#to the void or in someone's face that part varies

[loslentesdepedrito]

A Restless Night

Bottom left gif by: fourdev, top right gif by: @a7estrellas

My Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: You have issues with sensory processing, making it difficult for you to fall asleep. After a restless night of tossing and turning, Joel awakens, determined to do everything in his power to help you sleep.

A/N: I wrote this based on my own experiences with SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) as someone who has ASD. I refrained from labeling it as x ASD!reader because not everyone who struggles with SPD is autistic/autism, and not everyone who is autistic/has autism has SPD. Also, just a gentle reminder that every individual's experience with ASD varies significantly. If you’ve met one person with ASD, you’ve met ONE person with ASD. Enjoy!

Rating: 18+ Suggestive. Nothing explicit, but this is an 18+ page. Warnings: No Outbreak, hurt/comfort, slight angst, suggestive stuff, insomnia, food consumption, taking an Antihistamine pill.

In the eerie and suffocating stillness of the night, the angry crimson glow of the alarm clock projects the harsh reality onto the walls. The room, cloaked in darkness punctuated only by the faintest glow of the alarm clock, offers no solace. Silently, the digital clock announces the unyielding passage of time: 2:04 AM. With your eyes repeatedly drawn to the clock, you become a silent observer of your own restless fight for sleep.

Minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last. In vain hope, you closed your eyes, waiting for the elusive embrace of sleep. Frustration mounted, and your whispered mantra of "just go to sleep" echoed in the void, its efficacy long worn thin. At this point, the words are obsolete—they hold no meaning for you or your brain.

Your sheets, supposed sanctuary, became your tormentor. The sheets cradle your form, and your fingertips discern every thread, every imperfection in the fabric. Lying on them felt like lying on a box of sand. Even clothed parts weren’t exempt from the torture, as the sheets, like sandpaper against your skin, induced insufferable itchiness. The fabric, an abrasive paper, scratched against your tender skin, leaving trails of discomfort in its wake. Your nails dug into flesh, offering brief respite. The noise it made made you cringe, but you couldn't stop scratching.

Another hell was your hair. Endless adjustments led to desperation, and you gathered it into a makeshift crown atop your head, a futile attempt to detach it from your body. The sheets then morphed into a layer of microscopic needles, punctuating your flesh, and it could almost leave a trail of welts.

The silent plea for rest fell on deaf pillows. Experimenting with positions in the hope of finding the right combination, you lay facing the ceiling, then Joel, then turning away from him—the dance of insomnia continued. After each position, you stayed still, closed your eyes... and nothing. All movements amplified your discomfort, especially the rustling of the loathed sheets, adding to your torment.

An unseen army of ants seemed to crawl across you, their presence beneath your skin. The sensory assault intensified, feeling like the ants invaded your hair, their microscopic footsteps on your pillow resonating in your ears.  

As your nails dig into your scalp, a brief moment of panic washes over you, fearing that actual animals might be crawling on you. However, a deep breath and rational thinking help you dispel the irrational fear. Reassuring yourself, you repeat, You’re just making things up, it’s okay, you’re okay.

Just for reassurance, you pass your fingernails through your neck where you feel the phantom animals. When you look at your hand, it’s empty. A sigh of relief escapes you. Closing your eyes for what feels like the millionth time, the sheets below you rustle. "I can’t take it any longer," you mutter to yourself just above a whisper. Just as you're about to jump out of bed, you feel your husband stir beside you. 

He wakes up in somewhat of a panic, his big hand reaching out to feel for you. You find comfort in his touch, and it gives you something else to focus on. In the dark room, Joel looks around, reassured by the presence he feels beneath his touch. Knowing the room is clear, he turns his face to look at you.

“Shit. I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep, baby,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Concern etches Joel's face as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

"Nada. Duermeté (nothing. go to sleep)," you downplay.

"Nah uh. What’s wrong?" he persists, turning to his right to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. The soft glow reveals the exhaustion on your face.

His eyes linger on your tired face and he swiftly moves closer.

“I can’t sleep,” you confess, the vulnerability in your admission apparent in the dimly lit room.

“Do you want me to hold you?” 

"No thanks. I don’t think that’ll help right now," you say sincerely, a subtle shake in your voice.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Joel asks, unable to simply stand by while you suffer.

"I don't know, I just can’t sleep," you admit, your voice breaking. 

Your husband's heart aches at the strain in your voice and the glistening of tears in your eyes. "What do you think will help?" Joel asks gently, willing to do absolutely anything. 

You shrug, a gesture of helplessness. "The sheets. They just feel rough on my skin. It’s itchy. I keep scratching, but nothing helps." 

Joel's gaze softens with empathy as he registers the genuine distress in your words. With a gentle touch, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The warmth of his calloused skin against yours brings you a sense of peace.

"'M sorry. I fell asleep and didn't even think about it. I was waitin' for you to get home-"

You gently interrupt, your voice laced with understanding. "Joel, sweetheart, this isn't your fault. I was excited to go to bed next to you; I forgot about the sheets too."

Fully sitting up on the bed now, you position yourself on your knees, facing your husband. Cupping his face in your hands, you assure him, "Don't feel bad. You work hard. I know you wanted to wait for me, but you passed out 'cus you're tired."

Joel responds by nuzzling his face into your hands. "I'm supposed to comfort you, you know?" he chuckles lightly, his hazel eyes radiating love.

Smirking playfully, you respond, "And how are you going to comfort me?"

Joel starts to shift, but upon feeling the sheets, his hands freeze, remembering the issue. As he thinks about what's different about the sheets tonight, Joel's expression shifts, realization dawning. "Fuck. Our usual sheets are still air drying. We can go check on them, but they're probably still damp, sweetheart."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," you say with a sheepish grin, feeling a flush of warmth spreading across your skin. The sheets had been rendered wet and soaked from the intimate activities of the previous night. Given their delicate nature and high-end price point, the sheets couldn't be tossed into the dryer, so you had to buy emergency sheets from the nearest store.  

A playful glint dances in Joel's eyes as a satisfied smile graces his lips. "My back still hurts. Thank you for that, honey." 

"Oh, please, I did most of the work. You've gotten lazy on me, Miller," you tease, your words infused with playfulness.

"Lazy?" he exclaims. "You squir-"

You swiftly cover his mouth, your whisper-yell barely audible, "Joel! The kids will hear you." Your words are hushed, ensuring they stay just above a whisper.

Joel rolls his eyes, his voice returning to normal as he lowers his tone. "You squirted all over the bed!" he playfully exclaims. "I'll show you lazy," he scoffs. In a swift motion, Joel gently rolls you over, a shared laugh escaping both of you. As he lowers himself, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies. You expect the warmth of his lips, but just as the closeness intensifies, he lifts himself away, leaving the bed.

Before you have a chance to berate him, Joel places one hand on his waist, the other on his beard, rubbing his stubble. A furrow forms on his brow as he puts his tongue to the right side, creating a bump on his cheek. "Maybe we can do something about the sheets. Would you like a different one, or perhaps I can find something to soothe your skin? I should have laid something different underneath you." 

The spare sheets you had kept for such situations ended up damaged during the move to your new house—the one you and Joel had designed together. Amidst the chaotic process of relocating, your attention was divided between ensuring the safety of Sarah’s books and your youngest daughter's beloved stuffed animals. In a moment of distraction, you accidentally dropped the extended sheet onto the floor. When you hastily pulled it up, the fabric caught onto the door, resulting in an unfortunate tear right down the middle.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal because they were your backup sheets, and you were certain that getting a new backup pair would suffice, given your primary sheets were still intact. However, the problem became apparent when you forgot to place the order, and with your main sheets damp, you found yourself without an immediate solution.

"You're helping now; that's all that matters," you tell Joel, getting up from the bed.

He gives you a smile and then asks, "Are the sheets the only problem or the blanket too?"

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you pause, settling on the edge of the bed. "Just the sheets," you affirm with a small exhale.

"I’ll find something to put underneath you," Joel assures.

"I’ll go to the restroom. See if that helps," you say, walking over to him.

Before you can make it to the restroom, your stomach rumbles audibly. "Great, and now I'm hungry," you groan, a hint of frustration in your tone.

"Ya comiste? (Did you eat already?)" 

You nod. “I had some of the mosaic jello the girls made after I came home from work."

“My love, that’s not enough to fill your stomach," Joel responds softly.

"I know; I was tired and just wanted to sleep."

"Oh, sweetheart, come here," he beckons, closing the distance between you.

Joel envelops you in a comforting embrace, his touch proving to be a solace without causing any discomfort. When you lie still, a wave of overwhelming sensations tends to surge, particularly due to the absence of distraction. The stillness becomes a canvas, intensifying your heightened sensitivity. It's worth noting that in your day-to-day life, your clothes can also be bothersome, primarily because of your aversion to certain fabrics.

"Go to the bathroom, and I promise to make everything better, okay?"

"Okay," you reply, and Joel seals the agreement with a tender kiss on the top of your head. With that, you make your way to the en suite bathroom.

Exiting the bathroom, your eyes are drawn to the bed. Joel has carefully laid down a thin cream-colored sheet – the salvageable portion of your once-intact backup sheet. At the foot of the bed sits a small foldable table over the ottoman.

Joel enters through the bedroom door, shirtless, balancing a plate of food and a cup. The darkness obscures the details of what he has on hand.

"I made Camarones a la diabla (Deviled Shrimp)," he announces, placing the plate atop the table. "And a cup of horchata," he adds, the room now enveloped in the rich aroma of the dish.

You wordlessly thank him, and with the fork from the plate, you scoop up a spoonful of the sauce and pair it with a mound of fluffy white rice. The flavors dance on your tongue, prompting an involuntary "mmm" of appreciation. "Oh my God," you exclaim with delight, savoring the delicious food. "It tastes so good!" 

He patiently waits for the audible gulp, a signal that you've swallowed the mouthful, before teasingly saying, "That's what you said last night."

"Shut up," you playfully elbow him, a laugh escaping your lips. "Me destie mucho (you gave me too much), I don't think I can finish it," you tell him. He chuckles and reaches into his sweatpants' pockets, fishing out a fork. "That's what I was hoping you'd say." 

Reaching into the other pocket, he retrieves a foil package. "Oh, and I got you some Benadryl."

You smile at him, accepting the package. With delicate fingers, you peel back the foil, taking out a single pink pill. Without hesitation, you swallow it down with a sip of the horchata. 

As you both continue to enjoy the dish, Joel finishes his portion first. He rises from the ottoman and heads to the nightstand, prompting your curiosity as he opens the bottom drawer. Your gaze follows him as he retrieves your body brush and a bottle you've never seen before.

Returning to you, Joel asks with a knowing look, "Up for the brush, love? You know it helps with the itchiness." Agreeing, you nod, and he gently guides you to the bed. You lie down, and the softness of the sheets beneath you finally soothes you.

His strokes with the dry brush are methodical and gentle, the bristles gliding effortlessly over every inch of your extremities. With each pass, a deep exhale escapes, and you feel tension dissipating as if melting away, allowing your body to succumb to a state of complete relaxation, and the itchiness gives way to a calming sensation.

"Thank you, Joel. It really does make a difference."

Once he's done with the brush, Joel presents the bottle he got from the drawer. "I know you don’t always like lotion, but I bought something I saw online a few days ago. Would you be willing to give it a try? People say it doesn’t leave that filmy sensation," he explains, his eyes reflecting a hopeful sincerity.

"Does it have a smell?"

"It's supposed to be odorless," Joel replies with a hint of pride in his voice. He had done extensive research, well aware of your aversion to the lingering sensation of lotions. The avoidance of body lotions is a common thing for you, and he had made it his mission to find a solution that aligns with your preferences.

"I want to try it." 

"If you don't like it, we'll wash it right off," Joel reassures, deftly opening the lotion bottle and squirting a small amount into the palm of his hand. He then proceeds to apply the cream to your left hand just above your wrist. The initial coldness prompts a sigh of relief from you. Joel lifts his hand off your skin, allowing the lotion to settle. As you open your eyes, there's a pleasant surprise—it feels good. "Wait, it's actually good. It doesn't feel sticky on my skin," you say with genuine amazement.

"Really?" Joel responds, his excitement evident.

"Yeah," you laugh. "Thank you, honey," you add, your gratitude almost bringing tears to your eyes at the thoughtfulness of your husband.

"No tears, okay?" he insists.

You nod, and he pulls you up, giving you a sweet kiss. You melt into his lips, and just as the kiss starts to deepen, he pulls away, helping you stand up. 

"Let's go brush our teeth," Joel suggests. You both head back into the bathroom and after finishing there, Joel takes the plate and cup into the kitchen. As you wait for him to return to the room, you neatly put away the brush and lotion, deciding to store them in your restroom. When you return to the room, Joel is already back, seated on the ottoman, engrossed in his phone.

"What are you doing?" you ask, walking over to him. 

"Just ordered some stuff," he replies.

Climbing onto the bed, you rest your head on his shoulder, peeking at his phone with curiosity. 

"Three more sheets?" you ask, shocked.

"We need to be ready, sweetie," Joel says, turning his head to look back at you.

"Joel, that's a lot of money," you express your concern.

"What do you say all the time?" he asks, unbothered by the cost.

"Mas vale prevenir que lamentar," you say begrudgingly, knowing that Joel is right. 

"Exactly, better safe than sorry, and what else?" 

"Uno nunca sabe, (One never knows)" you mumble grumpily.

"Mhm! They'll be here in three days," he informs you, turning his phone off and climbing onto the bed.

"Joel! Expedited shipping?" you exclaim, now on your knees.

"What did we just talk about? Only the best for my wife," he says, adjusting the quilt to prepare for sleep.

"Okay, fine. But you better not spoil me too much."

He chuckles warmly. "Of course, I will, my love. Ready to go to bed?"

With a playful eye roll, you nod. "Yes, but I think it’ll help if I sleep upside down." 

"Head on the foot of the bed?" Joel asks.

"Yes," you reply, loving that he knows you so well.

Joel puts your pillows on the end of the bed. "Come on," he says, resting his head on the pillow and opening his arms for you.

You eagerly get into bed and lie there, smiling.

"Thank you," you say.

"No need to thank me. You know I'd do anything for you," Joel assures.

"I know, baby. I love you," you tell Joel with a yawn.

"I love you," he replies, and you finally drift off to sleep peacefully.

Extended note: Joel finally gets a happy ending! I don't usually write HEAs for him, but this piece is one of my favorites that I've written about him. I had trouble falling asleep yesterday, and I remembered I had written this, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and reblog if you'd like!

@pedrostories

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #Hurt/comfort #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #no y/n #pedro pascal character #hurt no comfort #tw: pills #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[ghostface3100]

My little dove, why do you cry?

Danny Phantom x Jason Todd

Part: 1

When Jason died he didn't know what to expect, but it was not some green void of sorrow and sadness. It was the whole place was grieving. He went around looking for someone to tell him what's going on, to explain why this thick veil of sadness and sorrow surrounds the entirety of this green abyss.

He eventually stumbled upon a boy who was crying, no not crying, weeping, grieving. And he didn't like seeing someone cry. He's Robin for goodness sake! If somethings happening he needs to help!

He went over to the boy, trying to see what was wrong. When the boy didn't didn't answer he wrapped his arms around him to give him some comfort. He accepted the hug leaning his face into Jason's shoulder and continued crying.

Eventually the white haired beauty was done and raised his face to look at Jason, wiping away his tears he asked who Jason was. Jason explained and gave his name, in turn Jason asked who he was and what this pace is. The boy -Danny- told him how this is where ghosts go, souls who have died but cannot pass on for some reason. Jason asked why they couldn't pass on, and Danny responded in the same way that has been told to him over and over, "It varies from person to person".

After that they just stuck together, he never learned why Danny was crying but decided not to ask. Some people just have their secrets.

Jason did however learn that Danny is the king, "Is that why the whole place seemed to be weeping when I found you?" "yes" was Danny's simple answer.

Jason decided to call Danny his Dove. When he asked about it all Jason needed to say was "Your hair, and your beauty". Danny decided to call Jason his sapphire, Jason of course responded with "Not Robin? And why sapphire?" Danny had explained that everyone calls him Robin and that robin is a mantle not something special for just us, plus your eyes are sapphire blue, and sparkle like crystals. I love them." Jason accepted that answer.

Eventually, they did confess to each other their love, and then they were together, no longer hiding the intimate touches they wanted to do but didn't do because of fear of rejection.

But good things don't always last, and one day it appeared that something took Jason right from his arms.

And whatever did was going to pay.

pt 2

#Danny phantom #Jason Todd #DpxDC #Danny Phantom x Jason Todd #First fic #Protective Danny #Pretty Danny

[poptart-productions]

his type

[part two of a series]

↳ ❝ [summary] ¡! ❞

after a bit of teasing about your apparent ‘crush’ on eren on your friend’s part, you and “the homegirls” finally make it to the paradis concert.

after the show, the six of you head backstage to receive your v.i.p treatment and instead you get eren’s attention, which—as you’ll find out, is more weight than you can bear

previous | series masterlist | next

——————————✩———————————

it was all fun and games until you actually got there

you felt out of place

to be fair, you came for the networking opportunity and that super attractive guitarist, so it’d be unfair to compare you to a fan.

but still, you felt wrong being there—like you took the spot from someone more deserving than yourself.

the pestering flavor of coffee sat heavy on the back of your tongue as you looked amongst the mingling fans—all the faces reduced to featureless paint smears in the darkness.

surprisingly, none of your friends were speaking, at least not too loud—even sasha, which was frightening.

and so, you were forced into what was, practically eavesdropping on fans; all of which were in varying degrees of fandom

“that album—oh my fucking god—they ate”

“—devoured!”

another conversation.

“i’m gonna fucking cry—“

“—jenna, if you cry—we’re going home”

and another.

“eren is so hot—one chance, please”

you chuckled a bit hearing that, because shit—this person is just like you for saying that

but you quirked a brow at what their friend said in response, “well, you know what they been saying about him, you might be—“

another voice, “—don’t even give her false hope—bitch, this isn’t wattpad”

the trio laughs but you’d already stopped paying attention at that point

what have they been saying about eren?

might be what?

from the undertone of the conversation, and the person begging for ‘one chance’ with him, you’d guess that the rumors were alluding to eren being something of a playboy

you sighed; you’re not surprised—he’s young, he’s pretty, and he’s in a band—of course he’s a fuckboy

“you okay—?“

“—oh! miki. . .” your shoulders tense as mikasa’s sultry voice funneled into your ears

you did eventually realize that it was her, and calmed down some; you blinked, finally answering her question, “yeah. . .yeah! i’m alright! i just—i don’t know, i’ve just never really been to a concert, i guess”

“oh, i know how you feel, but you’ll have fun. and if you need some—“ “—let’s fucking go!” before mikasa could finish, the stage lights flicked on, and the boys came on stage all at once

thankfully, you’d done some research on paradis while waiting for the girls in the parking lot—all that fussing, and you were still there first—so you recognized all of the guys and their respective positions

connie, the one coming with so much energy was the drummer—“are you ready, [h/t]?!” he continued, rousing all kinds of ‘yeahs’ from the audience

“then make some fucking noise” another screamed, an attractive fry to his voice

jean : bassist and sub-vocalist—he was pretty fucking popular, too. the sea of fans responded with screeches, some of which consisted of obscene ‘daddy’s’ and ‘fuck me’s’ shouted into the void

these motherfuckers are insane.

seriously, you’d think some kpop group was on the stage right now.

armin, the lead vocalist pouts, “you guys sound bored, c’mon”

you scan the stage, and that’s the moment that man appears, out of nowhere.

eren, the guitarist—though he needs no introduction; he’s the most popular member, for fuck’s sake

he saunters toward the front of the stage, single-handedly causing an uproar in the audience—and why would he not—let’s not kid ourselves here; this man looks fucking good.

waves of brown hair cascading freely down his shoulders, green eyes tinted through the shades he decided to wear inside—but he’s hot so it’s okay

he was shirtless, leading all the attention to his lean—i mean, neckless—of course, the key neckless which he always wore, according to the website you were staring at in your car twenty minutes ago

whether it had sentimental value or he just thought it looked cool, you might not ever know, but it was still eye catching nonetheless

draws attention to that abdomen of his. . .

fuck.

but wait, there’s more; the pants—those fucking leather pants, the light was doing a great job at making it known just how. . .excited he was before getting on stage

either that or, he was just that impressive

after all that time you spent utterly eye-fucking this man, he finally opens his mouth

shit

“if you want us to give it to you, you’re gonna fucking scream, alright?”

sultry, deep, husky—it brought you back to your old boy band days—you’re ashamed to admit that you already started imagining him whispering things to you, dirty things

“one more try” he continues, “make some motherfucking noise!”

he said ‘noise’, and the fans delivered.

all you could hear was noise.

your feelings of isolation only got worse when the music started—if you could even call it that—you could only hear the bass as it boomed from the super-sized speakers above; the only thing cutting through it all was armin’s voice, with occasional harmonies from eren and jean

they sounded nice, but god was everything so fucking loud

you looked over to find everyone having a good time, but you

sasha and historia were screaming the lyrics—regardless of the fact that sasha did not know a single one—and jumping up and down, with mikasa and ymir standing protectively behind them to ensure their safety

they were bobbing their heads to the beat, too. hell, even annie seemed to be enjoying herself; nodding her head and mouthing the words to the chorus

it wasn’t until mikasa hurriedly handed you the earplugs she had forgotten to give you that you saw what all the fuss was about.

there’s nothing for you to say except. . .

you get it, now

you felt like middle schooler, screaming in the audience—it was fun—they’d only performed a few songs, it felt like, before armin looked at the audience with a pitiful smile, “alright, so for this last song—“ the crowd, including you, responded with childish whines

“you guys always do this—“ armin shakes his head with a laugh, to which jean smiled, “yeah, shit’s gotta end eventually”

the whining subsided, and armin continued, “so for this last song, we wanted you guys to sing. . .” the chords to an unknown—to you at least—track began to play

there was a nervous tension in the air, “eren, start ‘em off!”

eren smirks, jade eyes focused on his instrument as he played the audience in, “there is nothing you can do that i have not already done to my self, there is nothing you could do that i have not already done to myself—“

you paused, you’ve heard this song before.

never wanted to dance—that’s it’s name—you’d heard it on historia’s playlist while sleeping over at her and ymir’s place.

“there is nothing you could do that i have not already done to myself—“

“—never wanted to dance with nobody—“ a few voices started to sing, but quickly died down upon realizing how alone they were

the guys of paradis are reduced to nothing but disappointed groans and looks,“oh come on! you were just screaming loud as fuck—could barely hear ourselves” connie chided, so upsets it seems, that he almost fell off his chair

“scream!” jean and armin encouraged, and eren continued with their sentiment, “we don’t give a fuck if you think you sound bad—just give us everything you got, alright?”

they start over, and at first it seems the result will be the same until a voice from the audience starts screaming the lyrics

“never wanted to dance with nobody but you—!”

you knew that voice anywhere.

historia.

“fuck yeah, go crazy!” connie praised, gearing up to play his part

historia’s shrill voice lands all eyes on her but she clearly didn’t give a fuck, she was screaming;

“never wanted to dance with nobody but you wouldn’t take no for an answer—you fucking bitch!” it was so strange hearing historia swear, but your ‘homegirls’ seemed cool with it and she was jamming so you smiled at her

“never wanted to dance, with nobody but you—!“ sasha joined, jumping up and down like a child.

gotta love the enthusiasm.

it wasn’t long before the entire venue was alive, all screaming the same lyrics to the same song

it was electric.

you forgot what you were originally there for, not remembering until the six of you were in the bathroom, freshening up

“did you have fun?” mikasa combed her fingers through her hair, glancing at all of you through the mirror,

“are you kidding?” historia laughed, “i’m ecstatic about it!”

“life-changing!” sasha giggled, almost as if she was loopy, and ymir nodded, “it was pretty fun”

“not bad” that’s annie for: i had fun

“that’s better. . .” you let out a sigh as you stared at yourself in the mirror

all the excitement left you with a youthful glow, but the screaming left you looking like you hadn’t slept in five years

if you’re gonna be meeting eren and agency representatives, you’re gonna need to look decent

it wasn’t long after you chugged a bunch of water, and fixed your appearance, that sasha was already dragging you towards the door

“okay! let’s go backstage—i can smell the food from here!”

“why are you always hungry?”

as soon as you walked into the room, reps were already flooding mikasa; it wasn’t long before they turned their attention to you

your friends left you alone to converse with them, and you’d scheduled a couple castings before skipping up to your friends—who was talking to the band—holy shit, they’re looking at you.

deadass, they all just stopped whatever they were doing and looked at you—maybe it was because you so hard to ignore when you were literally beaming

“hi! i’m [y/n]! i’m friends with them!”

“oh, hey!” they all greeted, “nice to meet you”

all of you moved the ensuing conversation to a seating area in the corner.

seeing as there was no room left on the couch your friends decided to sit on, you plopped yourself down on the loveseat across from them

you started cursing yourself out the moment eren slid into the empty seat beside you—because of course he did

your heart was slamming against your rib cage, meanwhile, eren was chilling. your best effort to combat this was just pretending he didn’t exist

you looked around you.

it was crazy; they were just like the movies, so cool and laid back—or maybe it’s the drugs, you thought, cutting your eyes to eren, who was shamelessly rolling up on the glass table—already reminded of his existence

he glanced up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips, “you smoke?”

“no—no, i don’t. but thank you” you clear your throat and force a chuckle.

“sure, princess” the nickname flowed from his lips so effortlessly; he already moved on, but you were still shocked about it.

your body was tense, but armin smiled at you sweetly as asked you a question, “you’re the same age as miki, right?”

you smiled upon hearing the nickname come from him

they must’ve been friends before, too

seemingly interested, connie asked follow-up questions, leaning his body towards you, “you in college? what’s your major?”

you nodded feverishly, telling them your major with a proud smile; they smiled back.

“got a partner?”

you could feel his burning gaze on you, and everyone who was once talking stopped to look at the brunette

his bandmates looked quite dissatisfied with him

mikasa’s weighty gaze burdened him, but eren didn’t seem to notice.

she sighed, and turned to you with a softer glance, “[n/n], you can come sit by me, if—“

“—no need to be like that” eren chuckled, lighting the blunt resting between his lips, “she’s hot, i’m not allowed to think that?”

jean crosses his arms, “yeah, but you don’t need to eye-fuck her, man”

“sorry,” he looked at you, “i’d say he’s not normally like this but. . .”

resting his arms behind you, eren leans back; you made the mistake of looking at him—of course, what you find is him staring back at you with those damn eyes of his

“. . .just returning the favor”

you tried to hide it, but you couldn’t deny how your body became rigid after he said that to you

did he really see that? that is so embarrassing—fuck

it was only worsened when you tried to explain yourself, only coming out as stammers

“i—i wasn’t—“

“—you never answered my question” you were humiliated, like a small girl underneath his gaze.

you cast your eyes down to your lap, “no. i don’t have one—a partner”

“good.” he leans towards you, shoulders touching yours; his breath was fanning against the shell of your ears

the leather beneath him made noise as he moved his hands; his calloused fingers graze the back of your neck and you shivered at this.

“so is it cool if i—“

“—pause.” ymir stood up, the sudden action gaining everyone’s attention

she walks toward you, and you seriously thought they were about to start boxing, “thanks for the hospitality.” thankfully, she just grabbed you—yanking you to your feet with a wild amount of force.

“but we’re leaving.”

tags!

@butterfly-skinnylegend

@y-yinyang

#black reader #anime #fanfic #attack on titan #attack on titan eren #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren x reader #aot smau #eren jaeger #aot x reader #text fic

[ghoodles]

A sort of list of ghoul headcanons i have! Its a big ol thing with mostly anatomy sooo read under the cut :3

Forms and glamours

Ghouls typically have four stages to a glamour. Well, three to four.

Stage glamour:

What it says on the tin, the whole mask and everything, they look akin to humans anatomy wise (with some exceptions, i.e if a ghoul is mutated, but more on that later) but the mask is in fact, well.. part of their anatomy. They just have a second 'face' under that looks akin to their human glamours. This glamour is specifically provided for when an instrument is tied to them, and lasts for how long they play and then about an hour. It can also stack from past practices and whatnot, so depending on how long theyve been there and bonded, it can in fact vary.

Full glamours:

Carbon copies of human anatomy (again, with some exception), you cannot tell the difference between a ghoul and a human if they are glamoured like this. It is, however, extremely taxing to do so, and will end up tiring them out quickly. Depending on how much they do it, however, they can increase the duration. At the bare minimum, its about an hour before they have to turn back.

Unglamour 1:

This is, essentially, the more humanized versions. They look more like how people portray demons, with the horns and tails and other unhuman features, and features can vary from type to type. Such as:

Water: Fins, Scales, Tail is sort of like a fish.

Fire: Dragonlike in appearance, slits in eyes, tail is absent of a spade.

Earth: Goat, Deer or Elklike in appearance. Most earth ghouls have hooves, but can also have normal legs if they so wish. Tail is spiked and has a spiked spade.

Air: Fluff and fur on some spots (Knees and below) Their tails resemble a lion's. Some air ghouls have wings, but they are rare, and pretty small.

Quintessence: Space-like in appearance. Most older Quintessence ghouls have their bodies put together, but you can find small wisps emitting from the younger ones. Due to their matter not exactly being the most.. stable, they can in fact shapeshift!

Multi: Varies wildly, depending on proficiency of element, or what elements they were raised with back in the pit.

Unglamour 2:

Monster-like in appearance, you do not want to engage, as when the ghouls are in this form, they are most likely hunting. Forms can vary wildly, but still following the rules of the criteria above.. just, more. Quintessence is the only one with a major difference from the ones, as they are masses of dark matter. If you look closely, you can see specks that look almost like stars.

Element stuff:

Fire:

Fire ghouls are the most common ghouls in the pit, along with water. They can be found all around the pit, and can vary from pitborn to those who were human.

Earth:

Earth ghouls are in tune with the nature and, well, earth sround them. They can sense the weather (depending on the severity, it can in fact turn into a migrane) and have a bit of control over the plants around them.

The earth ghouls are the ones that were closest to the earth, its rare of them to be seen deeper in the pits. Most of them are humans turned ghoul.

Air:

Air and Earth ghouls typically are in the same areas, though they're typically born in the pits, unlike the earth ghouls.

Water:

Water ghouls are essentially like fire, there's a surplus of them in the pits, and can vary from pitborn to people that were once human.

Quintessence:

Quintessence ghouls are.. a peculiar type of ghoul. Exclusively pit-born, if you could even call them that. Really, they come from an area outside of it, a void. They dont have actual physical forms before summoning.

Their powers are upon the belief that humans had that dark matter, or the element quintessence, could cure any ailment. They're, by far, the most powerful type of ghouls, as this power allows the most skilled to tap into someone's mind, and due to their own lack of solid form, they can shapeshift at will.

Multi:

Multighouls are seen wildly different in the pits than in the surface. As, well, there isnt any way to channel certain elements in the pit. So, theyre considered to have no element. However, with the ability to channel certain elements in the ministry, multighouls possess the ability to have multiple elements, although their abilities are much more limited, and purely based on their proficiency with the instrument correlating with the element. They are pit-born exclusively, with a recessive gene that causes the ability to use multiple elements.

Instruments

Instruments are the main channel of elements. When given an instrument, a ghoul can bond to it, giving them access to their stage glamours. They can replenish energy, however, sleep is more efficient. Each ghoul has a specific one theyre bonded to, however it can change, and they can have multiple.

Transitions and mutations

Transitions are only available without risk to ghouls that have the multighoul gene, but are not multighouls.

Sodo had the multighoul gene, Delta, sadly, did not. (Even then, quintessence transitions are tricky.)

The ritual performed to do so causes extreme pain, and puts the ghoul subject to it out of commission. This process varies depending on the element they are transitioning to. Only the quintessence ritual requires the presence of other ghouls, and one cannot be sure what they do.

Mutations, well, there was only one instance of it occuring. (And FUCK YOU IM INCLUDING MY OC'S LORE IDC I AM CRINGE I AM FREE.)

Typically, summoning rituals need no other animal, mammal, creature, or any being in the circle. However, there was one time where a mistake was made, and a spider crawled in there.

The ritual was attempted to be cancelled, however, it was too late, summoning a ghoul with the features of the same spider.

Mutated ghouls cannot glamour well, as their mutations cannot go under glamours.

Whether they were like this before or not, nobody knows.

#inkdrambles #ghost bc #ghouls #ghoulettes #nameless ghoul #nameless ghoulettes #nameless ghoul headcanons #delta ghoul #sodo ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #air ghouls #quintessence ghoul #water ghoul #fire ghouls #multighoul #i got normal #so normal #im normal #yeah #i might do more hc posts #but #idk im all brainrotted out

[bracketsoffear]

MaMa (Ruby Jean Jensen) "Once upon a time there lived a sweet little dolly. Her porcelain-like face was so smooth, just like a baby. Her mouth even had a tiny hole so she could eat and breathe. But her one beaded glass eye gleamed with mischief and evil. She had waited a long time in the attic for someone to set her free…

Once upon a time there lived a sweet little girl. The only place she was happy was in the attic with her dolly. If she could have seen her little doll's legs kick, she would have been frightened. If she could have felt her little doll's arms squeeze, she would have been shocked. But if she could have read her little doll's thoughts she would have run from the attic forever--for her sweet little dolly only had killing her on her mind…"

Everyman (Justin Robinson) "Ian Covey is a doppelganger. A mimic. A shapeshifter. He can replace anyone he wants by becoming a perfect copy; taking the victim’s face, his home, his family. His life. No longer a man, but a hungry void, Ian Covey is a monster. David Tirado is a massive, hideous colony organism, a gestalt entity. The sum of Covey’s discarded parts. A roiling, chaotic patchwork of vast and varied personalities, memories, and physical forms that used to be a man − many men − David Tirado is a monster. Sophie Tirado’s identity has been eroded by the tides of a long relationship, and now the man she gave herself up for has been stolen away and replaced by a mimic. Caught between the Doppelganger and the Gestalt Entity, she will try to save her husband, but there might be nothing left of him. Virtue has a veil, vice a mask, and evil a thousand faces."

#stranger poll #the stranger #poll #the magnus archives #leitner tournament #ruby jean jensen #MaMa #justin robinson #everyman

[spraytaleau]

  For Spraytale's birthday, I figured I'd give a bit of lore. Enjoy.

The lights buzzed in the lab with bulbs that all needed to be replaced soon. Hand written notes covered the desks and corkboards. The handwriting was complete chicken scratch, it stretched the definition of legible. Flasks and vials of unknown liquids lined the work table. The quiet tick of the clock kept time as it's face read 2:15.

   Gaster leaned forward in his chair contemplating what he was looking at, his hamds meeting at his chin like they normally did when he was lost in thought. He had already re-examined his findings numerous times, not being able to believe what he saw in front of him.

   Alphys gently knocked on the door before entering with a fresh pot of coffee. "H-hey, it's k-kinda late, a-and I thought y-you could use some c-coffee" she stuttered. She knew Gaster always stayed up late working, but he usually stopped around midnight. Both of them drank entirely too much coffee, but it's good for keeping someone awake.

   He rubbed his eye sockets, fighting off sleep. "Yes, thank you" he replied. Right as she filled his mug he downed the whole thing, the warmth and caffeine a balm to his weariness. He leaned back in his chair a moment before looking back to Alphys. "Have you heard of multiverse theory?"

   Alphys looked at him slightly confused, "yes?", she wasn't really sure how to react to that question. It was part of her curriculum in college, but she never put alot of thought into it.

   Gaster gave her an exhausted look. It's not often that Alphys saw a skeleton monster with eye bags. He held readings from his most recent machine, a photon reader. Even if it can't get any visual light, it can detect photons. Atleast, that's what Alphys understood about it.

   "There are photon hotspots where there should be nothing."

   Alphys had to look at the readings a second time after hearing that, and then a third. Just as he said, there was the evidence. In what should be a dark void of nothing, were areas absolutely filled with photons. They were like faraway cities in the darkness. And the individual locations varied slightly.

   There was something moving in each of them.

   "S-so what d-do we do ab-bout this?" Alphys asked. She started nervously shifting from foot to foot without realizing it. Thoughts of classroom discussion start filling her head. Theorizing as to possible consequences to this possibility were played around with. Reasons why it would exist, and whether or not contact would be a good idea.

   "I don't know"

   She stood there nervously for an awkward amount of time, her scaly feet were starting to get cold. "Well, w-what if we send a m-message?" she suggested. Even if it's not a good idea, she couldn't stand the silence for any longer.

   ".....it's possible." Gaster answered. "Although, it might make us a target." He pushed his glasses back up, he really needed to get them adjusted.

   Alphys almost asked why, but stopped when she thought back to her class on a different subject. Some other students thought it was interesting to debate as to why aliens haven't contacted anyone yet. Theories varied from them not existing to something called the Dark Forest Theory.

   Her professor was trying to get the class to settle down, so they agreed to explain it if everyone stayed quiet. Essentially, if there was something very dangerous in the universe, then others would be doing the smart thing by not sending out signals detailing where they were or that they exist at all.

   Alphys looked down while thinking, "so d-do we ig-ignore this?"

   Gaster poured himself another cup of coffee into his orange cat mug. He didn't know the name of the character, but it was a gift. "I don't know" he replied bluntly.

   Alphys flinched at his answer, he was always the one with the solutions. To have him not know what to do unnerved her. She started to become even more unsure of herself.

   Gaster must've noticed, he downed his coffee and continued. "These other universes might be friendly, they could even be in the same situation as us concerning the barrier."

   "So w-what you're sa-saying is..." she started to ask.

   "If that is the case, we could pool together our collection of human souls and break both barriers. One at a time" he answered. His mug was still warm from his last cup of coffee. He held it for a bit to warm his hands. He considered getting another cup, but held off.

   "H-how do we de-decide wether to con-contact them or n-not?" Alphys asked. She considered pouring herself a cup. Just the smell was making her awake and alert though.

   Gaster finally gave in and poured another cup. "I wish I knew"

__________________________________________

   Some kind of morning talk show was playing on the TV as Gaster sat in his recliner. He put down his mug of coffee, this time in a baseball mug, on the end table so he could read the newspaper. The sound from the TV made for good background noise.

   A large chunk of the Underground collapsed recently, and there was reports about it everywhere. Though resources were limited, efforts were made to help survivors. Some of their stories were in the paper.

There was a note about how one child teleported himself and his brother to safety.

   Gaster nearly fell out of his chair when he read that. He had to read it again to make sure he was seeing it correctly. He sat slack jawed as he read the rest of the article. This child was so young, they were still in stripes. His brother he saved was even younger.

   He put the paper down, considering his options. Was the irresponsibility of sending a child into danger worth it to potentially set everyone free?

   Would he forgive himself if he did that to someone?

          Would he forgive himself if he didn't try to break the barrier that had trapped them for thousands of years?

   He looked again that the paper long and hard, weighing the ethics of each option. What if he trained the kid to do this when they got older? What if it was safer than they thought? Could he make something to assist in case of emergencies?

   No matter what he did, he would likely regret it.

   He sighed heavily, resigning himself to what he felt he had to do. He picked up his phone and texted Alphys.

   "Locate and contact Sans Serif. Hire him for the lab."

#spraytale #undertale #au #undertale au #lore

[morimementa]

@thefirstghosthunter Here's the next part! Let me know how you liked it!

TW: Mpreg, supernatural pregnancy, mild body horror.

You opened your eyes and observed the detective’s sleeping form. First things first. Get you both to safety. You knelt, sliding an arm under his shoulders. The other arm went under his knees. As gently as you could, you gathered Void into your arms and stood. It proved a little difficult; he was easily six feet tall. With a little finagling, you got him into a comfortable position. He remained unresponsive and the eyes on the mask were shut. How could a mask’s eyes even shut? Maybe you were better off not thinking about it too hard. Your teddy poked its head out of your bag, a concerned expression on its embroidered face.

“It’s ok,” you said, half to yourself, half to it. “I’ll take care of him.”

If nothing else, Void would be ok. This you swore.

The Teddy bear nodded its approval, then hopped out of your bag. You watched as it scurried across the floor and retrieved Detective Void’s lost dagger. It hurried back to your side, dragging the dagger along by the hilt.

“Thanks,” you said to Teddy, taking the weapon and sheathing it again. “Guess that’s everything we need.”

You made the long trek to where you were staying on foot. It would have been too much for some people, but for something-someone like you, it was fairly easy. If nothing else, you could thank your former captors for your inhuman endurance. Within ten or fifteen minutes, you found yourself back on the sidewalk and closer to civilization. It was too dark to make out the clocktower in the distance, but you reckoned it was getting on to midnight.

 You crossed the street after looking both ways for cars that weren’t actually there. Void lay still in your arms, almost unnervingly so. Occasionally he stirred, head shifting on your shoulder. As you turned onto the main street he whimpered, shuddering ever so slightly. You picked up the pace a little.

 You passed a store that sold tobacco and other smoke products, wrinkling your nose at the lingering scent of vapes and apathy. Next to it sat a hazily lit bar with large windows framed in wood. A few college kids sat inside, nursing their cheap beers into the last call. They paid no attention to you. They were too engrossed in their conversation. A few years ago, all of this would have seemed normal to you. Maybe you would have even popped into the all night convenience store for a bag of chips. You still enjoyed seeing the world as everyone else knew it. It was familiar; from the blinking neon to the sleeping shops. You’d missed these little touches so much when you were held in Foundation custody. Even if you couldn’t join the students in the bar, or stop for your favorite midnight snack, it gave you comfort. It was a reminder why you risked your life every day.

Did Detective Void feel the same? You hardly knew anything about him, and you were sure that was by design. Work like his demanded anonymity. He probably had a varied clientele; there was no rhyme or rhythm to who the supernatural chose to happen to. Ordinary people probably came to him out of desperation. Did he ever have time to be a normal person?

You shook off your memories, suddenly alert as you came up on a group of half sober people smoking something that smelled truly atrocious. They stood in the little circle of light provided by the streetlamp. They were eyeballing you, clearly interested in the story behind your late night journey. A shockingly blond man in a seasoned denim jacket eyed the unconscious detective.

“He partied too hard,” You offered as explanation. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up in anticipation. Were they undercover agents? The blond man gave you and your new friend a critical once over. Clearly, he was worried you were up to something. You could be a Rohypnol slipping ne’er-do-well for all he knew. Before you could worry further, he stepped aside and let you pass.  Maybe it was your concerned expression or some sort of anomalous aura generated by Void’s mask. Whatever the case, you’d passed his test.

“Grab a few extra towels,” He called as you walked away. “In case things get messy.”

If he only knew…

It was nearly 1 in the morning by the time you got back and much to your relief, the hotel lobby was deserted. You made your way through the lobby, only half focused on the journey. You wondered what Void would think when he came to. He probably knew what the Stork’s abilities were and how he’d react was anyone’s guess. You’d seen the glint of that knife and though you fancied your odds in a fight, you would rather not have it come to blows. With the help of your teddy bear, you pushed the elevator button.

The elevator rattled up the first two stories to your floor. You planted your feet firmly on the floor to keep from rocking too much. You were a little worried that Detective Void hadn’t come to yet, but you knew that there was some sort of sedative in the Stork’s venom. It was a bit of blessing that he hadn’t woken up in your arms. You didn’t fancy him attacking out of sheer panic. Your teddy bear had retrieved the key card from your bag and held it, waiting to be helpful again.

You walked to the end of the hall where you room was, praying with every step that no one was making any late-night treks to the ice machine. Your usual paranoia was in full swing and after the night you had, every shadow looked like a monster. It felt like a miracle to make it back to your door unscathed. The teddy bear clambered its way up the strap of your bag and slotted the key card in its place. You elbowed the door handle until it turned and pushed your way into the room.

You’d sprung for a fairly nice hotel room with twin beds and a pullout sofa. Initially, you’d been planning to convert the spare bed into a makeshift fabric storage area. You hadn’t dreamed you’d be bringing someone back with you. Lucky thing you hadn’t actually cluttered it up at this point. You laid the detective down and took some time to pile the head of the bed high with pillows. You wanted to make him as comfortable as possible.

As you arranged him in a spine friendly position, you realized his shirt was still in tatters. You took some of the ragged edges and twisted them around your fingers. With a little exertion, you turned his ruined attire into a plain t-shirt. It was a trivial thing, preserving his modesty, but he’d been violated enough for one evening. Besides, he’d need comfy clothes.

Once he was settled, you went around the room, turning on every single light. You hadn’t always been afraid of the dark, but after falling headfirst into the world of statues that moved by themselves and violent specters, you’d learned to fear what you couldn’t see. You shut the curtains as tightly as you could, then set a larger teddy bear on the windowsill to keep watch. It would act as the proverbial canary in the coal mine, alerting you if any other supernatural beasties showed up. Or if that stupid bird came back.

  You sat on the bed across from the Detective and let your project bag fall from your shoulder next to you. After some digging, you pulled your latest work in progress out. It was a charcoal gray scarf that was only a few inches away from completion. It was enough of a challenge to keep your mind from wandering too much. Though under the circumstances, a baby blanket might have been more fitting. You kept one eye on the detective as you worked, waiting for the inevitable painful awakening.

Just as you were casting off the final stitches, Detective Void began to stir. He mumbled something incoherent and moved his arm to cover the eye holes of his mask. You reached over to the lamp mounted on the wall and dimmed the lights a bit. His head turned as he scanned the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Finally, he settled on you. You were relieved when he didn’t immediately panic or try to attack.

“Where are we?”  Void sat up, eyes narrowing.

You stood, dropping the now completed scarf. “I brought you back to my place,” You held up your hands where he could see them. You kept a respectful distance, waiting for him to regain his bearings. “You’re safe here; you can leave if you so choose.”

You could feel his gaze through the mask. He appeared to be taking stock of the room, appraising whether or not there was any danger lurking in the corners. You watched as he touched the soft fabric of the t-shirt. You couldn’t see his expression, but there was something like recognition glowing in his eyes as he looked back at you.

“I know you,” He murmured.  “You’re ------, you were kidnapped by the-.”

Before he could finish, you closed the distance between you two. He started a bit as you leaned forward and put a finger to where his lips would be.

“Don’t speak of the devil,” You murmured. “Or they might show up.” You backed away and watched him intently.

If he was bothered by your touch, he didn’t show it. “Duly noted,” he said calmly. The detective studied you for a moment. You didn’t flinch away, or shift under his gaze. It was worrying to hear that he’d read your file; especially since you were pretty sure it’d been classified by the government.

“Sorry,” He shifted to a more comfortable position, taking advantage of the pillow mountain you’d built. As he leaned an elbow on the pillows, he glanced down at himself and pointed at his shirt. “I assume this is your handiwork?”

It occurred to you that he must have read your file, though how he’d managed that was anyone’s guess.

“Yeah. Yours didn’t make it.” You twisted your fingers together and braced yourself for the awkward conversation that was about to ensue. “How much do you remember?”

He had to think about that. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, gaze unfocused as he turned back to the past.

“Let’s see. I was after that new anomaly, The Gender Biased Stork.”

He’d given it a name? You were incredulous. Though you could hardly argue with what the name conveyed. You wanted to comment, but knew better than to interrupt his train of thought. His eyes narrowed as he tried to recall the events of the past few hours.

“I’d managed to trap it. It was about to get away, then you came in.  Then it started screaming…” His voice trailed off and the mask’s eyeholes widened. He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his bruised stomach. You watched with mounting dread as it dawned on him. He didn’t start cursing up a storm or jump to accusing you. Instead, he seemed to be contemplating it with some degree of calm. You stood ramrod straight with tension, waiting for him to react.

“It escaped, didn’t it?” He said after an excruciating pause. You nodded, toes curling with anxiety inside your shoes.

“I’m afraid so. I tried to stop it, but it threw me against the wall.” Your fists clenched. “I should have tried harder. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

You glanced up, expecting to see him glaring at you. Instead, he was strangely calm.

“You’re hardly responsible for my wellbeing. I mean, we only met five minutes ago.” His blasé tone caught you off guard. You stared at him in disbelief. Wasn’t he even a little concerned with the fact that he’d been knocked up by an errant waterfowl?!

“It was foolish of me to go alone in the first place. I’d hoped to contain it long enough for Heron to catch up to it.” He touched the puncture wound. “Clearly, the plan backfired.”

He turned his attention back to you. “Still, don’t sell yourself short. I assume you’re the reason I made it out in one piece.”

“You could say that,” You touched your bag, hoping to reassure yourself.  You desperately needed something to do with your hands; you hated awkward moments. Still, it would look weird if you started knitting while talking to him. Detective Void ran his fingers over the bruised area, lost in thought.

“Why?” The question was almost soft enough to be inaudible. You weren’t sure whether he was asking himself or you. “Why were you following it? Why stick your neck out?”

“Even if, as you say, I’m not responsible for you, I still wanted to stop-what did you call it? The Gender Biased Stork? You’re not the only one trying to make the world a little safer.”

Void stood, using the headboard to steady himself. You’d kept his weapons within arm’s reach of him and you could see him noting its location.

“From what I hear, you rejected the lab that experimented on you.” His words were careful. “You didn’t end up going back to them, did you?”

“Not in this reality or any other!” You snapped. “Those stuffed suits took eight years of my life away! They obliterated any chance I had at normality! I’d never-.”

You cut yourself off, unclenching your fists and sitting back down. “Sorry. It’s a sore subject.” You dried your sweaty palms on your jeans. The events of tonight had dredged up so many bad memories; like flotsam from the sea.

He tilted his head, expression unreadable. You seemed to have assuaged his suspicions.

“No need to apologize,” Void made a dismissive gesture. “I know where you’re coming from.” Were you imagining the bitterness coating his words? Or did he have some unresolved resentment himself?

“Last I heard, you’d escaped. How does the vigilante act factor in?”

You shrugged. “I can’t go back to an ordinary life and I’m not about to join any more shadowy organizations. At least here I can help people on my own terms. Isn’t that what you want to do as well?”

You’d caught his interest. “Heh, you could say that.” It was hard to tell, but he might have been smiling under the mask. “I had the option of joining the government, but I decided being a private detective was-.”

He broke off with a groan and doubled over, arms wrapping around his stomach. You watched in alarm as he collapsed on the bed, overcome by cramps. You leapt to your feet and rushed over to him. Void hugged himself, eye squeezing shut. What you could see of his face was pale, drawn with pain. You perched next to him, hands hovering just over his back, unsure if he’d want you to touch him.

“Detective, just stay calm,” You spoke with more certainty than you felt. “I’ve seen this before; it’s normal for, um, The Gender Biased Stork’s victims to go through this.”

His only answer was to spit out a curse. He might not have heard you; he was in such deep distress. He curled into fetal position, hissing through clenched teeth. You dared to touch him, only on the shoulder, and offer a reassuring squeeze.

“Easy, Detective,” You soothed. “You’ve got to breathe through it.”

You ran your hand up and down his arm as he managed to breathe in deeply. He exhaled in a rush, clutching the fabric of his shirt in his fist. The next inhale was deliberately drawn out, though you could tell it pained him.

“Feels like I’m caught in a vise,” He managed, his tone strained.

Your heart clenched with sympathy. All you could do was rub his arm and try to offer comfort. After a minute or two, he relaxed, slumping into the mattress with a sigh.

“Really should have called Kris,” He muttered to himself. You couldn’t contain your curiosity.

“Who?”

“My partner,” He sat up cautiously, as though worried the cramps would start again. You moved to help him, but he waved you off. He swayed a little bit, but managed to stay upright. You noticed he was holding onto the edge of the mattress, as if sitting up took more effort than normal.

“Normally we tackle jobs as a team, but she wasn’t able to come along this time. Something about family business. It was reckless of me to go it alone, but after seeing what it did to its previous victims, I wanted to stop it quickly.”

“Seems we had the same idea. How long have you been tracking it?”

 “About a month. I tried to question its last victim, but he couldn’t remember anything.”

“Wait,” You frowned. “You interviewed him?"

"Tried to. He couldn't remember being attacked. I assume that was your doing?"

"He asked me to," You mumbled. Void shrugged.

"Can't say I blame him."

He turned away from you, smoothing down his shirt to inspect his abdomen. A whisper of heat brushed down your spine as you saw the slight bump that had formed. You swallowed thickly.

“How long does it usually take?” He asked.

“An hour or two at most.”

The mask betrayed nothing; no hint of emotion or distress. He turned to look out the window. “At least it’ll be quick.”

“Is there anything I can do?” You asked tentatively.  He glanced back at you. “Yes, though probably not about this. If there’s anything you can tell me about the laboratory that experimented on you, I’d appreciate it. I,” He looked away, embarrassed. “I know it must be a touchy subject, but I’d like to learn more about them in the hopes that I can keep them from ensnaring other innocent people.”

You arched a brow in disbelief. He certainly was married to his job if he was more worried about that than his current condition. Nevertheless, you were more than willing to accommodate him. It had been quite some time since you’d had someone to talk to.

“Go ahead.”

#Detective Void #text post #fanfiction #Mpreg #TW: Pregnancy #Reader insert but not Xreader #This is not K/ink please do not tag as such

[badrshadow]

aesthetic﹒how does your magic manifest itself physically? how does it feel?

badr first summons the darkness somewhere within in their core. if they actually believed in souls, then perhaps they would say it arises from there. the darkness begins to spread throughout the entirety of their body, until it eventually begins seeping into the outside world. in order for badr to channel the darkness, they must first give themself over to it entirely. even when not actively using it, the darkness always remains dormant within them— awaiting its next opportunity to be used. when consumed by the shadow, they feel the most full that they’ve ever been. directly after the use of their abilities is when they feel the most empty. they’ve used the power so much over the years that it’s nearly impossible to detect when they’re in the process of using it. though— it’s most noticeable in the way the already dim light appears to leave their eyes.

mechanic ﹒how do you picture this to work ooc in game-play?

this is something badr can summon at will. there’s not necessarily a physical toll, but there’s always that lingering feeling that the darkness may one day consume badr completely. it either presents itself as a mental fog (essentially clouding their target’s thoughts) or a visual darkness (obstructing their target’s vision with darkness). what that would mean for them exactly is something they’re unaware of. besides, high risks were never the sort of thing badr shied away from. regarding chance, i think the potential always exists for badr to break focus, something that could potentially be determined by rolling.

features & limitations ﹒expand on what has already been written in the skeleton. for every positive feature, you must write a negative drawback.

current:

(+) can last an infinite amount of time

(+) can vary how strong the darkness is 

(-) can only be used on one person at a time

(-) must be focused on the power while using it 

additional:

(+) can become undetectable in darkness and shadows 

(-) can only be hidden for as long as the darkness is present

(-) how undetectable they are depends on the strength of the darkness

(+) can see in places with low light and even complete darkness

(-) becomes sensitive to abrupt flashes of light

(-) takes at least five minutes to readjust to seeing in regular light

(+) can adapt their circadian cycle for nighttime activity

(-) makes them nearly completely useless the following day 

past uses ﹒when have they used their power before?

they use it regularly when participating in grifts and scams, and their abilities have allowed them to become a spectacular thief.  it also comes in handy the times they’ve been hired to track someone down for intimidation purposes, or often something more. their darkness has never been something they’ve shied away from. from their initial encounter with it, they began embracing it as a part of themself.

future features ﹒there will be an opportunity later in the game to transform your character’s power. what ideas do you have for this? what would you not want to see. note, ideas here mayor may not be implemented (they may also be slightly modified).

PERSONAL VOID / badr is able to trap objects, or even people, in their own portable “void” of sorts. the drawback would some kind of time limit, and people could only be held for way shorter periods of time then objects. disrupting their concentration could also potentially free the person or object.

SHADOW MARIONETTE / some sort of shadow manipulation that would ultimately make  badr a puppeteer— so long as the person has a shadow to be manipulated. controlling their own darkness is one thing, but controlling someone else’s could be particularly draining.

DARKSIDE VIEW / badr being able to force targets into confronting their inner evil, either in a mental struggle or bring the victim's dark side into the world as a physical being. when a darkness is faced, it's arguably more powerful than the good half of the being. they’re basically a physical manifestation of the being's past wrong doing, or current doing. victims are either corrupted, driven insane, or outright killed by the sensation of this ability. limitations would be that a person has to have enough inner evil for the power to takes its effect, and it’s something some people can overcome if they possess a strong enough will power.

#corvi.nihilum #kudos to j for the beautiful template #also to powerlisting.fandom.com for all the power info yup

[displacedarchon]

Side Quest Chapter 13: The Scions and the Seventh Pawn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44147433/chapters/115730770

Time sure does fly when one is...busy doing something.

The darkness would be suffocating, were Elidibus not an Ascian.  He waited for Lahabrea serenely in the void, permitting his mind to meander with musings he was sure to forget before the year was done, if not sooner. He eyed the effigy of Zodiark, the one true god, any Ascian would claim if asked.  As his mind toyed with the idea of replaying memories of a world long gone,  Lahabrea appeared in a swirl of darkness. He took his place on his marble pedestal, and crossed his arms.

   “You called?” His voiced crackled with an annoyed gruffness.

   “I was thinking...” Elidibus hummed, turning to face Lahabrea. “You mean to antagonize and assist the Amalj’aa into summoning Ifrit, correct?” He adjusted the sleeves of his white robes.

   “Yes. What of it?”

   “Whatever you’ve had them gather for crystals and sacrifice thus far, double it.” Elidibus smiled widely. “Or even triple, whichever suits your fancy.” He flicked a hand dismissively.

   “Why. Not that I don’t delight in the thought of increasing Ifrit’s power to cause more destruction and chaos, why? It would require more time which increases the risk of being thwarted before the Eikon can even be summoned.” He grumbled, but didn’t dismiss the idea outright. Not yet.

   “Because I feel as is, it may pose little to no challenge to an adventurer who now roams the desert. If you need more time, I can provide a distraction.” He hummed. Lahabrea pursed his lips together, wondering just what Elidibus was playing at.

   “Fine.” He snorted. “Then get to it.  This meeting has delayed me enough. Off with you! And I will do my part.”

And so, Elidibus left.

   Appearing in front of Hypnos next, who, obviously took a few steps back out of worry he was in trouble. Elidibus raised his hand to signal he was not there to berate or chastise the lesser Ascian.

   “I require something of you. How many people can you put to sleep at once, and for how long?”

   “Oh! Ahh...” Hypnos scrunched his nose as he did some sleep-math. “One weak minded person for a month, a medium minded person about a week or so, someone super strong and or with a lot of aether or the echo? A moment, if at all. Bit touch and go on that. For MULTIPLE people, half a bell tops~!” He replied in a sing-song voice.

   “What would it take for you sleep an entire city for as long as necessary?”

   “PHWWOOO! We’re talking I’d have to be Unsundered and in my prime boy-o.” Hypnos whistled, offering a shrug. “Don’t suppose you’ve got the power to unsunder people in those robes, hmn?”

   “Alas, I do not.” Elidibus hummed, thinking.  “However...”

   “That being said...” Emet-Se-... Emperor Solus, grumbled. “I wish not to speak of the matter further. Will you leave an old man be?” He waved a had dismissively as he made a slow getaway.

    “Gladly, I would.” Varis wrinkled his nose as he followed his grandsire, one slow step at a time. “Were you not the Emperor and thus, required to-“

    “Ah. How rare it is all three of us are in the same room. I suppose most families would celebrate such an occasion.” Emperor Solus interrupted, gesturing at Zenos, who just so happened to enter the throne room. “Though I assume you’re here to pester me  with boorish business as well.” He sighed wistfully as Varis glowered.

   “Boorish perhaps. but it’s something that’s boring me; some overly dutiful errand boy of yours keeps informing me about the whereabouts of that daughter of the missing Populares woman. Normally, I would ignore the constant badgering. But it has grown so tiresome I’m here to see that it stops before I kill the next man who brings me an unwanted report.” He stared at his father and great-grandsire, wondering which of them had made the order for him to be bothered.

   “What? The daughter has been found?” Varis raised an eyebrow. “I was not informed of this.”

   “Truly? Curious. I’ve been pestered nonstop.”

   “Doubly curious; there’s no reason for you to have been told as they did not spot her in Doma.” Emperor Solus hummed, deep in thought.

     “I said as such. Though, father, I am surprised you heard naught.”

   “Not that I miss either of them, but it is information good to know all the same.” He shot an annoyed glace at the Emperor.

   “Don’t look at me; all I did was give the order to stop looking for the rest of the family.” He grumbled.

   “Did you not also say that she’s in Thanalan on your orders?”

   “....I did say that, but again, why you were told is a mystery to me.”  This sounded like either one of the Overlords or a cheeky lesser had figured out his ruse; this was potentially not good.

   “On your orders?” Varis pursed his lips together. “If true, this will do naught to quell the rumors.”

   “Oh, poppycock, who gives a damn about petty rumors.” Emperor Solus grumbled. “No, she’s not a secret heir, if that’s your worry. She’s no claim to the throne you all are already fighting over. Don’t give me that look boy, I am also capable of hearing rumors.” The “Emperor” banged his cane on the floor, “Now, as I was saying...”

   “Before we were so rudely interrupted.” Nero slung Mjolnir,freshly painted with fresh blood, over his shoulder. “Everything is progressing, as discussed.” He turned to glance at Gaius. “And it does not clash with any other plans.”

   “Good, good. See to it I am informed of any important developments. Though keep it quiet.” He mumbled. “Especially if you find...”    

   “Anything regardin’ what th’ dove saw?” Jacke approached Ffion and Underfoot in the abandoned root cellar which had been converted into a laboratory. The scent of low tide mixed with the musk of dirt and clay, and was pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

   “Nay, Jacke. Not a thing. However...”

   “What? Tell me.”

   “Well...it ain’t been two weeks since anyone were here last.” Underfoot chewed on his lower lip. “Ye said not a souls has recognized her yet, aye?”

   Urianger’s mouth dropped slightly when his eyes fell upon Himi upon her entering with the others. Papalymo caught him staring, and gently nudged Urianger with his staff, though he said naught. The disgruntled elf tapped his forehead, quickly realizing he needed to come up with a new set of questions for her. Papalymo narrowed his eyes, already deciding he’d interrogate Urianger after the introductions had finished. Van was lingering by the doors. Not as social as he once was, Papalymo noted, frowning internally. He drowned out most of the conversation, tuning back in when the introductions began.

   “That said, the lovely lady to my left here is Y’shtola. You almost met her that night when you first arrived in Limsa Lominsa, Himi.” Thancred offered a warm smile.

   “Tis true. You should have seen the look on his face when he realized you’d teleported on him.”

   “Y’shtola!” Thancred protested.

   “Well, he’s stopped me from doing that now!” Himi held up her wrist to show off the bracelet. “Can’t teleport unless I take this off.”

   “...Truly?” Y’shtola raised an eyebrow at the bauble. Even Papalymo tilted his head, doubting the claim that the bracelet could do such a thing.

   “Ah! Pray, forgive me, Himi. I may have slightly fibbed. Tis a normal bracelet. But I daresay it has done its job.” He grinned.

   “….Oh, you’re a dead man.” Himi flattened her expression. “You. Fucking asshole! Oooh, I can’t believe you!” Himi sputtered as she tried so hard to not laugh. Most of the other Scions, even Van, enjoyed a round of laughter as Himi pinched Thancred a few times in revenge. Papalymo wasn’t a fan of her language; but he’d scold her later.

   “Well, I daresay that trick won’t work a second time.” Papalymo chortled, noting Urianger either missed what had gotten everyone laughing in the first place, or simply didn’t find it as amusing as they all had.

   Introductions continued apace, and once concluded, everyone but Himi, Thancred and Minfilia left the Solar. Papalymo saw Yda distracted by some conversation with Resin and Tamru, which provided him the perfect opportunity to pull Urianger aside before he vanished somewhere in the Waking Sands.

   “Pray, Urianger. A moment, if you will?”

   “Of course.” Urianger nodded, stepping into one of the much quieter and emptier hallways. “Is aught amiss?”

   “Hmn! I should be asking you the selfsame question! I saw that face you made when she entered. And I doubt it was because you were immediately smitten by her.”

   “Thy assumption would be correct. Twas not because of a sudden pang of affection upon seeing her visage.” He hummed. Papalymo gestured, encouraging Urianger to explain further. Urianger hesitated before shaking his head. “Nay, I must confirm mine own assumptions before I sayeth aught.” He tapped his temple, already losing himself in thought. “Pray, thou hast my word, I will inform thee posthaste of any fruit my inquiries bear.”

   “Very well.” Papalymo shrugged, sighing heavily. “Though if you need assistance, don’t hesitate to ask!” He wagged a finger, before marching off to join Yda to rein her in before she scared the newest Scions. Urianger internally stressed out as he slipped away before anyone else could interrogate him.

   Speaking of interrogations.

   “Pray, I would like to be transparent with you, new friend.” Minfilia smiled warmly. “Thancred has been keeping me abreast of not only your deeds, but of your progress with your memories.”

    “Had a hunch, with the way he was always skulking off to make calls.” Himi snorted, giving him a playful elbow.

   “He mentioned you had lost items. Pray, have you found them all?”

Himi shook her head, drooping her shoulders a little.

   “No...I haven’t really had the time to look. I wouldn’t even know WHERE to look.” She sighed.

   “Mind telling us what you’ve lost? We can always keep an eye out for the items.” Minfilia offered slyly, wondering if a mask shard would be among the missing items. Himi hummed again, tapping her cheek as she pondered whether or not she should say anything.

   “Well...” she began, feeling a tad embarrassed. “A little red box that holds six job stones; though I suppose there’d only be 5 in there now. Uhm. A silver key with a nautilus on it. I have no idea what it goes to, but I know it’s mine.” She paused. “My actual staff is missing. Somehow. As well as my gear and weapons. Sorry, I realize how out of pocket and crazy that sounds.”

   “Considering how well you pull your current staff out of thin air, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Though hang on, did you say SIX job stones?” Thancred took a step back. Even Minfilia stared in disbelief.

   “Oh! I knew you were more experienced than Resin and Tamru were; but I did not expect to hear of such accomplishments! You must have been quite the adventurer! Would that you could remember any of it.” She offered a bittersweet smile.

   “No one recognizing you makes it all the more concerning.” Thancred hummed. “Actually, Himi. Mind doing me a favor real quick? Can you see if Papalymo is still here and fetch him? Thank you!” He smiled as Himi exited the solar without another word. Once the door closed, Thancred excitedly slammed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “Seven hells; what are the odds she might be one of the...”

   “Missing! This whole time she was believed missing along with the rest of her family but she’s been In Thanalan?” Varis scoffed as his grandfather, once again, tried to shuffle away.

   “You seem awfully concerned.”

   “Tis a grand lie to have weaved, and for what purpose?”

   “Well think about it, father.” Zenos hummed. “If her family’s disappearance had aught to do with an enemy in the Empire, it would be better to keep her whereabouts a secret, lest she be hunted by her enemies.”

   “Congratulations, at least one of you isn’t an utter dimwit.”

Varis glowered on top of his glower, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

    “I am no idiot; however -“

     “FIVE YEARS?” Jacke’s jaw dropped. “Are ye certain?” He stepped further into the hidden laboratory, eyeing the thick layer of dust, the long abandoned notes, the rusted equipment.

   “Certain as the sun.” Underfoot shrugged, glancing up at Ffion. “Go on, show him what else ye found, greenhorn.”

   “Aye. Jacke, c’mere.” Ffion beckoned Jacke into a musty side room filled with empty, rotting bookcases. Papers ruined from the elements scattered the floor, and the sun peeked through what remained of the roof. She gestured to the corner, and Jacke’s eyes widened as he approached.

   “Seven hells! Th..that’s...!”

   “Just what I was about to say!” Nero exclaimed, agreeing with Gaius. “I can’t think of any other explanation, currently and...”

“It would make sense; though it does leave some questions...” Minfilia blinked, staring at the door completely flummoxed. “But just the thought! Oh! Thancred! Could she truly be one of our lost friends?” Her lip wibbled, emotions catching in her throat.

   “There must be a way to know for sure.” Thancred tapped his chin. “But it beggars the question of where she’s been, and how is it she fell from the sky into the waters of Limsa Lominsa.”  He stood up straight when there was a knock on the door and Himi returned with Papalymo, currently lecturing her on her sailor mouth. “Thank you Himi, that will be all; why don’t you familiarize yourself with the rest of the building and Scions, hm?” Thancred more than happy to give her an excuse to get away from the lecture. In truth, he also desired to speak with Minfilia and Papalymo alone. Himi grasped the chance for escape, nodding quietly and skipping out of the solar.

   “Oh, she and Yda are going to be a handful when they’re together, I can already tell.” Papalymo sighed. “Now, what did you wish to discuss with me?”

   “Well...” Thancred began, sighing. “Admittedly, calling for you was an excuse to get her out of the room for a moment, but now that you’re here...” He glanced at Minfilia, who nodded, expression turning serious.

   “Papalymo. She informed us of her lost belongings; a box that holds her jobs stones, all missing but the one she has currently. Which would make six in total.”

   “Yes, I can imagine her desire to find - did you say SIX?” He threw his arms up, shocked. “Did she say how skilled she was in them? What jobs they are? Good gracious if she’s as skilled in those as she is with Black Mage...she is most certainly not a novice adventurer!”

   “We said the same. Do you think she could be...”

   “..Anymore troublesome than she already is?” The Emperor thought to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, my.” He feigned a cough. “My poor, poor health. I need to go lay down.” He grumbled, shuffling out of the room, continuing the cough farce. As he passed Zenos, he swiftly shook his hand; as if to mock them being related. But Zenos felt a small stone pressed into his hand, and he was smart enough to keep whatever it was out of his father’s sight.

   “Be well, Great-grandsire. Or not.” Zenos boredly hummed, shuffling out of the room before his father could ask questions.

   “Five years...” Varis grumbled as his family exited the throne room. “Certainly a fascinating number...”

   “Aye, I’ll bring the numbers to the Admiral m’self.  Rest o’ye, get back to the hall an stay put, ye hear me? Call everyone o’us back till I say so, understand?” His face darkened. “I’ve got a sneaky hunch ‘bout somethin’. And...”

   “If this theory proves correct,” Gaius rumbled, “that she is...”

   “One of the Warriors of Light we lost at Carteneau? If she isn’t, I sure would like to know where she was instead. Though I suppose one dedicated enough might pick up six job stones in five years.” He hummed. “Not that I am one to keep secrets, mind you, but I daresay we keep this theory to ourselves for now. No use in getting anyone’s hopes up, only to dash them later.”

   “I agree!” Minfilia nodded her head. “Oh but wouldn’t it be wonderful if...” Her eyes sparkled as she put her hands on her cheeks. Thancred and Papalymo exchanged glances, nodding silently. They’d have to be subtle, but they were determined to confirm one way or another - ah, Minfilia’s link-pearl was buzzing in her ear. “Sorry, one moment, Yes?... WHAT?” She gasped. “All of Ul’dah!? Truly?” Thancred and Papalymo’s attention was fully on her now. “Yes, of course we will investigate immediately!” Minfilia needed a moment to compose herself, placing her hands on her cheeks to calm herself the best she could. “A-all of Ul’dah, every...one within the city walls they’re all...”

   “Curious...where have you been the past five years, child?” Gaius mused as he and Nero parted ways.    Himi caught Urianger staring from afar, and with a coy smile, placed a finger to her lips.      "Sshhh..."

#final fantasy xiv fanfic #elidibus #emet-selch #urianger #minfilia warde #gaius van baelsar #jacke swallow #thancred

[reignyra]

𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖆.       REGARDING  MY  DEAREST  MOTHER’S  DEATHBED.

         𝕾he’d witnessed the sheets,  folded in on one another,  rolled sloppily into manageable armfuls,   bloodied and stained.   she watched with discerning eyes as maids took them out to be burned.  she did not see the body,   and so in her dreams,  rather,   nightmares,   there was none   ––   only a pool of crimson filling her mother’s bed,  pouring over the sides and moving like snakes along the stone floors.  her mother lost her shape,   a carcass of liquid and bone carrying a small corpse within the carnage,   a thing with scales and outstretched hands.  the vision was difficult to comprehend,  but it plagued her nonetheless,  and it came in waves of varying degrees of legibility; 

AT  TIMES  SHE  SAW  A  VOID,   big and red and black and deeply rooted,  a dark circle obscuring the final resting place of her mother,  swallowing the sound of her screams and wrenching sobs. 

OTHER  TIMES  A  MASS  OF  MEAT,   rotten and undefined,  representing no clearly identifiable body part,  stacked atop one another and swarmed by flies and hands of maids alike which clawed and nested within the gore,  the hands searching for a babe,  the flies laying their own.  

THE  WORST  SIGHT  WAS  THE  MOST  FREQUENT,   a dragon carved cleanly in two,  overtaking the bed and filling the room to its brim with overwhelming stench and stillness.  the wings were much too heavy to hold,  so nurses collapsed beneath them,  crawling desperately but unsuccessfully to escape the trap of suffocation.  there were cracks in the stone floor where the dragon’s claws had reached out for a chance at hope,  fruitless efforts in the wake of its own terror.  for all its strength and fervor,   it would succumb.  for all the awe rhaenyra herself would hold for the beauty of dragons,  nothing could stop the intervention of the blade from someone you thought you could trust.     

  [            EVEN   A   DRAGON  MIGHT  FALL  TO  FALSE  HOPE.            ]

           the lack of a body in rhaenyra’s mind made her mother into a sort of fiction,   one which only grew more loosely boned and grandiose as the years trudged onwards.  she became conflated,  at times,  with the dragons   ––   it was easy to allow targaryen and dragon alike to find kinship in anyone’s imagination,  but this was an unwilling and compulsory combination of body parts and minds.  as rhaenyra reached the dawn of her own death,  the end of her own life,  she found that her memories were rather like paintings dropped in the sea,  muddied and blurred.  her mother’s face was one of scales and deformities akin to the very dragon which burned her.  she was no longer a person;   neither,  then,  was  rhaenyra.

#tbt // #family death cw #child death cw #hi ... this is only decent and more poetic than informative but #a few funky little thoughts on the death of her mama !

[little-klng]

yknow, i know we're literally all giving that metaverse shit absolutely zero press whatsoever on purpose both because none of us can stand the idea of giving zucc money to play it, AND because of the fact that it (hehe) zuccs in general as a whole both as a design concept and as a game. like its not fun even in concept really. but look i just NEED to give it shit for this one thing. i have to

look. in the history of vr techs development, as much as a layman as even i am (as someone who can not own a vr headset under any circumstances due to personal reasons i dont have to get into, its like 3-4 major reasons minimum). i understand that the vr history "basically" begins with the nintendo virtualboy, which was a commercial failure because Something About It gave people severe and unmanageable motion sickness. and then, even in spaces where people WANTED vr games to be a reality, it took a REALLY long time to get a game out that was good to play and felt good on the eyes for more than an hour on the average non-chronic sufferer of migraines or photosensitivity. like, in order for the games to reach the level of "playable, easy on the eyes, extremely unlikely to make you violently motion sick, and not unbearable for photosensitive chronic migraine sufferers", it took YEARS of trial and error from my perspective

first step rules of all vr games:

do not make "falling"/"spiderman" areas where the player, while standing completely still, has to fall/swing in mid air

do not make inputs too specific/precise, a small button should be achievable with shaky hands and uncalibrated controllers, though buttons shouldnt be small anyway

boring, jarring, or impossible physical movement is extremely hard to watch, it should be synced to irl movement as closely as possible and finger motion if available should be dynamic and easy to understand and intuitively use

metaverse, i cannot stress this enough, breaks literally all of those main basic rules to prevent motion sickness, eye fatigue, and has the fucking audacity to not even be fun while doing it. its PAINFULLY cheap looking, with next to no animations for officially licensed "minigames" (white arial font text "you have been hit!" and such with a bland red overlay in one, literal spiderman swing-between-buildings-over-empty-void-level-while-irl-standing-normally in another). like... theres a REASON these basic vr design rules exist and why breaking them is a bad idea. metaverse spits in the face of basic design and function research. its like they almost dont expect real people of varying visual and sensory ability to see to play the game, and i dont mean "autistic vs allistic people", i mean just straight up people who dont perceive color or light intensity the same way as other people. which is everyone, because varying sensitivity is a part of natural variation in people. vr chat has achieved this. BEAT SABER managed to achieve this while having a huge part of their gimmick break the vr rules of "things that are flashing lights fly at you very quickly", and they manage it in STYLE. tons of vr games work in spite of the inherent struggle in vr of making a game that isnt sickening to play and use. and you'd THINK a company as spyware-heavy as facebook would be able to come up with something a basic human person could play without being bored or sick, and yet... they cant even manage legs. they cant even manage not LYING about having legs. and its so useless and stupid and deserves everyone ignoring it and not bothering to even try it out of hatred.

you have to pay for applause points that might win you an irl shirt if you're top 5, and the shirt isnt even good. literally pay to win social interactions in a game that is so painfully boring and cheap you cant even imagine where 90% of the money could have gone. i dont genuinely think i could have... even FOUND A WAY to spend so much money on things like drugs and gambling in the dev time this game has taken that could account for how much money just simply could not have gone into actual development. i literally cant imagine how they could have done this. indie one person passion projects can create a better tech demo than this entire game manages to be for like... what? $15 billion? it makes me sick thinking about how much money was sunk into this and it still somehow has microtransactions. it feels insulting and flaunting. i hope mark zuckerberg reads this and feels a little worse about the whole thing than he already does. i really hope he feels bad and useless and hopeless.

#metaverse

[obscure-sentimentalist]

“He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie.”, college au

[Flinging this into the void two years later...]

Prompt from the drabble challenge list

Part II of the Merlyn Boys College AU; sequel to this

Harvard, October 2003

“So that’s spinach, chicken, peppers, and… ham,” Tommy lists off slowly, gaze fixed on the slice of pizza in transit to Connor’s mouth. 

“That it is,” Connor returns levelly. Without lowering his hands or meal, he arches an eyebrow appraisingly at Tommy’s own selection of pepperoni, olives, and mushroom.

Said slice flops back onto the plate with a doughy splat as Tommy lifts greasy fingers in a show of surrender. “Hey, not judging,” he swears, before snatching a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. “Just an observation. Now, if it was something like pineapple and anchovies, we’d be having words.”

“Oh, no, that I only save for special occasions,” Connor deadpans, almost without thinking. He punctuates the declaration with an exaggerated bite of his (perfectly acceptable, thank you very much) choice of toppings.

Tommy just tilts his head backwards and drifts it back down in a slow nod. “I see.” The now crumpled and grease-stained napkin gets discarded onto the Formica tabletop so he can freely flip a finger between the two of them. “So, uh, does ‘finally figuring out why everyone thinks you’re someone you’re not and meeting your lookalike’ not count, or are we talking about special occasions, like if Ollie had stuck around?”

Any effort Connor had hoped to make to conceal his opinion on Serial Killer Haircut (fine, Oliver Queen, whatever) from Tommy goes right out the window as a particularly cheesy nibble of pizza immediately slips down his throat the wrong way at that question. The rest of the slice hits his plate mid-cough as Connor dives for the pile of napkins, nearly knocking over the dangerously full pitcher of water beside it in the process.

“I’m gonna take it that you meant the second one,” Tommy determines, seemingly unfazed by Connor’s chest-pounding attempt to dislodge the choking hazard without resorting to the full-on Heimlich. Calmly propping his left elbow up on the table, he drops his chin into his palm as Connor at last clears his throat and promptly snatches his water glass to guzzle its contents. “I somehow don’t think the first one would warrant such an explosive reaction. Ollie, on the other hand, has been known to have that kind of effect on people.”

“Wasn’t…” Connor starts, voice tight, only to collapse into another series of wheezes, this time set off by chugging his drink. “Didn’t mean that.”

It’s a little hard to see with his eyes still watering, but from what he can make out, Tommy is meeting the claim with an incredibly dubious expression. 

“Right. So you actually were feeling aggressively constipated on the way over here, and it just happened to be showing on your face every time you looked at Ollie? Because if so, I think that garbage,” his eyes twitch pointedly down to Connor’s abandoned pizza, “is going to solve the root problem in no time. I mean, it’ll probably cause a bunch of other problems for your dorm’s plumbing, but…” The sentence trails off as his mouth contorts into the facial equivalent of a shrug.

Connor levels a scathing glare back, but with puffy eyes and a final, hiccuping cough, he probably comes off about as intimidating as an inflatable pool floatie. 

Tommy doesn’t comment on it either way, and instead just sighs. “Look, you get mistaken for a guy enough times over a span of a few weeks, you start to get the idea of what kind of person he is,” he starts, dropping his now-empty palm to the table. He thinks better of the action a moment later, once he glances down and recalls that they’re in a late-night, hole-in-the-wall pizza joint frequented by college students of varying sobriety. Face screwed up in dawning disgust, he tries to rip his hand away, only for his skin to mysteriously stick to the laminate for a fraction of a second longer than it should.

(It’s long enough that Connor hastily glances down at his own haphazardly-dropped pizza slice to ensure that every inch of it is sitting firmly on the plate.)

Allowing himself a single full-body shudder for that unpleasant encounter, Tommy drops his freed hand into his lap and continues as if he hadn’t missed a beat. “And the impression I was getting from everyone who wanted to talk about biology classwork and then laughed me off when I tried to tell them they had the wrong guy was that: one, you’re really, really bad at being funny…”

A noise akin to an offended squawk escapes Connor’s throat at that. He’s not certain if he’s more put out by the slight—he does too have a sense of humor!—or by the utter disparity in their mistaken identity experiences. Although, maybe he should be grateful that his peers are more likely to humor what they think is a weak prank than they are to start swinging.

“...and two,” Tommy steamrolls over the complaint, “being a dick isn’t your default state. Though I’m sure you can be a colossal one when you feel you need to be.”

This time, not even the faintest exhale manages to eke its way past Connor’s lips before they press together in concession. He can’t exactly deny the truth of the assumption, and if Tommy’s carefree tone is anything to go by, that might have been a compliment rather than a criticism. 

(But it’s not like Connor’s going to ask to confirm it.)

“Is there a point to this observation?” he blurts instead, attempting to swerve the conversation back on track before Tommy finds other ways to playfully needle him. Hoping to conceal the discomfort brought on by being read so plainly, he folds his arms across his chest and slumps against the overstuffed red vinyl booth-back.

Much like a magnet of identical polarity is naturally repelled, Tommy immediately thumps back in his own seat, though his body language remains loose and open. “I just figure that you and Ollie, you guys didn’t get off on the right foot—that he earned the stink-eye in some way,” he explains, waving his hand dismissively. “Plus, the fact that you tried to hide that you aren’t exactly missing him, for my sake, is pretty much the opposite of a dick move.”

He offers that closing reassurance with a genuine smile, though it’s tentative, falling just short of reaching his eyes. It’s as if Tommy wants to give Connor, a stranger with the same face, the benefit of the doubt and validate his feelings—negatively focused around Tommy’s lifelong best friend as they might be—but isn’t sure how that kindness will be met.

Which is… strange, Connor supposes, or at the very least unexpected. The pizza topping commentary and unfiltered reading of his personality had seemingly inked in the lines of Tommy that a series of mistakenly-delivered slaps (and implied extensive history of cahooting with Queen) had sketched out; a portrait of personal amusement, careless of others’ feelings, coming into definition. Tommy’s sincerity and (dare he say it) shyness are startling shadows and highlights to an image Connor had already accepted as two-dimensional, and he’s not yet sure what to make of that. 

“He creeped me out, I’m not gonna lie,” Connor allows, owning up to his distaste for Queen without speaking too critically. He scoots the ceramic plate of cooling pizza a bit closer to distract himself from having to meet (trust) Tommy’s earnest gaze just yet. “With the whole… skulking around the library thing, and the way he was smiling and making little digs, and the…” Snatching the crust with one hand, he flaps the other at the side of his head in a vague gesture and finally chances a glance up.

Further proof that his doppelgänger/not-so-evil maybe-twin is scarily on the same wavelength, Tommy immediately understands the motion and cringes sympathetically. “Yeah, I’ve made enough of my own bad hair decisions to know that saying anything will only find a way to bite me in the ass, but, uh…” He brings a fist to his lips and clears his throat loudly. “I know what you mean. And I can’t imagine that it made for a good first impression either.”

Connor acknowledges the truth of that statement with only a little hum, using his second attempt at eating his pizza as cover for forgoing a verbal response. If he keeps getting openings to speak freely about his instantly-sour opinion of Queen, he’s going to risk shifting into the foretold Colossal Dick Mode at some point or another; there’s surely a limit to Tommy’s friendly understanding, and Connor is not in any rush to discover it.

Swallowing just as carefully as he’s selected his next words, Connor lowers the remains of his pizza back to the plate. “It… could have been better,” is all he admits, before discreetly gritting his teeth and grudgingly yanking the conversation into a hard swerve. “But if he hadn’t shown up, I’d still be at the library and tearing my hair out over everyone calling me by the wrong name. Qu- Oliver knew we needed to meet, and wouldn’t let the books keep me a second longer.” He punches out a breath of laughter at the last statement, silently hoping that it doesn’t sound as forced as it is. 

“Huh,” is Tommy’s oh-so-helpful response to the entire spiel. It’s a neutral noise—completely unclear to Connor’s ears whether it’s surprise over that turn of events or disbelief in his thin veneer of gratefulness or something else—and Tommy fails to offer any context. Instead, he merely picks at a stringy glob of cheese to drape it over the center of his pizza slice, all the while keeping an expectant eye on Connor.

Strangling a sigh before it can form in his lungs, Connor scrounges up whatever other neutral things he can say about Queen in order to comply with the wordless prompt. “He mentioned you two had already talked about making a pizza run, which was his rationale for bringing me along—it wasn’t like I was trying to barge in on your plans. And I…”

Trailing off, Connor squeezes his eyes closed and sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. If Tommy can recognize and appreciate the accommodation Connor was making for him, then it’s only fair that Connor reciprocates that kindness.

“...I didn’t mean to make you choose between your best friend and your stranger doppelgänger,” he finally gets out, tying off the words with a deep exhale. His eyelids are slower to lift, and even once they have, Connor’s gaze is content to meander over the tabletop in avoidance of Tommy’s. “You and I could have just rescheduled and met up another time, or any hard feelings could have been checked at the door so all three of us could cram in here. You didn’t need to kick him out just because of me.”

There. Said and done.

And now that it is, it slowly dawns on Connor that said kicking-out should have been his first clue—his first glimpse of something more to Tommy than those secondhand reactions suggested. 

Once the shock dissipated from mirrored faces following Queen’s big reveal maneuver, Connor had anticipated Tommy’s official request that he come along in search of pizza. To an extent, he’d also anticipated the teasing and easy banter of two lifelong friends that scored the trip across campus, with Tommy’s scattered questions to Connor treated as disruptions that Queen was quick to rectify.

Tommy stopping short on the sidewalk across from their destination was less foreseen. The heavy clap of his hand on Queen’s shoulder and ever-so-gentle reminder that his friend owed a phone call to someone named Thea was a jolt off the tracks. Then with a quick glance spared for Connor and a hesitant laugh over limiting the pizza party to a VIP list of those with identical faces, Tommy had diverted the evening onto a completely new rail—all to ensure Connor would be comfortable, even if it came at his own expense.

“Ah. There’s the start of that doctor’s ego.”

The comment cuts through Connor’s thoughts like a diver into the water, jerking him back to the present and sending him scrambling to refocus. When he finally shakes his eyes out of screensaver mode and glances across the table, it’s to find Tommy staring back at him with an amusedly pensive expression. 

“I’ve always wondered how that happens—like, is it something that doesn’t kick in until you’re practicing, or does that attitude crop up earlier?” he muses, reaching casually for his water glass. “It’s hard to get a clear answer, because the only other wannabe doctor I know is Carter Bowen—patron saint of douchebaggery—and I figure that he’s an exception and shouldn’t be counted. But you, though…” Tommy lets out a low whistle. “You got a bad, early-onset case, bud.”

Connor is too flummoxed by the whiplash-inducing return of the frank, pointed jabs that he can’t help the fishlike drop of his lower lip. “Excuse…”

“I mean, hey, it’s not like I know Ollie and how he can be sometimes,” Tommy goes on lightly, drumming his fingers on the side of his glass. “Or realized that this little Q&A would be pretty hard to do if I kept getting tugged over to a different conversation every third sentence. Nope, this one-on-one was set up special for you, no other reason at all.” He lifts the rim of the glass to his lips and takes a long sip, eyebrows shot high in expectation.

He doesn’t have too long of a wait for the desired result, as Connor deflates like an untied, sputtering balloon once he finally hears what Tommy’s saying—something he’s failed to do this whole time.

Connor has only been seeing Tommy as he’s defined by the people around him: first by forming an expectation based solely on the unflattering picture painted by mistaken identity mishaps and a questionable friendship, and then assuming Queen’s exclusion was a selfless sacrifice made for Connor rather than a deliberate choice from which Tommy would benefit. Believing so strongly in those assumptions makes Connor no better than their peers—quick to laugh or deliver a smack, but outright refusing to hear what’s actually being said.

It’s far past time for Tommy to speak for himself, and for Connor to listen.

“You know, we’re talking a lot about a guy who’s specifically been removed from this conversation,” he points out, leaning forward to drop both elbows onto the table. One hand pops up in a placating gesture as he adds, “And, uh, we’ ve made this more than enough about me, too. What I really want to know is what exactly you’ve been doing that would warrant me getting slapped for correcting people.”

Connor processes that he’s contradicted himself in the span of two sentences quickly enough to grimace his way through the last few words, but not soon enough to cut Tommy’s fond, tired smirk off at the pass.

“Like I said: really bad case,” Tommy laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for the water pitcher to refill his glass.

“Last thing and I’m done!” Connor promises, hoping that the sincerity bleeds into his voice. He twirls the pitcher so the handle faces away from him and nudges it closer to Tommy’s waiting hand. “I have been suffering for months from people inexplicably introducing their palms to my face, and the mark isn’t fading.” Turning his head to give a better view, Connor jabs his index finger at his left cheek to emphasize the outline of fingers that surely still lingers.

“See, I thought your face was just like that.” It’s said with such innocence over the clatter of ice cubes into an empty glass.

Connor’s glare is more menacing than a pool floatie’s this time. “Is that supposed to be a comeback? We have the same face, asshole.”

It shouldn’t make his breath catch in awe to say that, not when said identical face is in clear view on the other side of the booth. Maybe it’s just the fact that Connor can say it—confidently, definitively, knowing he was right and not the only one—that gets to him.

(And maybe it’s a little bit because of the critical question that neither of them have dared to touch on just yet; the why and how of the matter that could trigger a seismic shift in both of their lives.) 

While Tommy doesn’t react so overtly, his smile—small, soft, but by no means weak—makes it clear that he feels much the same. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

“Good, great, glad we got that settled,” Connor returns, clapping his palms together. “Now how about that explanation?”

(They’ll have to address that unspoken unknown in due time, of course. But for now, finally looking beyond the mirror image and shoddily-formed first impressions to see Tommy is Connor’s highest priority.) 

#obscure-sentimentalist writes sometimes #merlyn boys #connor rhodes #tommy merlyn

[storylocke]

ALOLA RAMBLING part 2

Some sixty years pass this way, and much of the disaster is forgotten. Life moves on. Until trouble erupts in Flora when it seems Giratina is antsy about something. Nothing happens yet but it has everyone on edge that something in the Void has shifted. Meanwhile in the CW comes the appearance of a group called Team Fusion in Tunod. They haven't been seen since RW2 but their mission is simple: to break the seal on these gateways so they can bridge the Void between the two worlds to access the Pokemon, knowledge and technology that exists on both sides to build up their own "alien" brand of "magic" to make them the most powerful people in the world. It seems this quiet little region has a gateway too, but it hasn't been activated in centuries. Probably because the system to open it is even more difficult than Alola's is since it requires the cooperation of the Creation Trio. But somehow Team Fusion does it. Not long enough to get themselves across the divide, but they do succeed in breaking the barriers at least. And that news is veeeery interesting to the likes of Team Rocket.

Burning Red comes about and it seems even if Fusion failed, the forbidden knowledge has gotten out (or probably bought out knowing Giovanni's wealth and Michael's greed) since Giovanni has found a way to travel between the two worlds to his advantage. Only to be stopped by Kay, who it turns out is able to pursue the wicked man to the bitter end in both worlds. Cyan appears to him out of the Void and passes the torch of Olden's forbidden arts. Someone needs to because Giovanni may have left Kanto, but he's gathering forces…

Which brings us back to Alola.

Quips is now an old man and fulfilled his wish to become Kahuna after Hala. There's a new kid arriving from Sinnoh and a new generation of people happy to help Roark on what is supposed to be a much more vibrant and kinder Alola than the one Nigel would have faced as a kid. There's still plenty of things that never seem to change but there's a new group of weirdos called the Ultra Recon Squad to deal with. At least they seem pretty harmless. The bigger concern is this supposed "great evil" that's bound to be released if they can't either discover how their ancestors were able to seal it or away or find a way to appease Necrozma so it doesn't try to consume Alola as the next closest world. Lusamine (this one being Gladion's daughter and named for her grandmother) is desperate to save her world from this darkness in some ludicrous suicide mission to charge after it herself. Instead, she accidentally releases Necrozma before Roark ends up defeating it for them.

Roark wondered at first if that's all there was to it, but then Aether Paradise is attacked by the Rainbow Rockets, a group made up of the villain elite led by none other than Giovanni. It seems their goal is …Not unified at all, but seems like varying ideas of disaster to either take over or destroy the world, which is reasonably concerning either way. Giovanni however is directly after Lusamine, and plans to have this one who was never possessed by Nihilego in the first place, become the new Mother Beast and form an army of Outsiders to help him in his reign of terror across the Void again. Roark forms a team of his own to help go in and take them out, but Colress has a different plan where he merely banishes them from Alola.

With the presumed "Great Evil" finally defeated, Roark decides to befriend the broken Necrozma and nurse it back to health. But the beast must consume energy and Roark is the Voices' little sunshine child. His aura is very bright but not enough to sustain a dying star. Necrozma uses its ability to transform into a mask and latches onto him, sometimes fully possessing him when it encases him in Celestic black armor, and starts hunting around the islands; stealing the Light from others when it can't find a large enough source and leaves a trail of Shadows, both humans and Pokemon alike. For fear of what it would do if it got a hold of the Cosmic Duo, Aether sailed their man-made island away with the hope Necrozma couldn't follow.

Alola may not be facing an eternal darkness, and keeping it contained to the islands has kept the curse from spreading, but this is a true disaster growing. With no one able to counter the black menace, the Interpol issues a call for people to evacuate and works with Aether to become some kind of ark by returning to the islands long enough to grab anyone unable to leave and have a shelter / ferry until plans can be made. There's really nowhere safe to go though…

Restless spirits have been reportedly appearing in several regions, a randomization wave has started to overtake both Kalos and Orre, the New Hoenn Isles have been corroded by Glitches, Kanto and Johto are seeing the first signs of snow in what will become the storm of the century. A new darkness is predicted on the horizon. Can this "Eternitus" possibly be even worse?

In such apocalyptic conditions, many have started to research the old ways for how to create a "Pocket Dimension" to sustain life away from the threats until it's safe to return. The different regions seem to come up with different methods for doing so. The Aether Survivors didn't originally plan to "escape" but hoped they could instead utilize Rijon's lost art for using books to seal away living beings to hold those turned into Shadows somewhere safe until a cure can be found. But such cursed objects are dangerous if they find their way into the right hands. No one could have expected a little girl like Anabel Lillie would have the natural magical ability to open the books, summon with them, enter into them… And the poor foolish child had no idea what power she held or the delicate object she'd found. The Aether Paradise suddenly started to grow empty as with each diary entry more "characters" were placed in her world. People she knew, people she missed, her own childish understanding of the Shadows, everything. Everything until the lonely little girl decided to join them herself. But not before one final wish: to have a friend who truly knows and loves her despite being the so-called witch that she is…

Virginia Faba and her mother planned to meet with her father, Dexio, after he'd been missing for a few years. Odd but her mother is ambitious and can only assume what he'd want to see them for is for Virginia's own good. What they found is somehow they've been transported to this warped funhouse version of Alola, several years after everyone was dumped into it, with talking Pokemon, time-displaced criminals, actual monsters in their midst, and a strange young lady Verge has been tasked by some local deity to protect.

They at least did find her father here, so her mom is happy, but Verge has a long task ahead of her trying to find her place in the world when her parents, the professors, and even Anabel all seem to have plans for her. And why does she keep hearing about this "Roark" guy from the Voices? And the Ultra Recon Squad seem like a dangerous bunch, but should she be surprised when several of them turn out to be part of the Rainbow Rocket organization? A much different crew than the last guys, these Rockets are being led by none other than Mr. Grimsley. The same though thoroughly corrupted Grimsley who, in the years since losing everything, has stopped fighting the Outsiders in his system and started collaborating with others to control the worlds. Or at least that's the Rockets' plans, but it seems he's keeping his cards close to his heart even with them. Verge needs to find a way out of this place, save Anabel from herself, get her other friends back to who they are, and maybe with all the knowledge they find, they can fix the real Alola as well.

They succeed, but it seems everyone was scattered, and those returning to Alola reveals an almost alien world has taken its place. There's a lot of cleanup to do, but in relaxing the rules and traditions long since held, the people of Alola are hoping they can either learn to live with the monsters that have overtaken the islands or restore some semblance of normalcy to their world as they work together to set things right. The long recovery begins, but there's still the ever looming threat: What happened to Necrozma? And what is this Ultra Beast Queen calling out from the Void?

#Alola #twitch plays pokemon #Roark #Virginia Faba #Pokemon Ultra Sun #Randomized Ultra Moon #Haji babbles #Summary #Timelines #I think I finally got it out of my system #Maybe #Excited for Stars

[egotisticle]

@hcsuffered​: ❝  i don’t really sleep much anymore.  but it’s okay,  someone has to keep the moon company.  ❞  ( feat. a ‘ please ’ kiss’ )

  ♚ -------------------- MAGNOLIA CASTILLO prompt  +  A FUCKED UP KISSING MEME

    SEATED  SIDE  BY SIDE  on the edge of an abandoned building, the nighttime traffic beneath them looked just as  breathtaking  as the stars in the sky but the moon was worthier of its enthusiast’s solicitude. the poetic sentiment didn’t go unappreciated by the entity,  obsidian  eyes forfeiting their view of the horizon in order to openly regard the young man at his side. an  intimate  connection to the void and transcendental marvels was integral to the being’s existence and with such privileges came the  glorious  burden of primacy. deities and mortals weren’t fated to co-exist in the same space, one perceiving the other without consequence to their  welfare.  pedestals were built for a reason and  numinous  beauty was best left admired during brief encounters. kafkaesque imagery and sleep paralysis  plagued  the humans that dared to endure the entity’s company, steadily surrendering to the darkness that would eventually  UNSPOOL  the mind and fool all five senses with  phantasmagorical  phenomenon. mark heathcliff was an  anomaly  and was acquainted with unspeakable curiosities long before he’d been granted immunity against mortality; mark was a victim to an  extramundane  tragedy, not unlike someone else that the entity knew long ago. the resemblance was  uncanny,  even down to their first names.

            NO ONE CAN REPLACE THE ORIGINAL BUT SOME CAN COME CLOSE !

                                                                                    ( ------------------ so very close. )

     ❝  i should hope that it values your  sacrifice  and in turn, offers you the same remedy to  loneliness.  ❞  several iterations of the being’s voice delivered their  sentiment  with varying timbres, complementary with the sounds of the nightscape and reminiscent of a  quixotic  daydream. no longer could the evening sky win back his attention, scrutinous gaze already occupied with how mark looked when bathed in moonlight and how the limited light filled in the  blanks  to mirror someone that was dead and gone ----- it was a  cruel  trick. hours of conversation had ignited an ember of  wistfulness  for a lost companion, a  yearning  ache for a time that could never be revisited and an emptiness that couldn’t be refilled. that particular part of the entity’s past was a  phantom  limb  and for the first time in a long while, some manner of sensation could be felt. in spite of his  urbane  character and upheld composure, the entity caved into greed’s will and no longer could the urge be kept at bay. decisions could not be  undone  but a second chance to relive the past couldn’t go to waste, especially when a suitable avatar was in arm’s reach. ❝  -------- but if not, perhaps you can find it  elsewhere.   ❞

     fingers collected at mark’s chin and coaxed the young man to face him, a  gentle  maneuver to meet him halfway in the same manner that one would handle a priceless artifact. neither  rancor  nor  animosity  defined him. the being’s touch only spoke of  endearment  and an unshakeable affection that hadn’t be unearthed in eons. he remembered himself when they were no more than a breath away, lidded eyes alight with a silent plea to allow him to  revisit  a memory and  revive  the dead. mark’s ire could be  endured  and exoneration could be chased later if the aftermath deemed it necessary; to him, however, it was worth the indulgence. in that  exquisite  moment, all the entity could see was HIM ( YOU’VE BEEN HAVING  STRANGE  DREAMS  AGAIN, HAVEN’T YOU ? )  and the deep-seated ardour previously reserved for the  original  was poured into the kiss. all at once did the visual of the outside world collapse in on itself in a  flurry  of radiant colour and surrendered to darkness in a bid to preserve the moment for as long as possible ---- a tribute to a  severed  connection that was arguably broken too early.  

                       YOU AREN’T HIM BUT YOU CAN BE !

                                                                                         (  for now  )

#hcsuffered #┊♚┊ − ❛ ᵃᶰˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ❜ #┊♚┊ V; i. MAIN #((i'i know they aren't even at this point but like THE POTENTIAL' -- you say that as if we haven't already mapped out their dynamic)) #((i really didn't have to change much to include the kiss meme fyi lmao))

[beneathmyhijab]

blank. mind blank. where do i begin? to see yourself evolve into someone you've never imagined yourself being. while you like the person you're slowly becoming, it feels odd. parts of you that you've always known has to die to make way for who's to come. the change is very uncomfortable. you have to stray away from what you've always known. it's good, definitely but to no longer be able to define yourself in that manner, is honestly strange.

no one ever told you the journey can be rather lonely. that peace is loneliness sometimes. it doesn't mean you're alone. just, there's a void. having to pour away what filled that void to make way and build a bigger space for greater things, for a greater you.

sometimes it feels like you're lost and struggling to map out a new path. familiarity is all you've ever known but this time, you have to let go. letting go and moving on. it's not the same is it?

letting go is releasing all the things that hindered you from moving forward and being able to finally breathe. but moving on? moving on is flipping the pages and writing a whole new chapter altogether. but having to do both at the same time? drives you mad mmost times.

every decision you make has its consequence and i was never prepared for this. maybe i knew it deep down, but having to face it head on when you least expect it is wild.

maybe i still i want to be stuck on this page, maybe I want to reread the pages over and over until my heart is ready. but we will never be ready. just fly and fall. take risks they say. but impending fears. will they ever understand? they say we're all the same inside; but we're not broken the same. we're all different. just walking on earth, with varied destinations. how will they ever understand?

[lifebeautifulhaha]

#Health