them only at night, or only in a certain mood. You only saw the fish at some special time. And they only started at a special time. Usually you had to go to the aquarium just before dark. If you came to the aquarium after dark, when all the lights were out -- because the lights had been turned off -- you saw the fish in pitch darkness. When you entered the dark room at the end of the day, it was full of darkness, because there were no lights. You could just feel the darkness.

That was why the people who came to the aquarium were not ordinary.

And then, one night, the night they had a special place reserved, the aquarium got really, really big.

There was only one bed in the room, on which there was only one person, and that bed was where the big aquarium was put up. There was only one lamp, and it was for the big aquarium. There were no lights on the walls, and there were no lights on the ceiling. Instead of the usual dark, the room had a single lamp on, and that lamp was for a big aquarium -- and the big aquarium was full of fish.

And the visitor who came to the aquarium was not an ordinary visitor, no. He was a fish-man. He was wearing one of the fish-suits. He was a fish-man who had come to the aquarium from a far-off city. In that city, the fish were not just fish, they were the only thing. When people there saw a fish they couldn't help but imagine that something -- anything, everything, anyone -- had been a fish. Fish were a person's name for anything that did anything. The whole world was about fish. Nothing about fish mattered, but every action matters to fish. Every action that happens matters to fish. There is no end of fish. There will always be a fish, and so will you, and so will I, and everything is about fish. The only thing that isn't fish is a fish, and fish aren't good, so you

#original fiction

[universestreasures]

Cardfight Vanguard Clans Themed Headcanon Questions!

Royal Paladin: Does your muse prefer to tackle problems alone or with others?

With others, for sure! Aichi is definitely the kind of guy who is all ‘power of friendship’ and all that. The only time he usually goes at it alone is when he feels like it will put others in danger (Like with the whole S4 situation)

Shadow Paladin: Is your a muse the ends justify the means kind of person?

99% of the time, no. However, when there are desperate times (like again S4), there come desperate measures. For the most part when it comes to Aichi, he doesn’t like doing anything if it means someone else is going to get hurt, even if it is to save the world. Like if he had to sacrifice a friend to save the world he wouldn’t do it. 

Gold Paladin: Does your muse have trouble asking others for help? 

Depends on what it is. Aichi can be pretty stubborn. If it’s something small like help with a homework problem or a suggestion on his deck, then he can do it easily. It’s more the big personal stuff he can have trouble with sometimes. 

Oracle Think Tank: What does your muse see for themselves in the future?

Aichi sees himself not as a professional cardfighter, but rather a professor at a university teaching astrophysics and astronomy, all the while researching Earth and Cray’s connection on the side. He plans to go for his P.H.D! 

Genesis: Does your muse often read their horoscope? 

Aichi isn’t into things like that. Just not his thing! I think he wouldn’t mind hearing about it from someone else. It’s more he won’t go out of his way to read it. 

Kagero: Has ever been a time where your muse has just been like: Man I just wanna burn everything down to the ground?

Nope. Even after all the pain Aichi has gone through, he’s never really had that sort of thought before. He does know people who have though and how destructive that mindset can be (COUGH KAI KUN COUGH)

Narukami: Does your muse like storms?

Aichi doesn’t mind them. When he was younger, he was pretty terrified of them, but that fear has faded away. The only time he’d really not like them is it was super severe weather (like a hurricane or typhoon). 

Tachizake: What dinosaur would you associate with your muse?

I feel like Aichi vibes well with a Plesiosaurus, which is a type of aquatic dinosaur. IDK why, but that’s just what I feel. 

Murakumo: How would your muse react if they found out they were a clone?

Oh goodness...He’d uh...Not react well at all. A full on meltdown and extensional crisis. It would just be a hot mess, let me tell you. 

Nubatama: Is your muse good at gathering information discretely?

Being subtle is not a strong suit of Aichi, so I’d say no. He’s not the person you trust to gather info on what to get someone for your birthday, or to secretly follow someone to get information about them.

Nova Grappler: How much does your muse rely on technology?

Honestly, Aichi could live without it. He doesn’t always have his phone on him, doesn’t really use a computer unless it is for school, and isn’t glued to the TV. He’d be content with just his physical Vanguard cards, honestly. 

Dimension Police: Does your muse have a strong sense of justice?

Yes, even if it may not seem like it from the outside. Aichi very much embodies the knight archetype when he matures, and takes to heart what those values of courage, nobility, and justice mean. 

Link Joker: Has your muse ever lost all hope and fallen into despair?

Several times, actually. Aichi may be a very hopeful person, but there even times when that hope can die out. Season 4 is a great example of this since not even he believed there was an answer to the Link Joker seed other than sacrificing himself. 

Spike Brothers: Does your muse enjoy sports?

No, unless you count Vanguard as a sport (which Aichi doesn’t so). He’s not very good with much anything that involves a lot of physicality. 

Dark Irregulars: How well does your muse handle horror and general scary things?

Not well...Aichi is very easily frightened so even the most tame horror movie will cause him to get all spooked. Avoid that as a date night thing, folks. 

Pale Moon: Does your muse enjoy being the center of attention?

Absolutely not. Aichi hates whenever unneeded attention is on him, which is why he prefers to sit in the back of the class in a corner where no one will notice him. He also has stage fright and sucks at public speaking. 

Gear Chronicle: Does your muse think they are running out of time?

Not really. He still think there is a ton of time he has left on the planet, and looks forward to his future. 

Granblue: If your muse could bring back anyone from the dead, who would they pick?

His father, no question. 

Bermuda Triangle: Does your muse enjoy idols?

Even with some of Aichi’s friends being idols (AKA Ultra Rare), it’s not something he’s into. He could enjoy their music, but wouldn’t be an obsessed fan or anything. If it was one of his friends though, he would of course support them. Depends on the context and the person.

Aqua Force: Is your muse afraid of the ocean?

Nope! Aichi enjoys the ocean very much. He finds it relaxing. If he does swim in it, he won’t go very deep, but he enjoys it. 

Megacolony: Is your muse afraid of bugs?

Aichi is not a fan of bugs and will get anyone else to get rid of one. So, yeah. He is not a fan.

Great Nature: What animal do you most associate with your muse?

I know this is kinda obvious considering his deck/aesthetic, but a puppy. Aichi is a cute, soft puppy who is very loyal, loving, but will not hesitate to bare his fangs at anyone trying to hurt his loved ones (if they cannot be reasoned with, of course. He is, again, a pacifist). 

Neo Nectar: What flower do you most associate with your muse?

Blue Hydrangeas! They are the blue flower that is seen in the movie version of him and Kai’s meeting. It is a flower that has various meanings, but the most relevant ones to Aichi are apology, understanding, and gratitude which I think fit Aichi very well.

Tagged By: No one! I made this up cause I thought it be fun and wanted to share!

Tagging: @abysseeker​ (Choose your fighter) @duskshrouded​ @fragmentedimensions​ (Choose your fighter) @highseaskxng​ @whorunthewcrld​ (Choose your fighter) @thcsevoices​ (Choose your fighter) @tcthinecwnself​ (Choose your fighter) @adversitybloomed​ (Choose your fighter)  @acollapsar​ and anyone else who’d like to do this!

#💎 Paladin Treasure (Aichi Sendou) #💎 Paladin Plays Along (Aichi Dash Games) #💎 Paladin's Glimmers And Glitz (Aichi Headcanons) #tw long post #(ICB I THOUGHT OF A THING FOR ALL THE MAIN CLANS LOL #(BUT I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THIS XD

[babycharmander]

Any director’s commentary for “No Secrets in Wartime”? That’s my favorite of your stories! 👀

Sorry it took me a bit to answer this! I wanted to look over my fic again so I could properly answer, cuz it's been a while!

Gosh okay so I can't give commentary over the ENTIRE fic, but I can give you a few things:

For one, originally Ford was going to be there at the start, with Sasha and Milla. But while I was still planning out the fic and before I started writing it, I dreamed about the fic, and in the dream, Ford's appearance was more unexpected, and Oleander felt a deep sense of shame that Ford was witnessing this dark part of him. I liked that a lot and decided to keep it, and that was the last thing that finally spurred me into writing the fic.

Morceau's Meat Shop was not a fun mental world to do research for. %) I looked up stuff about processing meat, and also meat processing rooms in butcher shops, and uh. seriously don't do this to yourself. do not. DO NOT. (At the very least though I think I was able to translate it to the horror-version in Oleander's mental world pretty okay?)

Milla ripping into Oleander for caring more about animals than he does the kids he's supposed to watch over was inspired by the 2019 version of A Christmas Carol, where the Ghost of Christmas Past rips into Scrooge for the same reasons, albeit over significantly more horrifying stuff. (Funnily enough, Scrooge in that movie also had trauma involving his father murdering a pet to teach him a lesson.)

My personal headcanon for Ford is that, even though he'd shattered his mind, he was able to keep himself together long enough to run the Psychonauts for a while, and helped train some of the members like Sasha and Milla and Oleander. I feel like this is possibly supported by canon in how, when Raz enters the Meat Circus, Ford remarks on how he knew that Oleander's dad was a butcher, meaning that he knew about Oleander's personal life, which I don't think Oleander would be super open about to just anyone. So he would also probably realize that Oleander had some buried trauma there, given he was a zoolepathic psychic, but he didn't know the full extent.

Which, speaking of buried trauma, Ford is full of it here. At this point, while he's in his right mind, he's still not whole, and he's still running with the false memory in his mind that he'd killed Lucy, which is something that still eats away at him, and why he's the one to rip into Oleander for killing Loboto (or attempting to kill him--none of them know Loboto is alive yet, of course). Also, if it wasn't obvious, the bathtub's shattering and causing a flood threw him into PTSD flashbacks.

also i just really really like writing Ford interacting with other characters. we barely get to see him interact with people beyond Raz or the Psychic 7 and I need to see More of Ford interacting with people please

The tank battle took me a while to figure out, but I had fun with the concept of the tank essentially being the id to Oleander's ego (since it shouts out all his unspoken thoughts and deepest anxieties), and Mr. Bun winding up being a sort of superego.

The thing with Mr. Bun was also this sense of like... Oleander's been stuck on that trauma for a long, long time. And I mean, trauma never goes away exactly, but Oleander never took any steps to properly recover from it, and in his mind he's just constantly trying to protect Mr. Bun and all these rabbits that don't really exist anymore, and it causes him to overlook the people he really does need to protect, that being the children. Which, they show up as rabbits in his mind to parallel how he sortof became like the way he viewed his father, in a way, which Milla goes into in the previous chapter.

OKAY GOSH there's probably more I could say here but I need to stop rambling. @__@

#morceau oleander #ford cruller #milla vodello #psychonauts #writing #bc answers nonsense #anonymous #psychonauts 2 spoilers

[nokingsonlyfooles]

WTYP: The Shandor Building, Part 10

[Do you like the colour of the fanfic? This is long and if you expand it you're gonna get the whole thing, because Tumblr hates you. Don't say I didn't warn you!]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Part 10: Disaster Roulette: DEATH and Abigail Thorn

[Beware of strong language, mention of all kinds of death, gore, and Lovecraftian horror.]

[SLIDE: Darkness, with the All Hail Gozer logo in the corner.]

A: What the fuck? Isn’t it my pick again? Are we back on the fucking Kursk? [starting to panic] Are we all out of picks? Is this an endless loop? Oh my God… I’m not running Unreal Engine anymore!

D: Hang on, hang on… Laptops open, everyone! Are we all here?

L: We’re here! But, uh…

R: We’re on a sofa.

A: The Kursk doesn’t have a fucking sofa!

[footsteps, rustling]

R: I found a lamp…

D: I’ve got a light switch over here…

[click]

L: It’s a house?

D [annoyed]: It’s a flat.

A: Sort of a nondescript twee little flat…

R: There’s a microwave, and some dishes…

L: Is that Thomas the Tank Engine over there?

A: Where the hell are we?

L: Gandalf, buddy, is this your place?!

D: What does a lamassu want with a sofa and a microwave?

L: Comfort and convenience, my friends. Comfort and convenience!

A: And Thomas the Tank Engine?

L: Maybe he likes trains, I dunno…

A: Do you smell something burning?

R: [sniffing] Smells like… Substandard aluminum composite rain screen cladding?

A: GET OUT RIGHT NOW! DO NOT SHELTER IN PLACE! GET OUT NOW!

[SLIDE: The Grenfell Tower Fire.]

[running, scuffing, door slam]

[coughing]

L: FUCK!

A: Oh, fuck, oh…

R: Stuff that throw rug under it!

D: Who picked this? We wouldn’t pick this! We’d never…

L: We’ve had four picks, right, guys? The Kursk, the Silver Bridge, the Atmospheric Railway and Frankford Junction…

D: So shouldn’t it loop back around to Alice?

A: I didn’t pick this.

L: I think… I think Gozer picked this.

A [resigned]: Yeah. I mean, xe seems very into fire. And strategically speaking…

D: Can you see out the window? Are we over the 11th floor?

A: It doesn’t matter, no one’s coming to rescue us. If it’s any consolation, the smoke will probably get us before… before anything more dramatic happens.

D: Don’t give up! Don’t lose hope! It’s still before dawn, we’ve got time — we’ve got hours! As long as we keep podcasting…

L: Dev…

A: Dev, we barely made it through this one in the first place…

D: But you did make it through! We can do this! We know we can do this! We… We have pitch black senses of humour and indomitable human spirits. There is nothing we can’t laugh at. How… How is this any worse than the existential trauma of hurtling through space on a lonely planet with full knowledge that you and everything you ever loved or cared about will inevitably die? Our situation is fundamentally pointless and absurd, and this is how humanity copes! Fuck Gozer! Somebody make a joke about how many Xboxes you could buy with the government’s totally inadequate restitution and let’s go!

[brief silence]

D: Come on! This isn’t worse than Aberfan! This isn’t worse than fucking Bhopal!

L: We didn’t have to sit in an apartment in Bhopal and stare at some probably-dead kid’s Thomas the Tank Engine.

D: Rocz! You spent over a minute cackling after you found out Ruth Bader Ginsberg just died! Surely you…?

R: While it is often said that comedy equals tragedy plus time, I believe it may be more accurate to express “time” as “distance.” Laughter, as we call it, is the sound of a shock-induced dislocation of the human soul. In a community, laughter is validating; it’s a sign we all understand something is very wrong here, but it’s far enough away not to be hurting us at the moment. With laughter, we affirm our collective purpose and strength. In the matter of Notorious RBG or climate change or the heat death of the universe, we have room to seek that community with each other before the consequences hit. But this… I’m sorry, Dev. This is just too close.

A: It is oddly peaceful, though. I mean, the inevitability.

R: Yeah.

D: This can’t be what kills us! This is only… This is only… the government-sanctioned murder of over seventy human beings in need of housing assistance, at least one of whom was a child who likes trains…

[brief silence, quiet sniffling]

L: It’s all right, Dev. You did your best. We went out swinging.

A: If it’s any consolation, Ishtar’s probably not going to let this stand.

R: Yeah. Just, not much she can do with a pocket dimension.

D: What do you want to do? We’ve probably got hours…

A: Well, I have a few emails I’d like to write.

L: Yeah… I mean, it’s your prerogative, but I’m not gonna tell anyone I’m trapped in a pocket dimension and they can’t help us. Just, ya know, gonna try and keep it positive.

A: Yeah…

[typing sounds]

D: I… [weak laugh] I suppose I’d better let Abi know we won’t be in to record next week…

A: Oh, that’s thoughtful of you, Dev. Thanks.

[typing sounds]

A: Does anyone want to listen to some Mountain Goats?

R: We don’t have the rights.

A: Yeah, [laugh] but, we’re probably not going to get a chance to post this, so…?

[muffled ringing]

A: What’s that?

L: It’s my pocket…

D: Your pocket’s not ringing, it’s the cursed phone!

[beep]

L: Uh, hello?

[muffled, irritated phone voice]

L: Uh, no, they’re right here, though… Dev? It’s for you.

D: Hello?

[unintelligible, but very annoyed, phone voice, which continues intermittently throughout]

D: [sigh] No. No, Abi. I’m sorry. I promise, I did not make you watch the entire Bourne Identity TV series for a prank. No. No, we do not have covid. Or Vigo. No, um, I do understand you can’t do a podcast with one person, but, er… To be perfectly honest, we’re both about to die in a pocket dimension and then Ishtar and Gozer are probably going to have it out, so… Er, Gozer the Gozerian? Um…? No, xe can’t come to the phone right now… Because xe has taken the form of the Grenfell Tower Fire and… Um, hang on…

[beep]

Abigail Thorn (ABI): I SAID PUT ME ON FUCKING SPEAKER! AM I ON SPEAKER?

D: Yes.

A: Hi, Abi!

ABI: [cheerfully] Hi! [back to being annoyed] GOZER, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?

G: UH, BATTLING THE GODS OF THIS WORLD FOR SUPREMACY? WHO IS THIS, PLEASE?

ABI: MY NAME IS ABIGAIL THORN, I AM THE AVATAR OF ISHTAR WHO IS TALKING NOW, MY PRONOUNS ARE SHE AND HER AND I AM FUCKING ANNOYED!

A: What?

G: Oh? Abi? Hi! [clearing throat] OBVIOUSLY I WAS NOT GOING TO DESTROY YOU OR ANY PART OF KILL JAMES BOND, HA-HA. BIG FAN OF YOUR SUFFERING! SO, UH, IS THERE SOME OTHER PROBLEM?

ABI: YOU’VE GOT TWO-THIRDS OF KJB TRAPPED IN SUBSTANDARD PUBLIC HOUSING AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO SET THEM ON FIRE — THERE’S YOUR PROBLEM, YOU DAFT FUCKING ENBY!

G: WHAT? [slightly lower voice] WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE, AGAIN?

A [automatically]: My name is Alice Caldwell-Kelly, I am the person who is talking now, and my pronouns are she and her.

D: I, er… I’m Dev. Devon.

L: I’m Liam Anderson…

G: SHUT UP. NOBODY CARES.

A [faintly]: Yay, Liam.

G [sheepish]: TERRIBLY SORRY, THEY DIDN’T DO THEIR INTROS.

R: Fuck.

G: BUT NO HARM DONE!

A: I am traumatised and covered in horse viscera.

D: I’m questioning the meaning of my existence. Also, Abi never told us she was an avatar of Ishtar and… I think I’m a bit hurt by that?

A: Yeah. I mean, I assumed she was an avatar of something, but she might’ve specified…

G: ALL RIGHT, A CERTAIN AMOUNT OF HARM DONE, BUT NOTHING IRREPARABLE! DO I, ER, HAVE THE “ALL CLEAR” TO KILL THE OTHER TWO?

A & D: NO!

ABI: STOP TRYING TO END THE WORLD, YOU CUNT! I TOLD YOU, I AM STILL USING IT!

G: [sigh] HANG ON.

Part 11

#wtyp #well there's your problem #ghostbusters #long reads #fanfic #fanfiction #crossover fic #gozer the gozerian #alice caldwell-kelly #liam anderson #justin roczniak #devon #engineering disasters #podcast

[justcahttingtothevoidcat]

This wasn't some magical dream

I had such a vivid nightmare the other day, I was in a park, not one I recognise but there were folk around, a couple were vlogging that I noticed.

I remember thinking I wanted some water and there was an icy parked up selling the usual ice creams and whatnot so I headed towards it and it kind of transformed into a cafe which sat on the top of quite a steep hill.

The lassie in the couple was up on the hill too, I saw she was wearing some sort of fabletics looking get up, with a green sports bra and green bottoms they were like a mint leaf colour, it looked lovely compared to her brown skin, she was quite tall and her hair was down and she was talking to her camera. I could see her fella down at the bottom of this hill in the lower part of the park, looking up at her.

Something happened, like she stumbled a little and I remember her saying something like "that's me done", but maybe she didn't say that, I could have added that afterwards.

She did say she was going home to get changed, she had a black outfit in mind, I saw it, the top was a broad strap tank top with black bead accents and a pair of black jeans, but she changed her mind, saying to the camera that her outfit now would be better because her fella wouldn't like the colour in the casket and that would be funny.

I didn't really know what she meant by that, it didn't make sense to me at all. The next minute she turns her back to the ledge of this steep hill face and does this incredibly graceful backwards swan like dive, right off the hill.

The movement was so enchanting and well executed I didn't realise that she was preforming a sort of swan song, my dream vision glided down with her, she had the camera in her hand and was looking in to it as she dived down. It was only after a minute of falling that I actually realised what was happening, this wasn't some magical dream, this girl was falling at an alarming rate.

My point of view changed, I was back on the hill looking out and down to the folk below, looking at her boyfriend. The colour had drained out of his face, his hair was sharply black in contrast to his pale skin and then I was back, falling, with the girl in the green.

Horror had started to flood through my body at this point, I could feel the adrenalin, how was she still falling, it's like time had slowed so much it all felt unreal, then I thought to myself I can't do this, I can't watch this, I have to get down and do something. I looked over to the right, where the rock face was grey-brown, smooth although in places there were cracks. I didn't see the landing, but I felt it, my whole body jolted as if it was me that had jumped.

I woke up right after that, none of this was real, it wasn't based on anything I had seen or knew of happening myself but it clung to me, like oil. I keep seeing this vibrant lassie in green on top of that hill talking to the camera and wondering what any of this means, if it has a meaning.

Do I have a friend who is in trouble? Is this some weird part of my Psyche telling me something? Does my brain like to torture me? Is this some weird hangover from the PTSD or Depression?

That vision of her has stuck with me all day, not her death, but her alive and talking to the camera. I retell it not to make a spectacle of a suicide, but to wonder what is going on with me, why does my mind keep replaying that same part. I often have nightmares about people I love getting hurt, this was different in that I didn't know this person. It still hurt though, it felt real, very real and these things are hard to brush off.

I hope nightmares are a uniquely human thing, the thought of it happening to any other sentient being is awful. I actually think it's part of the reason I am typing this chat, instead of going to bed, it's 1:06am and I need to be up early but I realise I've been putting it off.

Suppose I had better get ready and go to bed, hanging about won't make it any less likely that I will have another nightmare after all. Thanks for taking the time to hear me out and let me try and work it all out a little bit cat.

#tw suicide discussion #nightmares

[swashbucklery]

OK so I went on a spiral about this in Discord and now I’m condensing that here because @falsealarm encouraged me, so.

One of my Niche History Interests is WW1 war poets, and specifically my favourite is a man named Wilfred Owen and there are some ~uncanny similarities~ between him and the Gwyn/Alun backstories and so I wanted to just like. Go bananas sharing why I love this particular slice of history and maybe if this arc on Legends is something you’re into you’ll like this slice of history, too.

Disclaimer: I’m not a historian, I’m trying to say stuff that’s as true as I can make it but please don’t cite this for school. Also content warning for like. . .the First World War, if you’re not into reading about people dying from mustard gas and trench foot and shit you’re SOL that’s a major theme. Oh and poetry. Super gay angry sad poetry.

So anyway, under the cut: Gwyn Davies’ Backstory and Character Is Heavily Influenced by Real War Poets, Specifically Wilfred Owen And Others Of His Generation And I Can Prove It.

World War One Was Not Fun For Anybody, I Cannot Stress This Enough

So to understand, broadly, the context of WW1 poetry you first have to understand three things:

There had not been a Big Fucking War for a good long time. (OK I said this and then looked up the Wiki article for British Wars and like. They did a lot of them, fine. And this is not to minimize the obvious harms of the 1390483 colonial revolutions they were involved in but like. A Big War that really touched private citizens in the UK in a meaningful way, scale-wise.)

There hadn’t really been a Big Fucking War with the technological advances of the early 1910s, specifically: phones and radio, cars and tanks, Big Fucking Guns, and also mustard gas (cw if you click through for: gross). As a result, there wasn’t a good way to anticipate the specific and catastrophic horrors that soliders were being asked to face

A lot of Commonwealth soldiers sort of signed up thinking it’d be kind of fun & noble to Be In A War with very 19th century ideas of what war would be (think: dodging cannonballs, fun outfits, maybe losing a foot and telling fun stories later at parties, etc). Some of this was generational; ie because of the long time between wars there wasn’t really a great sense of what being in a war was actually like, but also the technological advances in point 2 meant that really even if there had been the experiences in this war were so, so different from wars that had come before. (This is mainly in soliders who volunteered early on, before conscription came into effect in later years.)

So because of this, you have a lot of young people who are literate, very idealistic, and ultimately either die or become extremely disillusioned very quickly. This was also the first war with just like. Truly catastrophic global casualties; depending on how soldiers were drafted and posted sometimes like. If one unit was in one of the really horrific battles that meant that basically a whole town lost their men from 18-35. This is also when you really start seeing descriptions of shell-shock, which would later become the constellation of symptoms we now know as PTSD - prior to this war this type of trauma wasn’t well understood or described by modern medicine, but the sheer volume of men returning with the syndrome prompted the development of early diagnostic paradigms.

SO ANYWAY. The war was fucked up, and people wrote poetry about it. You get kind of two types of poets coming out of it: some that are basically just versifying propaganda, and some that are really fucking angry. And you have to understand the angry generation of poets are not people who were like, sitting at home writing about their cousins at war. These poets were in the war; a lot of their poetry was written while they were in the hospital in between battles or on the front lines, as well as immediately postwar as a way of processing the collective trauma of the war and also sort of combatting the propaganda around it.

(Bc as with any war, there was this nationalist narrrative of like. Your boys are fighting for glory etc etc, big angel of freedom, and Owen’s poetry in particular is exquisitely moving for deliberately cutting through to be like. Fuck this, fuck your war, fuck your fucking propaganda this is appalling and you’re lying to people.)

And so you get poets like Owen (who was, by the way, Welsh and almost certainly gay and definitely had shell-shock) who are writing these beautiful things fueled by just like. Years of trauma and the genuine anger of disillusionment as well as youth. Owen was 25 when he died, a week before the end of the war.

ANYWAY WAR POETRY and specifically this is coming up because a) I love Owen, he’s my favourite and also b) the lines from last episode about Alun writing the most beautiful poetry like. This is intentional and I’m eating it up.

Wilfred Owen: Why Are You Getting So Weird About This, J.

So Wilfred Owen (he/him) is a notable war poet. He enlisted in 1915 and managed to live right up until 1919. The thing that is really beautiful about Owen’s war poetry specifically is like. It’s angry and it delineates true horrors extremely eloquently, but its also rooted in such love. You get this feeling of like. That was a kid and a young man and I cared about him in every word, he clearly was such a sensitive person and felt loss and caring so acutely at that period in his life.

(There are a lot of allusions in biography to his ~exquisite sensitivity, please read between the lines here my man was a lovely tender homosexual. He was ~connected to and ~influenced by Sassoon, noted for several ~affairs with men as well as several ~friends of Oscar Wilde~ like. A vibe is emerging.)

He wrote several famous poems including Dulce et Decorum Est, which is truly my favourite poem about war, period. The full text is linked above and it will make you cry. For context, the Latin at the end dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori was a common phrase that most readers would have known, it translates roughly to it is sweet and fitting to die for your country and was used often in pro-war slogans. The use of it in this poem is this beautiful middle finger of like. If you fucking knew how it felt to see a kid die for their country you wouldn't lie to us and tell us that.

I also think a lot about poems like Sonnet To My Friend - With An Identity Disc when I think of Gwyn & Alun; the last four lines are so very very:

Let my inscription be this soldier's disc. Wear it, sweet friend. Inscribe no date nor deed. But may thy heart-beat kiss it, night and day, Until the name grow blurred and fade away.

Like. Just sit with that it’s so much, you know? But also this gorgeous theme of like. We remember each other, I’ll remember what you went through even if your family doesn’t. The complex shared understanding of people who went through it and the way that it creates distance between them and people who didn’t when it comes to healing and memory - this was also a big postwar theme, that people “back home” who had really only experienced a media narrative of the war just weren’t able to understand.

So like. This is beautiful on its own, and definitely sometimes (and in Owen’s case probably) dovetailed nicely with themes of homosexuality rather than ~brotherly love. The specific choice to make Gwyn explicitly in love with Alun makes this explicit and disambiguates it from the ~themes~ of the ~past~ and I love that so much. There were a lot of other poets this could have represented, including Sassoon, but Owen’s poetry is so well-known and evocative that I think he’s the clearest choice.

This Is Also Brilliant Because Of The Parallels To The Collective Trauma of Present Day; You Can’t Talk About The End Of WW1 Without Discussing The Spanish Flu Pandemic.

The other thing that is getting me and like - partly because in my personal life I’ve been reflecting on our ~modern stresses~ and the ways that they feel a lot like the collective traumas of other transformative historical moments. But I’ve been thinking about the narrative choice to add a new character from a similarly transformative moment in history, and really appreciating the parallels.

I think the choice to root Gwyn at this moment in history is intentional and really beautiful as a narrative decision. Gwyn feels like the person the show needs to give time travel a context and a perspective that resonates with viewers living through a similarly transformative time, you know?

(And this is also like - I think one of the reasons last season fell flat for a lot of fans is partly because it was the wrong story for that year? It really focused on the team being apart and fracturing at a time when people were craving stories about togetherness and I think because S7 was planned well into the pandemic they are hitting right tone much more often.)

It’s also a particularly poignant choice because Gywn would have lived through not only the war but also the subsequent flu pandemic, which killed more than twice as many people as the war and basically overlapped the last year of conflict; it was spread via troop movements and all of the migration post-war.

Anyway, I’m just rolling around in the parallels here because like. Gwyn’s 1920s are similar to our 2020s; this was such a deliberate choice and I love it so much? But also the specific historical vibe of him is one that resonates with me really deeply and I think is a wonderful and beautiful choice.

#anyway thank you for coming to my tedtalk #this is 1700 words of idk if this is infodumping or meta or what it is #but it sure is something and it makes me happy #please enjoy this with me #gwyn davies: lover not a fighter #gwyn davies: soft vintage queer #grouchy aunt j's niche history facts corner #grouchy aunt j's television metacommentary corner #legends of tomorrow #lot spoilers #cw dcu feelings

[siremasterlawrence]

Twilight Void: Superman

It is a stark night in earth with a streak of bright lite shining onto earth as the blind darkness of the night.

Clark Kent exacts The Daily Planet in a bit of rush hoping to get back home to the Kent’s family farm.

Suddenly the moonlight began to fade away in the night the world dimming away in to the dark.

The air starts to cool all over The Great City of Metropolis a eclipse erupts the outline in the sky.

Something is off by all of this he mindless ran in to a alley way slowly undressing as he jet to the sky.

He enters the sky shooting upward in to the area of space he stops floating mid away above the earth.

High above the earth sun is so bright with a new white tinge the blitz grows brighter.

Sparks of light blow up heading straight at his face his eyes are hit each with one hot sparkle.

Clark stops instantly holding on to the as they close tight trying to cool the burn.

His body shook out of control as he lost all of his control with his body hurling past the universe.

Clark lands crashing on to the moon hitting it hard forming giant crater where he settles.

The Man of Steel is in a wide eyed surprise as they net made from kryptonite cover over him.

“Mwahahahahahahahahahaha” A young man stood over him his shadow wide over him.

His shadows grows over getting to point he felt enclosing on him and he can’t escape.

Clark forms two fist with his hand trying to pound his way through his next to no avail.

“It is oblivious to me how you manage to even try to consider a escape.” He states.

“What do you want with me? Let me go.” He yells.

“You fool, I don’t give up a crap about what you want.” The young man state slapping him.

Clark is left in stammer at the sheer nerve and audacity of that young male.

The moon revolves one at a time slowly it is stirring something in him with a thump.

His heart pumps violently seeing this young nerdy man about as he sees this young nerdy black guy.

He places his hands on his hip staring Clark down with this menacing smile,

He is in total control all Clark could do is stare back in horror as the fear set in for some reason.

“My name is Lawrence and you will soon learn to address me as Master Lawrence”

His voice calm.

“No way in hell! Fuck you” Clark’s rage is out of control.

Clark’s eyes burn out with his heat ray vision still unable to pierce him.

He can feel the sunlight upon him his ray are washing over him, the once human sunlight battery.

“This is not the real moon of the sun is it? It’s some sort of duplicate universe.” Clark forms a opinion.

“Still a reporter even in midst of danger.” He adds stepping back a bit to show it off.

“Where is this void? Is this a dream?” Clark relentless pushes the man for answers.

“The Nightmare Void you idiot.” The man is taunting Clark making a tsk tsk sound and wagging his fingers.

The young man snaps his fingers a small blast of light erupts covering the space with wind.

Everything in the area blinds the world he is in, Clark is in a bind unable to stare away from him.

“I will never allow you to destroy my life of this world.” Clark explains.

“Mwahahahahaha” the man just laughs in total defiance.

“You think you have a choice? You don’t” the man say sternly removing the net.

Clark leaps on to his feet then jumps at the young man, and with little effort his hands are on his neck.

“The sunlight is gone, your strength fades out of the existence, and you are mine.” He laughs.

“Let me go, set me free now” Clark shouts a bit.

Lawrence lifts his fist to face him throws a hard punch that sent Clark flying.

The most powerful man in the world Clark Kent AKA Superman The Man Of Steel.

I cannot believe this man built like a steel tank and unequivocally strength fail.

Clark falters any effort to rise to his feet in a mission to reveal his true nature.

Clark’s fist lose all sense throwing down with me though I block every punch in a easy way.

I break out in a fit of laughter grabbing both of his fist in mine and knee him in the shins.

“Look at me, I said LOOK AT ME” I yell at him.

“The Man Of Steel huh?” I question him.

“That’s what they call me, I don’t care” his voice weakens.

“You should care because I will make you”

“I will break you into a million pieces and now I will complete you.

I place his hands on to my hips, cup his chin in my hand and lift it into a kiss he gives in fully submit.

The end

Happy Easter Treat! See You In May!

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 8. solo

Previous | Next

[warnings: underage drinking, smoking, weed, near death experience?, crying]

"never have i dealt with anything more difficult than my own soul." — You leave the roof late in the night. Sal had gotten up and retreated into his apartment a little while earlier—but you'd decided to stay and make sure he didn't come back there.

Three days pass. They all consist of fleeting glances and irresolute tension. Things remain the same with the group dynamic, except for between you and Sal. Neither of you seem to know how to continue from that conversation on the roof. No one else notices, though. They'd never suspected anything from the beginning, it seems.

The beginning of your involvement with Sal involved a little bit of buildup and then a snap which resulted in a sexual encounter (or two).

Now it was a bit different. Now things were a little less lighthearted.

It's a Saturday—you'd planned to spend it inside as usual. That's until your phone starts ringing.

You flip your phone open, read over the contact, and answer the call.

"Hi, Ash."

"Y/N," she starts. You hear the excitement to continue in her voice. "There's a party tonight."

"Oh?" You get up from your seat on your bed.

"Some stoner Larry has connections with invited him and said to bring friends. He wants to bring us—save for Todd. He doesn't do parties."

"Wait," your eyebrows furrow. "Me?"

"Yeah!" She says from the other end of the line. "It'll be fun. Cmon."

You bite your lip nervously, anxiety knotting in your stomach. "I don't know. I've never really.."

Ashley is momentarily silent on the other line. She must be contemplating what to say to convince you. "Sal's coming too. Parties aren't necessarily his thing, either—so maybe you guys could try it out together?"

You open your mouth and then promptly close it. Something inside of you suddenly really wanted to go to this party. "Um... alright. Okay."

"Cool! What're you gonna wear?"

You look toward the drawer that contained your clothes and bit your lip. "Not sure yet. I'll update you on that."

"Okay, don't forget to text me! See you at eight."

The call declined from the other line. The phone that held the phone to your ear slipped into your lap. You pressed your lips together and tried to ignore the familiar feeling of sickening nausea and anxiety.

You don't rush yourself on getting ready for the party, because the time you're due to be done won't be for a while.

You take your time with the hours you have. You shower, take your time on eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss—and finally decide on what you'll wear.

You decide on a square neck white cropped tank with short sleeves and your nicest pair of light blue, slightly washed out jeans. You slid on your favorite, sort of chunky white sneakers over white socks.

It isn't long after you finish when Ashley calls and informs you she's arrived at the apartments and Larry and Sal have already joined her out in the car. You give yourself a once-over in the mirror and then leave the apartment.

Your mother was nowhere to be found. She's either at work or drinking with her coworkers.

Once you've opened the door and climbed into the Ford Fiesta, you immediately realize your predicament—Sal is the only person in the backseat with you.

The drive there is decently long and painfully tense. Neither you nor Sal know how to speak to each other, so no words are exchanged beneath the heavy metal music emitting from the radio.

When you finally arrive at the party, it's recognizably crowded, drunken teenagers are flowing from the front door, in and out, and there's a good amount on the lawn. The newest radio hit is playing on a considerably loud speaker, and the vibrations are notable even from a distance.

"Woah," Larry says, staring at the house as Ashley pulls onto the side of the road. "Didn't realize he was so popular."

You all exit the Ford Fiesta and cross the road. You cringe as you watch someone vomit onto the grass, and another person ripping from a bong in the wide open.

Smoke flies into your face and your eyes as you enter the home. You cough, waving a hand as you blindly follow after your friends.

Eventually, the four of you find yourself on two couches directly facing each other. You on one, Larry and Ashley on the other. Sal is stood to the side.

Larry materializes a bottle of Fireball that you guessed he stole from someone on the way in, opens the cap with his teeth, and takes several gulps.

"Where did you get that?" Ashley laughs over the music, pulling the sleeves of her lavender sweater over her hands.

"Stole it," he looks to Sal and directs the bottle toward him. "Want some?"

"Sure," Sal replies, to your surprise—taking it from Larry's grasp and walking away and in your direction.

"You're drinking that?" You ask him, testing the waters.

"No, actually," you watch Sal round to the other side of the couch to linger behind you. "I'm limiting him. He'll thank me later."

Once he's out of your field of vision, you tip your head back and gaze up at him—your perspective on him being upside down. Your gaze zeroes in on the bottle of Fireball he's clutching in his hand.

"Hey," you say, meeting his eyes. "Give me some."

It was time to give him that excuse—the excuse to break the ice.

He leans in a bit, gesturing toward you with the bottle. "You want it?"

A grin pulls at your glossed lips. Instead of reaching for the bottle, you open your mouth and tilt your chin up.

Sal looks on for a moment but laughs once he realizes what you want. Everyone else at the couches seem decently distracted with each other and the overall environment—so he doesn't seem to worry about it too much.

He reaches his hand around and towards your neck, gripping your jaw in his fingers and holding you firmly. You feel his cold rings press into your skin when he tips your head further back just a bit—and then steadily pours a shot-amount of Fireball into your mouth with his other hand.

Sal stops at the right time, looks on as you pull back and sit up, and cautiously watches the back of your head as you assumedly swallow the whisky. But when you turn a bit in your seat to peer at him over your shoulder, you're holding your mouth closed and pressing a closed fist to your lips while soundlessly giggling.

"What?" He laughs, a hand moving to the top of the couch. He leans in a bit. "Can you not swallow it?"

Your shoulders shake slightly as you continue to laugh. You shake your head up and down.

"Do you need to spit it out?" Sal asks, his tone warming into concern.

You shake your head from side to side. You meet his eyes and swallow, gasping as the liquid slides down your throat and burns all the way down. You cough, the flavor of cinnamon and what tasted like Big Red gum overloaded your senses.

"God," you breathe out, giggling all the while. The alcohol is gross but you're feeling good. "It's not great."

"Yeah, that's why I'm holding Larry off, so he won't be puking his guts out later."

You look up to the boy, who's sat on the arm of the couch opposite to you. He's busy talking to some equally stoned guy, so you can't manage to catch his eye—but you catch Ashley's.

She had this look of astonishment on her face.

Had she been watching what happened? When Sal poured Fireball in your mouth?

Your face grew hot thinking about it.

Sal wanders away from you again, and you find yourself drinking more than you should. Eventually, your rationality disappears.

It's been a few hours and Sal hasn't seen you for a while. So when he hears about a girl wearing a white crop top walking across the roof of the house, he feels like he's going to vomit.

It takes him a record time of 6 seconds to get out of the door and onto the lawn. Upon looking up at the roof, his suspicions are confirmed. He shoulders past multiple people to place himself near the front of the crowd and gazes up in horror.

"Sal!" You yell, gesturing toward him with something between a wave and a point. "I'd recognize that hair anywhere!"

Multiple heads within the crowd turn away from you and towards him. He puts aside his social anxiety and the wave of unease that washes over his body and tries to focus on you. "Please come down," he rushes out, raising his voice just enough for it to be audible over the crowd.

You laugh like he's told a hilarious joke and he quickly realizes his mistake. That's the worst thing he could've told your intoxicated self. You move toward the edge of the roof, shaky and uncoordinated. "You want me to jump?"

"No!" He exclaims, his hands flying up, fingers splayed. "No. Don't do that!"

"Holy shit!" He hears Larry shout from somewhere closer to the front door of the house. Sal guesses he's just now catching wind of the current situation. Moments after, both of his brunette friends are at his side.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ashley yells, verdant eyes glued to the sight before them.

You lost your balance once again, but this time a bit worse—your foot catching on a shingle on the roof and effectively knocking the red solo cup out of your hand. It dropped onto the downward slope of the roof and the liquor inside of it spilled down the side.

Whenever Sal witnessed the toe of your white sneaker catch onto that shingle, he felt as though his very soul had been ripped from his body. Immediately after he watched you regain your footing and stable yourself, though—his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace.

"I'm going up there," he stated beneath the chatter.

Both Ashley and Larry's heads whipped toward him.

"You'll kill yourself!" Larry exclaims incredulously. Ashley opens her mouth to assumedly second Larry's statement, but Sal cuts her off by walking away.

"Not before she does," he mutters, pushing his way through the density of bodies and forcing his way through the front door. His senses are disoriented like he's been submerged beneath water as the volume of the music scratched at his eardrums and pulsed the innards of his skull. Adrenaline courses through his blood like a drug whilst he shoulders past both mindlessly drunk and carelessly high teenagers.

Sal doesn't spare them a second glance, but their unconcern does remain in his mind. The fact that they're continuing their lives while he feels as though something that's growing into something of importance in his is about to be taken from him... it's mind-numbing.

He's never been an optimistic person, he's always tried to view things in the way they're most likely to happen—and all that's beneath that two-story house is a long drop and concrete. If you fall, you'll break your head open and you'll die.

He finally makes it to the stairs. He makes a break for it then, tripping over his own feet multiple times. Anything could happen in this amount of time, and he knew no one else was going to help him.

Sal's thoughts grow more and more disordered as he navigates the dark halls of the house. The music seems to have only grown louder, the deafening mixture of guitar and drums taunting him.

He remembers the window on the outside of the house. Sal estimates which room it would be, locates it, and approaches the door. He turns the knob, but it doesn't fully rotate.

The door is locked from the inside. Of course. Who would have a party and leave the bedroom unlocked so people could fuck all over your comforter?

He bites out a curse only he hears and prepares himself to force the door open.

Sal grabs the doorknob tightly, prepares himself, and rams the side of his body into the wood. He doesn't even feel the pain, just does it again, and again.

He goes until that half of his body is numb.

The door finally budges, and he wastes no time entering the room. He doesn't hesitate when he reaches the double-hung window he'd been seeking. He grips it at the bottom and pulls it up and open, clenching his teeth together painfully.

Sal stares out at the vastness of the night, the golden streetlights, and how they shine down on the crowd of people below him. They all seem to be looking at the same place, up, but not at him—and he can only swallow thickly.

Carefully, Sal moves to sit on the windowsill, gripping what was above him tightly, his legs outside. He then ducks to leave the room and shivers as cool air hits the front of his neck.

He starts walking the roof, steadily—like his life depends on it. Because.. it does.

Or yours. Yours depends on it.

"Y/N!" Sal calls as he finally reaches a point where you're in his line of sight. Momentarily, he's worried he'd scared you. But you turn your head, meet his eyes, and smile. Despite that, your face spells fear all over it. Something must have sobered you up a bit while he'd been inside.

"I'm going to come to you. Do not walk towards me!"

You blink lazily, because you were drunk, and nodded. You shivered, hugging yourself. It didn't seem to do much, though. Your arms were bare.

"Fuck," he breathes, gazing down at the fall that could await him if he misstepped and immediately reverted his gaze. Blood rushes between his ears as he steadily makes his way towards you.

"Please don't fall!" You suddenly exclaim, your hair tussling in the breeze. A strand blows over your face, so you quickly raise a hand to move it back in place.

He looks up from his feet and stares you in the eyes. "I won't," he affirms, you and himself, continuing across the roof. "Just stay put, okay?"

It doesn't take long to get over to you. He's mostly sober, so it isn't hard on that part. What's difficult is calming his steady heart.

He's not scared of falling. Not necessarily scared of injury or death. But he is scared of not making it to you.

Once he's at an arms reach of your shaking form, he reaches out a hand, palm facing the darkness of the sky.

You seem to read his mind, slowly grabbing his hand. Sal maneuvers your joint hands to where your palms press together and your fingers are interlaced. He doesn't know if it's the blood rushing through his ears or the distance from the ground, but it's as if everything below becomes very quiet.

You meet his gaze, your pretty eyes glossy with tears. The eyeliner you were wearing had just begun to collect beneath your lower lash line.

He squeezes your hand and leads you to be in front of him.

It's not long after that that he's gotten you off of the roof. Sal watches you slip through the open window before turning toward the density of people beneath him on the ground. He breathes in as he catches both Larry and Ashley's eyes—he can't read their expressions, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was shock written all over it—and then ducks back into the window.

As soon as the window is shut and it meets the windowsill once more, Sal whips his head toward you. "Y/N-"

Before he'd saw your face, and the language of your body as you were sat on the edge of the bed, he was going to scold you, and then go downstairs and find you some water and sober you up—all of that falls down the drain when he sees the stream of tears falling down your face. Every time you blink, more drop—quickly staining your cheeks with black makeup.

"Oh," he breathes, suddenly speechless. "Y/N-"

You attempt at taking a breath in, it seems—but it's a failure because it hitches and turns into a shoulder-shaking sob.

"I'm sorry," you cry, roughly dragging the tips of your fingers beneath your eyes. This only smears the running mascara further. "I'm just drunk."

Sal momentarily feels like breaking down in tears himself, that's how much this entire ordeal stressed him out. He approaches your trembling body and crouches down in front of you.

"Hey," he says, softly. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're intoxicated. Your feelings still matter, okay?"

You sniffle, still attempting to wipe your tears away, and reluctantly nod. "I'm sorry," you try again.

He places his hands on your knees and squeezes them firmly. "It's okay."

You jerk into a sob, leaning forward and pressing the side of your face on his shoulder. You slowly tuck your arms beneath his and cross them over the expanse of his back, palms flat on each shoulder blade. The convulsive gasps were hard to stop, making it hard to breathe.

Sal breathed out softly against the prosthetic, raising his arms and encasing them around your torso.

He didn't wonder about the reason for your tears. Assuming things wouldn't help you anymore.

"I don't know why I did that," you whisper, quieting yourself to swallow your saliva. "Maybe I do. I think I was trying to prove something to myself."

He finds himself holding you tighter, your chest pressed to his, feeling your heartbeat through the fabric that separated you both—oddly enough, even at this moment, it reminds him of that night in the car. You had been even closer to him then, though.

"It was stupid," you murmured. "Why would I do that, after what we had talked about last night?"

"What if we jumped together?" he remembers saying.

"Some things can't be explained," he replies earnestly. "You don't need to know why you did what you did. It was stupid, though. I'd probably walk across the roof of a two-story house for you again, but.."

You pull back and meet his eyes, your face wet. The majority of your makeup had been cried off and your lipgloss had been smudged.

You must've sensed his examination, breaking the visual contact and sniffling. "I know I look ridiculous right now."

Sal smiles. He knows she can't see it, but maybe she'll hear it. "I don't think so," he murmurs, looking off to the side. "I think that's a bathroom. You can clean up in there if you want."

You follow his gaze and then return your eyes to his and laugh a bit. You still sound drunk, he notes. Obviously. He'd poured a good amount of Fireball into your mouth and watched you drink plenty of other things.

"Feels kinda weird using a stranger's bathroom," you laugh, your breath hitching from the earlier crying.

Sal rolls his eyes humorously, gripping your knees tighter as he pulls himself off of the floor. "The guy who lives here is Larry's friend—and a stoner. I doubt he'd mind. And if he does get mad, I'll take responsibility for it. I forced that door through, anyway.."

Your gaze swivels toward the door, which is not shut but mostly closed. When he glances to where you're looking, he notices it seems a bit.. crooked.

He inwardly cringes. "I'll pay for it. Come on."

Sal follows you into the bathroom. You seem reluctant to enter first, so he does, opening the door and reaching to the side to turn the lights on. They do what they're supposed to—eventually. They're momentarily unresponsive before becoming alive—the illumination brightening the room with a dull yellow hue.

You step onto the tile and began to search for whatever it was you needed. You kneeled at one of the cabinets below the sink, opened it, and ducked your head lower.

"Oh!" You exclaim quietly, reaching in and pulling out two things. A bottle of half-empty makeup remover and a bag of some cotton rounds.

"Maybe he has a girlfriend?" He hears you say to yourself, standing up, nudging the cabinet closed with your foot, and placing the things you found beside the sink.

Sal reaches over and closes the door. He'd rather not have to witness the sight of some drunkards wandering in and fooling around on the bed.

"Lock it," you say. "I'd rather no one- no one see me like this."

His hand was already on the doorknob, so he just reaches down a bit and locks the door.

He watches you struggle a bit with the bag of cotton rounds, trying but failing to open it, so he reaches forward and delicately plucks it out of your grasp.

Sal slides the makeup remover over and pats the place on the counter it was previously. "Sit."

You peer into his eyes inquisitively but waste no time hoisting yourself up and onto the cold surface.

After that, he plucks the bottle of makeup remover off of the counter and douses the cotton round in the liquid. He reaches forward from the distance that your knees created between the both of you, but you spread your thighs and press the heel of your shoe into his lower back, pulling him in so he's between your legs.

Sal doesn't see it suggestively, because you're drunk—but he's glad you asked him to lock the door because, with his luck, Larry or Ashley would find their way into the bathroom and get all of the wrong ideas.

The firmness just beneath his navel presses into the edge of the counter as he cups one side of your face and began wiping away at the eyeliner and mascara and everything it messed up.

"Thank you," you say sweetly, blinking at him with appreciation in your eyes. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He remembers a silhouette. Her back was turned to him, golden hair cascading just past her shoulder blades. He remembers blue eyes that looked a lot like his own staring into a mirror, a hand which adorned a wedding ring wiping away makeup from the day.

"Read it on the label of the bottle," he replies, meeting your eyes and looking away.

As he's finishing up, he hears a rapping of knuckles against the locked door. He tosses the used cotton rounds into a trash bin in the corner and then locks eyes with you curiously.

"Occupied," he calls out, still looking at you. The knocking only gets louder, which makes you laugh.

"He said it's occupied!" You yell over the unintelligible music downstairs, your words breaking into a giggle. You press your knees against his waist, and he doesn't even realize it when his hands meet your thighs.

The knocking ceases, fading into a voice. "Is that you guys in there?"

Fucking Larry. Speak of the goddamn devil—that's what he would've said if he'd come knocking sooner.

The both of you seem to be thinking the same thing, locking eyes in terror. You quickly get off of the counter, and Sal unlocks the door and swings it open.

Sure enough, he's standing there—in all of his glory and highness. Larry blinks, the whites of his glossy eyes tinted red. He looks between the both of you before speaking. "Why were.."

"I had to pee," You choose to deadpan.

Sal feels himself grow even paler than he already is. "I came in.. after.. that."

Larry intakes a mouthful of whatever is in the red solo cup he's holding in his tan, lanky fingers, and swallows thickly. "Okay," he croaks, instinctively cringing as the alcohol passed through his chest. He gestured the cup toward you. "Uh..crazy stunt you pulled up there, huh?"

Sal saw your face shift in his peripheral vision. "Huge lapse of judgment," you reply.

"Nobody could tell who you were, so don't worry about that," the brunette smiles a bit. He returns his attention to Sal. "They've started playing country," sure enough, Sal hears the sound of a banjo from the speakers downstairs, effectively punctuating Larry's statement.

"Yeah.." Larry mumbles, sipping his drink and looking up and through his eyebrows. "Ash said to come find you guys so we can leave."

It doesn't take much, after that.

As you're leaving, Larry pulls the door open and furrows his brow at the condition of the hinges. "Wow. How old is this thing?" He mumbles.

Sal hears you snort.

The three of you descend the stairs, skirting past countless teenagers standing on the steps drinking or smoking. Sal makes the mistake of letting you fall behind and feels you stumble and smack him in the back. It's easy to steady himself, quickly gripping the railing—but he's concerned about you, so he turns around.

A guy with a cigarette balancing in his teeth is eying you with frustration pulling at his features. His gaze pulls from your face and down your body absentmindedly.

"Watch it," he murmurs.

"Sorry," you breathe, jerking your head away and meeting Sal's eyes worriedly. Keep walking, you express in the hues of your eyes.

Sal reaches forward and interlaces your fingers with his as he'd done on the roof. He makes a show of it, too—so the guy with the cigarette sees the rings on both of his hands. Sal gives him a distinct look when they lock eyes, rolls his jaw, and lets you lead him down the stairs, instead of the other way around.

By the time you're all nearly shot from weaving through the multitude of sweaty bodies and navigating through plumes of smoke thicker than fog, the three of you find Ashley petting what he'd assume is the host's dog.

No one questions it.

"You good to drive?" Larry asks, placing his cup on a nearby surface.

"Oh, yeah," she rises from her crouch beside the dog. The animal walks away, his golden tail wagging excitedly at the next person who would give him pets. "A gross sip of something put me off of drinking tonight a while earlier. And, uh.. the whole roof thing dried me out."

You sigh. "I'm sorry about that. It sobered me up, too."

She shakes her head, a wispy strand of light brown hair falling over her face. "It was stupid, yes, and I hope you don't do it again, but all that matters now is that you're safe."

Ashley blinks kind green eyes at you and smiles, reaching forward, taking your hand, and leading you away. Sal hears you laugh and follow after her as both of you head for the front door.

He turns to look at Larry once he loses sight of both of you in the crowd. He examines Sal with bleary dark eyes and looks as though he's about to say something, but he doesn't get to.

Even over the blaring country music, Sal hears a yell and then some fearful shouting. He whips around toward the sounds, which were toward the front of the house.

Red and blue flashing lights shine through the windows.

"Shit!"

"Ah, fuck," Larry groaned, nimbly wrapping his fingers around Sal's wrist and dragging him into the density of the panicked crowd. "Did you see where they went?"

Sal shakes his head. "No," he knows you're intoxicated. Panic settles in. He chews his lip, his eyes desperately scamming for a girl wearing a white top squared at the neck—you. "Y/N's had a lot to drink, Larry. If the police-"

"Don't worry about the Five-O, let's worry about the girls," Larry replies absentmindedly, keeping his firm hold on Sal.

"They must've gone to the Ford," Sal shouts over the music, which, for some reason, is still playing. "We were leaving anyway. I'm sure they're in the car."

Larry releases Sal and motions toward the back of the house. "There's a back door. I'll text Ashley and tell her to drive down the block and we can meet them on foot."

It was an agreeable plan. Waltzing out of the house and walking straight up to the car wouldn't be wise.

Larry does what he'd said he'd do. Turns out, Sal was right, they had made it to the car moments before the police had rolled up. Ashley informed him it was two squad cars and four officers. Seemed like overkill for a house party—but he wouldn't know. He didn't do this often.

When Larry was on the phone, Sal was very tempted to ask about Y/N, but refrained.

On the way to the back door, they crossed through the kitchen. Larry snatched an unopened bottle of alcohol of a brand Sal didn't recognize and carried it along with him for the road.

As soon as they made it out of the house, they both made a break for it, running between houses and into multiple different backyards on their way.

They slowed down once they were at a measurable distance from the party, gasping for air. Sal panted against the prosthetic, placing his hands on his knees and slowing his gasps into slow breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart.

They stood on the side of the road, the music in the distance (albeit a lot quieter) still pounding into the night.

Sal lowered himself down onto the curb. Larry joined him, raising the bottle he'd chose to bring with him to his mouth, and opened the steel cap with his teeth. He spits it onto the road and gestures it toward Sal.

"Bottoms up," he said, bringing it to his lips and taking several gulps.

Sal rolled his eyes playfully, eyebrows rising as Ashley's Ford Fiesta cruised down the road and slowed to a stop in front of them. He stood up from the curb and pulled Larry off of it as well.

They entered the car, sliding into the backseat. Larry continued to down the beer he'd found as Ashley turned around in her seat.

"The night's still young," she says. "Any ideas of what we could do?"

It's really not. Sal's a bit disoriented so he doesn't know what time it is but he wouldn't be surprised if it was 3 AM.

You then turn around in the passenger seat and grin mischievously. "Let's go to the lake."

Oh, great.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader