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sluckythewizard · 1 month

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BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

#NO TAGS ON THIS ONE BC WELL. IM SHY. IM TAKING A BIG LEAP JUST BY ALLOWING U TO REBLOG THIS. IF IT BREAKS CONTAINMENT THATS UR FAULT.#i unfortunately suffer from the disease of 'i hate everything i write the day after i write it' BUT IM GETTING TREATED #I WILL NOT BE HAUNTED BY THIS WEAKNESS FOREVER. AND HEY LOOK THIS IS THE FIRST ACTUAL FIC BIT IVE EVER FINISHED..#ITS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!! AND BY JOBE I WILL BE PROUD EVEN IF I HATE IT.#i dont always need to be the one who likes my art bc i know Someone out there will always enjoy it.#and to that someone i say: omg thankyou i LOOOOVEE YOUUUUUU!!!!!#JUST DELETED A WHOLE RAMBLE I JUST HAD ABT NERVOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY ART BUT I DONT NEED EM!!#GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT. ANYWAY. so emizel and soda huh #THEYRE SO CUTE TOGEEHTERRRR TEEHEHEHEHEEEE they are the homies that kiss eachother goodnight like CMON #but uhh so hey your bestest friend in da world just got turned into a freaky creature thing that eats ppl #ieah yknowthe guy that u care about alot that u had to watch get bled out by another freaky creature thing in an alleyway #yeaaah and you were super hurt and weak and stupid and u couldnt do jack nor shit to help him #what was i talking about again. RIGHT so hes even cooler now bc he cant die n hes super strong n his arms can be knives. sometimes.#but also he can eat people now. and sometimes he cant stop himself from eating people. and thats kinda scary. but in a cool way.#but also in a disturbing way. but also in an interesting way?but also in a freaky way.the feelings ARE MIXED!!!ATLEAST I THINK THEY WOULD B #okay again i havnt listened to the suckening ina bit. so its been a minute since i absorbed their personalities. i could be misreading or #misremembering or misconstruing or mischaracterizing or WHATEVER. i think the confusion carries its intended effect #LOSING MY TRAIN O THOUGHT. anyway i love soda n emizel i hope they get locked in a saw trap together or somethign. for enrichment.#TALOS GRANT ME THE STRENGHT TO POST MY CREATIONS ON LINE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!

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karizipan · 1 year

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mew year old orv stuff

#orv #rizdoodads #not tagging it as anything else I'm too lazy #1st image inspired by the fic ever act of creation by lemongrasslesbian its saur waw #<- gives me strength and life #THE TEENY BOX of two characters in the 1st image btw are yjh as punisher and Yoo Mia #<- that one was inspired by soguhrtss yoo siblings punisher post which changed the trajectory of my life forever tbh #the 2nd image consists of sys ljh and lgy!!#emm 4th image ignore how shitty it looks KEHEIDFJQOW I THREW IT IN HERE VERY MEH ABT IT #OH OH tidbit of commentary I was listening to Patchwork staccato during that hence emm yjh is holding scissors and the thread #I mean the thread could have deeper meaning which idk its open interpretation wooo #5th image is just a quick ref thing for yjh and punisher it has a background and all that bc I did not like staring at it with a white bg #6th image!!! Yeah it's a redraw of the 12th night yoohankim thing I did... it's also pretty old now... And I haven't finished it at allwjrj #okay that's enough from meeee

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quaddmgd · 9 months

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PARTY LIKE IT'S 2072

Place me in my casket tonight Because I'm already dying inside Pale skin so cold to the touch Like a rose in bloom when we blush Dark eyes meet under the sky The stars are out, we're alive in the night My hollow heart finds it too hard to trust We're all alone until we turn back to dust

Sidewalks and Skeletons - GOTH

#cyberpunk 2077 #fem v #oc: thalia sullivan #vanilla photo mode #screen.qd #originally i wanted to post this along with my small fic about thalia and crystal #but i don't know when i'll finish it so here you go!#got inspired while listening to sidewalks and skeletons (again)#when they released the 'slowed + reverb' version of goth #i was like 'wait a minute'#suddenly got this idea for a new snippet of thalia's previous life #for now her past is supposed to be insignificant and unknown to an extent #so each small new detail feels surprising in a way - even to me #enjoy the song - it's one of my favorites #i often want to plug in some of my fav songs but no post ever feels worthy of such bangers haha #like - what if i make something better and it'll fit this song even more #oh and as always - no version of thalia looks alike #no clue why lol #i could give that gal a different name and no one would notice :>

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 months

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what if i did a 180 and fucked around and finished the prince jens fic for my mental health

#i think i had a lot of bad feelings built up about fandom experience #and nothing about skam brought me the same joy it used to for a long time #but #now i’ve been working on my general wellbeing #and my mixed feelings have somewhat resolved back into love #i don’t think i’ll ever get back to the same level of love with van der stoffels #as i had when i started that fic #but they’re fun and that fic is fun #and i think i really could finish it this time #it didn’t have many chapters left as it was

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autisticrosewilson · 2 months

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Spiral! Jason origin ficlet! @perseus-jackass this is the one I was talking about, part of it at least.

Characters: Bruce Wayne(?), Spiral! Joker, and little! Jason

Tags: Jason has a no good very bad time, Spiral-typical nonsense, hints of body horror at the end, blood and injury, Bruce may or may not actually be Bruce but Jason believes he is

The snow that isn’t there crunches under his boots as he follows Bruce into the land that Isn’t. Sannikov Land doesn’t exist, but it is beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s impossible. It shifts and bends and melts and reforms. Staircases to nowhere claw themselves from the ground and doors open and close and beckon with bright colors and glimpses of hallways.

How would a melody describe itself if asked? How does Jason describe everything he sees, everything he hears? The cold seeps into his bones, warms his marrow, generates static at his fingertips that makes his hair stand on end. He has to drag his eyes away from the neverending, shifting spirals that threaten to enclose him, and his gaze lands on the snow. It’s too bright, dull gray. It’s pale and has the opalescent sheen of an oil spill in sunlight. It shifts beneath him more like sand and pulls his boots down like soft clay. The footprints they left behind disappear, erasing the only proof that they are here, not covered by new snow but simply fading from existence. You can not tread on land that isn’t.

The snow falls, disappears before it hits the ground, shifts colors mid-air, flickering like an idle TV. It bounces off his cheeks and curls and sends static up his spine, then the feeling settles like bursts of hot oil, like sticking his hand too close to boiling water.

Bruce tells him to keep pace, voice tight and eyes straight ahead. He doesn’t seem surprised about any of this, there is no fear, or surprise, or awe, not even the cutting, distant curiosity that usually lingers in his eyes. His face is blank and he will not look at Jason.

Jason follows dutifully.

Jason is lost. He knows exactly where he is. The map he was given does not make sense. He follows it anyway. He thinks he’s been here a few days, maybe a week. There is no day or night in the endless hallways, his watch is different every time he looks at it.

Had Bruce known it would be like this? Would he have asked Jason to go inside if he did? Jason would have, if Bruce had told him. He justs wants to help. He keeps following the map.

He can't tell up from down, he doesn't even remember lefts from rights but he stumbles through the disjointed halls anyway, trying to keep to the overlapping scribble of lines that wind around and through each other in a somehow boxy circle.

The laughter starts following him.

The sound will not stop. The hideous laughter keeps pace with him, distorted and sharp and ringing and blurring the edges of his vision with kaleidoscope colors. The floor shifts below him, wood slipping from beneath his feet as he’s thrown bodily on concrete, the floor-ceiling spinning around him, like he’s in a drying machine. He hates the warehouses more than the hallways, the boxes of things that sing awful, luring songs and the unbreakable windows that tease glimpses of the world outside.

And of course, there’s the host. The thing with the long sharp fingers and the face that blurs and twists, it’s body moves like a centipede and then melts into greasy puddles before reforming into dense fog, too many mouths and they are all laughing. It does not kill him, but Jason wishes it would. He does not heal but he cannot die, the pain lingers and burns but he cannot rest, so he keeps walking, looking for the door-window-mirror that will let him go back to the never ending maze, to start the chase again.

He thinks it’s been a month now. He hasn’t slept in a while. The hunger gnaws at his gangly body as he drags it forward. He will not succumb to it. He wishes he would.

He is in a hospital, the fluorescents are too bright and the buzz is too loud and there has been no respite from the piercing laughter, an overplayed laugh track that gets more unrecognizable every minute. The smell of disinfectant makes his headache worse. He’s always hated hospitals. There’s a winding trail of red dragging through the center of the floor, dipping under the out of place doors in shakey, dissimilar lines. It would be more normal if it were blood, but it’s dry and smooth and not the right shade. He shambles through the unending halls towards the sound of cries he’ll never reach, eyes tracking the world's worst paint job and he leaves his own trail of red.

The blood that pools behind him dries up as quickly as it hits the floor, the ground seeming to suck it in hungrily.

His socks are dampening from the moist brown carpet, his shoes having long fallen apart. He’s been walking for daysmonthsyears and he hasn’t slept for longer. He has a map, it does not make sense but he has nothing else to do but follow it. Why is he here? Where is he? He doesn’t remember anything but static in his veins and grating laughter that only got louder when his ears started bleeding. He keeps walking and the pictures on the walls change. Are they mirrors? They all show the same hallway from different angles, he is in all of them but he can’t see his face. He doesn’t remember what color his eyes are. Blue or green or purple. Can eyes be purple? It doesn’t seem…right but the thought drifts away as soon as he gets it, slipping through his fingers like snow.

Breaking up the maddening yellow wall-paper is a heavy metal door proclaiming EXIT in big red letters. It is lying. He keeps walking and ignores the scratching from the other side.

The hallway with the green striped walls has no right turns. Left after left after left and there are no doors, or mirrors, or pictures. He doesn’t know what the map is trying to tell him anymore. He starts scratching at the walls when he hears something moving on the other side. His nails are longer now. Or maybe just his fingers? They are sharp at the ends and the walls shudder when he drags his hand down through the rotted wood and plaster. There’s a scream from the other side, panicked and human. His stomach growls. He breaks through into another hallway, with tan walls and patterned brown carpet, lined on either side by rows of doors he knows are locked. He tries them all anyway. The numbers are out of order. The door at the very end of the hall has RUN etched crudely into the door instead of a room number. The handle gives when he tries it.

#dc #tma au #The Head Archives #Jason Todd #The Joker #The Spiral #Spiral! Jason #blorbo posting #posting everything I have now because if I don't I'm never going to finish anything and none of them will ever see the lifht of day #my fic #my writing #WIP #this one does have more but I'm rewriting the ending because it could be better (significantly worse for Jason)

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kenzan-kiwami · 5 months

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(screenshotting the replies and posting because i feel weird replying from my main <\3 hope you don't mind the ping @startledpixel )

i never even thought about it happening that way... haha... excuse me while i go scream in a corner for a couple of minutes

it ties in really well to the sort of recurring motif i see through his life that the only time he's allowed to be truly happy with himself and his place in the world is after his "death" and recovery. kazama is a very complicated character to think about when it comes to his motivations and his relationships with the people he's close with - i don't think he's very good at prioritising his emotional investments (nishiki being the obvious example, but also the way he doesn't send any letters to kiryu in jail until the last day before his parole), so to add an extra layer of tragedy to the whole thing i like to think that he hadn't been making as much time for kashiwagi towards the end than he maybe could have been. not in a premeditated disloyalty sense, of course, but he's got his hands more than full with the whole embezzling 10 billion yen from the tojo coffers gambit... kashiwagi being the way he is though would be all the more desperate for reconciliation, and to then not get it before kazama kicks it would be the icing on the shit cake

but yeah KNOWING adachi was in the building with everyone else must have been like reliving his second-worst nightmare... meeting this man he thought he'd be able to settle down with for the first time in sixty odd years but still constantly having to worry after him. i still adore no idling as an exploration of those feelings after the fact & i find myself coming back to it an awful lot as someone who doesn't generally read fiction more than once or twice unless i'm trying to find something specific (if you may allow me my nerd moment)

it's something i would love to explore more myself, but i don't really feel i have the means to do it in a way in which i'd enjoy the end product... but i suppose that's what commissions are for!

ANYWAY, apparently, everyone kiryu meets in his side story gives him some kind of reward, and i'm having A Time thinking about what he might get from kashiwagi. i'm trying not to set myself up to be disappointed by what happens, but there's a big part of me that hopes kashiwagi pulls "suzuki" to the side and leaves whoever else on the bar for a while so they get a chance to actually catch up. i think at this point both of them really need something like that, because i doubt there's any way kashiwagi didn't get the news that kiryu "died" in 2016

the other big thing that's got me physically shaking is the idea they might finally namedrop him. and uuhhh if they still let us karaoke at survive then i hope judgement gets its own cinematic. : )

#kashiwagi osamu #text #meta #malware #i absolutely need to go and leave a comment on all of your fic because (along with milktrician's)#they're a HUGE part of what kept me interested enough in playing through to 7 and beyond #i'll tell you now yakuza 6 was probably the most difficult time i've had actually finishing a video game ever #sorry if any of this comes across weirdly i feel like i've been noticed by the gods themselves #i opened my notes this morning after i got to work and i'm so glad my boss wasn't in the room because #i could NOT have kept it together in front of her #LIKE normally i'm good at keeping myself composed but this was just... shock and awe. the highest honour i could receive #but i suppose it's not like many people ever talk about minor rgg characters in this much depth #which has been a hangup of mine for a while so i'm glad my stuff is reaching the right audience!#1 spoilers #3 spoilers #7 spoilers

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todayisafridaynight · 6 months

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tumblr keeps showing me Actual Genuine Coochie on my damn dashboard so they better not burst a blood vessel the second i start posting dicks

#nsff #snap chats #i would never. not on this christian site.#BUT SERIOUSLY STOOOPPPPPP MY BROTHER USES THIS SITE I DONT WANT HIM LOOKIN AT THAAAT #HE ONLY USES IT ON MOBILE SO HES PROB FINE BUT STILL ENOUGH #I DONT CARE BOUT YOUR GAPING HOLE SAMANTHA IM TRYNA SCROLL #anyawy. ive gotten nothing done today ive just been running errands with my brother :')#mineda| week being This Week was the worst thing ever im too tired and busy to sit down and draw #AND NOW I WANNA FINISH THIS FIC FIRST RAAAGHHHG everything is awful #i'll just shotgun all the prompts on saturday for stream LOL #ok let me try t get SOMETHING done before my eldest sister gets here. my other sister alredy here #did i . clarify how i distinguish between my sisters yet cause it could get confusing sometimes #my Eldest sister is My Eldest Sister and my Older Sister is my sister who is older but not the eldest. hope that helps <3 #im p sure there's specific terms in tagalog to differentiate but i forgor. any pinoy followers know what i mean or am i insane #w/e. bye now

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trans-xianxian · 7 months

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my personal convoluted answer to the question is that both pre death and post res wei wuxian have the possibility to resurrect lan wangji in a fit of emotion (pre death moreso because of you know the deteriorating mental state), but pre death wei wuxian would not resurrect lan wangji on purpose, and post res wei wuxian would only do so with express permission, which I can't imagine lan wangji giving

#I think wei wuxian just like. respects lan wangji too much to do it on purpose? but loves him enough he could without meaning to #not to say that wei wuxian does not respect wen ning he does very much #but that was a. in a fit of emotion and b. the first time that had ever happened at all ever #I think after seeing what it put wen ning through he wouldn't wish that on lan wangji even for the sake of his own grief #boundaries are so important to both of them I jusr can't imagine him doing it on purpose #pre Or post res #pre death yllz era wwx was in enough of a State that I think it could just Happen #esp if we go w more of the canon where he is slowly loosing control #and post res wwx might on accident if Really pressed in a deeply tramatizing set of circumstances #honestly I am surprised that as part of the nevernight insanity wei wuxian didn't ressurect jiang yanli in a fit of grief #now THAT would be fucked up #have been toying w a fic idea where jyl survives nevernight but that would be an interesting take on that situation #sort of implausible tho because wwx wouldn't be alive to do the whole restoring of conciousness thing #anyway. I haven't slept in Awhile and I won't until I finish painting this hair #ghost posts #text #wwx #lwj #wangxian

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kinnenvy · 8 months

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qaf wip #1

victorian qaf wip, im 💀. like i was saying idk if i'll ever finish this, but here's a little snippet just to feel something

Dripping. Continuous, incessant, tormenting.

The steady, wet sound echoes through the room and fills the blissfully silent air, it sneaks past any barrier Justin crafts. His hands on his ears, his pillows, then his covers, the weight and width of his shield can do nothing against the quiet drip, drip, drip…

Justin quickly surrenders to watching the water fall from the roof of his room and land loudly in the tin bucket prepared to welcome it. It's unbearable and Justin misses home, misses his room. He misses the comfort of his sturdy mattress, his feather pillows and the maids making sure the stoves warming the rooms never run out of wood and coal.

Justin breathes out slowly, if he had any energy left he would thrash against the coarse bed sheets and throw a tantrum embarrassing enough to rival his younger sister's. Unfortunately, or one could argue fortunately, any will to explode into fits of unadulterated rage has abandoned him the moment his father backhanded him over the breakfast table and threw him, his mother and sister out of their family home and effectively out of the country.

He grabs his pillow, its smell of stale wardrobes and lavender follows him all the way through the large room and out of it. He trudges through the halls of their new accommodation, overtly conscious of the wood creaking under his slippers and the portraits of his grandparents, uncles and younger versions of his mother following him with their eyes as he warily walks in the near complete dark.

Remembering the position of the door he is looking for is giving him a lot of trouble, but eventually he gets the courage to open every door he encounters. He releases a nervous breath, once he finally opens the door hiding his mother. Molly, his sister, is already sleeping by her side and Justin is comforted by the knowledge that they've both had the same idea.

"Mother…" Justin whispers and sounds much more forlorn than he would have liked, "Mom."

She takes a sharp inhale, almost startled, but she quickly seems to relax. Although Justin can't tell for sure, the lunar light filtering in the spaces between the curtains doesn't illuminate the room enough to let him see.

"There's a leak in my room, I feel like it might drive me mad." Justin explains as a way to secure himself a spot in his mother's bed.

"Sweetheart…" She sighs, "I'm sorry, we'll find a new place soon." The thick woolly covers are drawn back and Justin quickly moves to adjust himself underneath them, "You should tell your grandfather tomorrow. He'll have someone come and patch it up."

"Right…" Justin hums, trying not to think about how many perfectly functional, unoccupied rooms void of any leaks, he saw on his way to his mother's.

He's not sure how long it's been since he's gotten in his mother's bed, when he's awoken by shouting rising from the streets. Despite the coldness swirling in the stale air in the room and its difference from the warmth of the covers, he gathers the will to pull himself up on his feet and reach the nearest window.

Near the middle of the crossroad on the right of his grandfather's house, there are two gentlemen, dressed in elegant evening coats and tight, light coloured pants. They seem to be fighting, Justin watches them as they push and shove at each other until the tallest of the two grabs the other by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him towards himself. Their faces meet and Justin jolts away as he realises they're kissing.

His ears start burning, his cheeks slowly heat up as well. Slowly, he creeps closer to the glass again, by the time his eyes are back on the scene his whole face and neck must be dyed in varying shades of red, all bound to deepen as he catches the gaze of one of the men. Thick furrowed eyebrows, a head of dark, purposefully unruly hair and a profile sculpted with the same platonic inspiration that used to fuel renaissance men.

The day begins with another tense breakfast, but thankfully Justin's face is not met by the rough palm of anyone's hand. Despite the fact that his grandfather makes it clear he wouldn't mind issuing a dose of discipline through methods that involve physical pain. He says as much as he eats his coque eggs messily, even though his words nail his father as the sole villain, he waves his spoon menacingly right under Justin's nose and then at his mother and sister.

"I shouldn't have let you marry a man without a title," He says gruffly, the grunting accompanying his words reminds Justin of the old, pink pigs, he uses to see every month, when his father took him to town fairs. "My own daughter, a duke's daughter, banished from her house!" He complains aimlessly throughout their entire meal, while Justin's mother, unsure of her own stance, releases noncommittal noises to let him know she is listening.

Molly doesn't eat anything and as soon as their grandfather leaves the table, she cries and asks to be allowed back home. Justin is conflicted, but underneath the embarrassment and the swelling on his right cheek, he wishes for the same thing.

"I need to go out." is what he ends up saying, he doesn't elaborate, but is also met by no resistance. His mother looks at him with concern, but she's so preoccupied by his sister's soul-shaking sobs, that she just dismisses him with a gesture of her hand and a call for carefulness.

His grandfather hasn't been involved with the military for the better part of forty years, yet he operates by its hours. Wake up call at half past five and breakfast at six, that's why Justin finds himself roaming the streets at seven am sharp.

The air hasn't had the time to be warmed by the Sun, so it's especially cold, it pushes past the barrier of Justin's expensive clothes and forces itself on him, frigid like ice and carrying the tangy scent of coal smoke.

Justin is startled out of his thoughts by a door opening, the mansion standing right in front of his mother's family home. He watches the large entrance door, its solid wood dragging over the threshold and uncovering the same man Justin saw the night before.

He is caught staring, it's embarrassing and it makes the calm wind feel a tad colder.

Without letting himself rot in the memories from the earlier night, Justin starts walking again. He doesn't have a cane and it's too cold to pick the hat off his head and start fidgeting with it, so he tries to discharge some of the nervousness gathering in his body by shoving his hands in his pockets and clench and unclench his fists, pull at whatever loose thread he finds there, do just about anything to stop thinking about the set of footsteps echoing his own.

The man easily reaches his side, they're walking through the intersection when his shoulder bumps into Justin's, he turns to look at him and doesn't do anything to hide how deliberate the move was.

"Sorry." He says without gravitas, his pink lips part in a smile that conveys no friendliness, but snark and other feelings that Justin is not privy to. His eyes, dark and light at the same time, drag very openly over Justin, starting at his leather boots and ending at his own clear, uncomplicated blue eyes. "I haven't seen you around before." He speaks with a thick Irish accent, his voice is steady, but weighed down by the layers of meaning hiding under the surface of each word he utters.

"I'm visiting my grandfather." Justin lowers his eyes to the ground and gestures at the house he's just left. He doesn't dare looking back at it, afraid to see anyone peering through the windows and seeing the exchange.

Long, deft fingers enter his line of vision, they grab onto the golden buttons on his coat and smooth over the forest green fabric, moving upwards until they brush against Justin's chin.

"Oh, a Taylor. A lord, then." He dips his head in a bow, but he sounds like he is mocking him, "Do you have urgent business to attend to?" Justin shakes his head no at his question, dares a glance upwards and feels his breakfast drop so deep inside his stomach that the hunger comes back, only much worse, much more demanding than normal.

The flurry of movements that follow is hard to keep track of, Justin is only looking at the greek slope of the man's nose, at the self-satisfied stretch of his lips as they cross the intersection and quickly disappear in an alley between two mansions. Justin is pushed against a wall, for a brief moment there’s the stench of garbage in the air, until the man in front of him lowers his head towards him and Justin’s nose is hit by the artificial scent of expensive cologne and hints of musk right underneath it, the smell of men he can so easily pick out of any bouquet of scents.

Solid hands make quick work of his golden buttons, Justin instinctively poses his own on them and holds onto the cold skin, half of him in an attempt to slow them, while the other to encourage them.

“What,” He starts and his voice breaks. The man laughs and Justin halts the systems running his body just to gather all his energy to stare and take him in. Brilliant and beautiful, dazzling like the people in songs and paintings. “What is your name?” he tries again as soon as he’s able to retake the reins on his wits.

“Brian.” His voice lowers, it drips slowly like treacle, he raises his chin and squares his shoulders, Justin follows the movement with his eyes and gulps down all the other questions he had been thinking about asking.

"My name is Justin." He says instead, even if the other didn't ask and doesn't seem particularly interested in knowing it. Justin hopes it will stick with him anyway.

"What do you like to do?" Brian asks, he leans his right arm on the wall beside Justin's face, while his left hand still fidgets with his buttons, this time they are the small, round ones cut from mother-of-pearl keeping his shirt closed.

A smile breaches Justin's lips, he is so pleased by the idle conversation, it's just enough to help him keep his mind off the anxiety clamouring right under his skin."Uhm… Painting, listening to music…"

Brian laughs, it feels sort of pointed, genuinely amused, but still mocking, "I mean in more… Private settings." He explains and his head dips until his lips brush right against his left temple as he speaks. Justin’s mouth opens and his jaw goes slack at hearing someone be so upfront.

"Oh," Justin clears his throat and almost chokes on his spit, the anxiety now reaching heights that cross any expectation he could have ever had.

"Do you like to give it? Do you prefer taking it?" The question immediately transports Justin back to the military academy he's just been driven away from. The hushed whispers of his shy, aristocratic roommates asking him in big boisterous words whether he wanted to touch them over their slacks or not.

“Uhm,” Justin shifts on his feet, unsure of what to say. The questions are so straightforward now that it’s impossible to search and find in them some sort of innocent meaning. The issue becomes all jumbled up in his head anyway, he’s never really taken or given anything in these situations and he can’t imagine what he could be giving or taking in an alleyway a few metres away from his grandfather’s house.

“I don’t have all morning.” The man, Brian, straightens up, “Do you want to?” He asks, he narrows his eyes and peers right into Justin. Justin is not completely sure what he’s agreeing to, but he finds himself nodding enthusiastically, his hands grasp the other man’s tighter and guide them more forcefully towards his half opened shirt.

Brian’s fingers are nimble and used to touching to provoke pleasure. Justin squirms and trembles as he traces the faint lines of his muscles, the sensitive skin of his nipples, hard and dark pink in the chilly air.

“You’re pretty.” Brian says against his chest, his lips press kisses on his sternum as he slowly lowers himself to his knees, “Wish I had the time to fuck you.”

The word sounds so loud in the early morning silence, Justin feels it echo and bounce off the walls all around them. For a moment his panic convinces him the entirety of the west end must have heard it, but then the buttons keeping the crotch of his pants closed are undone with ease and his half hardness stands out in the open. Anyone could take a wrong turn, or a maid could come trotting out of one of the houses surrounding them and see them. They would end up on the first page of the Inquirer Weekly and then in jail and Justin’s father will absolutely never forgive him then.

“Hey,” Brian says and looks up from where he’s kneeling on the pavement, “Are you still with me?” he asks, darting his eyes betwixt Justin’s face and his shrinking erection.

“This is a bit,” Justin starts, he scratches his throat, almost claws at it out of frustration, wanting so much what he is being offered, but also being deathly afraid of anyone finding out, “What if someone sees?”

“Who? No one’s staying in these houses, they’ve been empty for quite a while.” Brian arches an eyebrow, his hot palms lay on Justin’s thighs and he caresses him gently, an attempt at soothing him that’s working only marginally against the thoughts rushing in his head. He raises back on his feet and Justin hates himself for having ruined the chance to lay with such a gorgeous man. “It’s fine, dear. Don’t worry about it.” He can tell he’s trying to be gracious, his pants are terribly tented and he can’t stop himself from biting on his lips, as if holding himself back from saying anything more. Justin feels Brian’s lips kiss his temple and then sees him take a step back, retracing the path they’ve followed to find this isolated, secretive angle.

Justin feels him slip through his fingers, his eyes are fixed on the lines of his nose, his jaw, any detail of his features, the beautiful mix of green and amber in his eyes and in a moment he’s stepping forward, “No.” He says, more to himself than the other man, and rises on his toes to kiss him fiercely. It’s clumsier than he would have liked, but the wet slide of their lips is ensnaring to him, the sound alone is enough to make his knees buckle under his weight. His cock is hard again, harder than it’s ever been, Brian touches him again and he fears he might come just with that alone.

Brian doesn’t speak anymore, doesn’t ask leading questions, doesn’t mock and laugh at him. Although he does moan, deep and guttural in Justin’s ears, he kisses him and keeps a tight hold on the back of Justin’s head and his cock. Justin isn’t able to appreciate the scope of sensations he is experiencing, his extremities feel as cold as ice as if all the blood and warmth of his body were concentrating between his legs and in the left hand, secured tightly around Brian.

They stroke each other to completion in no time, Justin feels himself go a little crossed eyed as he pushes as close to Brian as he can, demanding to be kissed, while nearing his climax. Brian indulges him, but he also shifts the positions of their bodies until Justin’s coming against a wall instead of Brian’s clothes. Brian is coming mere seconds later, his hot breath marking Justin’s neck and his hand fidgeting with the strands of his blonde hair.

“Now, this is what I call a good morning.” Brian smiles slyly, Justin’s blood is finally free to roam the entirety of his body and it rushes to his face, showing just how embarrassed he feels by what he’s just done. Quickly they both dress themselves, Justin doesn’t need the help, but he doesn’t protest when Brian reaches around him and he tucks his spent cock back into his trousers, “Thank you for the generous breakfast.” He says and with a slap to Justin’s ass he walks out of the alleyway. Justin is left fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt until he realises what has just happened. He lowers his head, torn between the elation left behind by his orgasm and the need for more. His eyes see a small booklet on the floor, without thinking about it he bends down and picks it up.

He runs, his steps sound awfully loud, despite the fact that most of the lords, ladies, misters and madams inhabiting the houses around him have woken up and have started flooding the streets. Justin is sure he can still see Brian’s wide shoulders walk forward, far from him, but before he can pick up his running again, he is caught, captured by his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder, “Accompany me to the club, boy.” he says in a tone that won’t allow anything other than affirmative answers.

So Justin is left behind, as they wait for the carriage, with the badge of an inspector detective of the metropolitan police in his hands, bound in black leather and hiding the picture of the man he just saw come apart in an empty alley.

#qaf fic #queer as folk fic #queer as folk #britin #britin fic #i have a lot more from this au💀 but no will to actually finish it #idk why i thought i could actually write a ripper street/jack the ripper thing it was insane #but now im super stuck and i hate everything i write and that ive ever written lmao #anyway #fic

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bewilderedbunny · 9 months

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Yesterday I started writing a fic about werewolf!reader struggling with the lack of control over her own body and the absolute misery of having it change over and over again, just to end up the same. Then today I got my period. Coincidence? 🤨

#i really do be awooing from time to time if i'm being honest #anyway the fic is cute #not sure i'll ever finish it but its vamp!eddie x werewolf!reader #and oh boy could i use a bloodsucking little freak right about now #personal #tw menstruation #sally's diary

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pastafossa · 1 year

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I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

#ask response #the red thread #daredevil #on matt's blindness and disability #sure i'm disabled but mine's different than matt's so i try to be aware of that while navigating it in fic #we know based on ep 1 with his brief mention that there *are* things he'd love to see again - the sky in that case #and so i think jane would fall into that category #but we also know he doesn't see his blindness as something there to hinder him based on what he says to foggy when talking about stick #and in some ways he sees her more deeply than anyone else on this planet #he just sees her without vision #he hears her heartbeat and all the other little pieces of her no one else gets to hear #he gets to experience the comfort of her scent at a fundamental level #he gets to feel the way her temperature changes when she's excited or happy to see him or when she sees a kitten #and when he kisses her he can taste *so much* of who she is #he doesn't need sight to know her #and i honestly don't think he'd ever trade his senses for getting his vision back because he's happy the way he is #but there'd probably still be a moment now and then of 'it would be nice if i could see her just for a second'#as for getting published one day I can oooooooooonly hope!#i've got stuff written already that either needs to be finished or edited #but it's hard in original work cause I need that back and forth interaction with other people to get my inspo flowing #i'm definitely hoping to get published one day though and i'd love to make writing a profession #fingers crossed!

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