#???? the way this has happened to me multiple times

[strange-aeons]

hi strange i’ve been enjoying yr videos for about four years thank u for giving me giggles for so long. however i am writing as i am not totally sure who else to ask…

my boyfriend had a traumatic pneumothorax last week and about 80% of his right lung collapsed. i don’t really know anything about pneumothorax (although i have learned so much recently lol) aside from hearing you mention it and as such i don’t know how to help him :(

i know it’s a shot in the dark but i was wondering if there are any comforts or ways to alleviate pain you could share? thank you so much strange you are super tough btw to have gone through this several times this Sucks big time

many good wishes to you and your sweet hairless babies in the new year!

If it happened one week ago he’s already gotten through the worst part! I’m assuming he’s still hospitalized with a chest tube in right now??

When I was in that situation it helped a lot having frequent visits from my partner and family. Especially when they brought snacks!!!!!! Hospital meals can be borderline inedible and there’s no way of escaping to the food court when you have a chest tube in (unless you plan to deceive multiple nurses and risk life threatening infection through the OPEN HOLE IN YOUR CHEST. Don’t do that).

Good food can be a relief in an otherwise horrible time, so finding out what he really wants to eat and brining it will definitely help. If he has no appetite then things like smoothies or drinkable soup can be very helpful. I often live off booster juice and Tim Hortona chicken noodle soup when hospitalized.

Finding the right media to keep sane is also very important!!! Your sleep schedule disintegrates entirely when laying on your back full of tube for multiple days. 2AM listening to alarms go off and 6AM getting woken up for x-rays and 1pm having the lunch slop delivered and 3pm being woken up for x-rays and 9pm visit from your surgeon all become basically indistinguishable, especially if you have no windows. Podcasts were ideal for me because it can be very hard to find a comfortable position with a chest tube / pneumothorax and looking at a screen was often too much of a hassle. Queer as fact and fall of civilizations are both excellent if you want non fiction btw. Old gods of Appalachia or welcome to nightvale if you want fiction.

There’s not a lot that you as a loved one can do about his physical pain, but I will share some of my pneumothorax expertise with you and anyone else who might go through this.

There’s no nerve endings in the lungs so all the pain/ discomfort related to a pneumothorax has to do with pressure in the chest cavity.

The pain is the absolute worst when your lung is actively collapsing so when that feeling starts SHOVE SOME EXTRA STRENGTH ADVIL OR TYLENOL DOWN YOUR THROAT, then lay down and wait for it to finish collapsing. It may seem tempting to rush to the hospital as fast as possible (or rush your loved one who’s lung is collapsing to the hospital) but trust me the last thing you want to do with a lung that is actively deflating like a sad balloon is exert yourself (this is how I collapsed my lung the full 100% and could not move my upper body for an hour. Quirky). Give it at least 30 minutes of floor time before you try to move. You will have a way better time getting to the hospital.

Wait sorry I lied lung re-inflation hurts sometimes more than the initial collapse. The sometimes are the times when ER nurses do not know how to do it properly. Immediately after they put the chest tube in, they attach it to a suction machine to suck out the excess air in your chest cavity. I do not know if these machines are the same internationally (I’m Canadian) but if you’re dealing with one where the settings are percentages, the one you want is 20% suction. NOT 100%!!! that just causes unnecessary excruciating pain without being more effective. I have had to fight numerous nurses while in the worst pain of my life to TURN THE PAIN MACHINE DOWN. fuck the pain machine. Anyway. After the pain machine they leave the tube in for a few more days to make sure the lung stays inflated. Nearing the end of that process, most of the discomfort is caused by the tube itself, so as horrible disgusting the worst getting that thing ripped out is, just know you will feel so much better after.

Throughout the healing process (and in the case of small pneumothoraxes not requiring chest tubes — I’ve had over 10 of those ones) I’ve noticed that heightened discomfort lasting a few minutes results from going from laying down to standing up or vice verse, or from bending over. This is why I have pioneered the sophisticated technique know as the pneumothorax squat. It is just as cool and hot as you’re imagining.

This post was supposed to be about how to support a loved one with a pneumothorax what the heck am I even talking about now.

Most of what he’s going to need will seem boring or insignificant. Companionship. Food. Medication. Toiletries. COMPANIONSHIP. podcast recommendations. But it absolutely is not insignificant. Abruptly losing mobility, independence, and bodily autonomy as a young person is really fucked up and I cannot fathom doing it without my family and my partner, even if most days that consisted of talking to me and bringing me smoothies and underwear.

Wishing a quick recovery to your boyfriend! Good luck with everything!!

[circlejourney]

As a stickler for internal consistency and for attending to all the social implications/ramifications of narrative tropes, and also a person who doesn't like the idea of a world where romance is an obligation of sorts...

(to me) the only way to make soulmates work compellingly is by assigning a specific, external cause to the bonding of souls, and isolating the phenomenon only to specific people (rather than having it be universal). Not everyone has soulmates; only a few very particular people do. It lets you write a story about the interplay of fate and choice without having to fully reconstruct social and cultural dynamics around romance.

Usually I see this best achieved by a style of reincarnation where 99% of the time, previous lifetimes bear functionally no influence on the next. The soulmates are, of course, the exception: they happen when some deed, supernatural force, emotion, or conviction is powerful enough to bleed across from one lifetime to another.

(The reincarnation doesn't have to be universal, either. It may just be this pair that's getting multiple goes, for one reason or another.)

e.g.:

pair torn apart in so grievously inhumane a fashion in this lifetime that their souls reincarnate still holding onto a desperation to find each other in the next.

supernatural pact/prophecy/curse in a previous lifetime continues to hold in every subsequent lifetime until the terms are fulfilled or the escape clause is found.

The key feature here is poetic heft. A couple gets to have their souls entangled because whatever led up to it makes the soulmates conceit feel like either what needs to happen, or what is deserved.

i can never write a soulmates au cause i very quickly stop thinking about romance and start thinking about the sociological implications of a world where soulmates are a confirmed verifiable thing

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Listen I love Martyn’s watcher lore and his narratives as much as the next guy but there’s two instances of his lore straight up failing that I find extremely funny, and that you would would only really know if you’ve watched these two povs. Again, cannot emphasize enough, I love Martyn’s lore and he can do whatever he wants and it’s fun when other creators play into it (Jimmy being the best example) but it’s also very funny when they just don’t.

The first example is when he created that little story that actually Tilly was evil and corrupting Pearl into becoming Scarlet/Red/5 AM Pearl. This of course failed because he had no way of knowing that Tilly had already died when he went to fight Pearl in the finale, as only the owner of a wolf sees their death message. Also, the fandom at large rejected it because from Pearl’s POV, Tilly is her soulmate and her best friend, and is absolutely not evil.

The second is that Gem has her own Life Series lore, which again is only in her POV, that goes directly against his. Gem’s lore, which exists through her Empires and Hermitcraft series as well, is that she remembers literally everything and is willingly traveling across worlds to do things. So the whole “people are made to play the games and also don’t have emotions tied to the previous ones” doesn’t apply to her because she is just willingly participating and still feels exactly the same. Hence her intense beef with Pearl in Wild Life because she remembers Secret Life and the emotions connected to it. You could try to fit this into Martyn’s lore by making her a watcher or a listener, but it’s funnier to me if she’s just a special exception.

Honorable mention to ZombieCleo, Smajor, and Pearl who have also disproven the whole “no emotional ties to previous games” thing multiple times by being deeply emotional towards each other and towards other players about things that have happened in previous games. Cleo literally still felt bitter at Impulse for 3rd Life at the beginning of Wild Life and that’s beautiful.

[lastoneout]

Also another more recent one here!

While wider studies are needed, it does feel really insidious that stimulant medication is misunderstood, demonized, and so strictly regulated that most of us have had to go without for days or weeks at a time sometimes multiple times a year or even EVERY MONTH, and in some places it's almost impossible to actually access at all while the truth is that it is quite literally life-saving medical care for those of us who need it.

I've left the stove on three separate times when unmedicated and I was VERY lucky that none of them resulted in carbon monoxide poisoning or me burning my house down. I've also nearly electrocuted myself or walked into traffic, being off my meds legit feels like all my senses are dulled, I'm far clumsier which leads to injury, forget important things like if I've taken my other meds, meds that if I go off of suddenly or take too much of can cause severe health problems. I've heard horror stories of how hard it is to even just drive safely with unmedicated ADHD and most people don't even realize how unsafe it is until they've gone on meds and learned what normal driving is for a neurotypical person. And the list goes on. Hell, being unmedicated can even lead to losing our jobs, housing, or access to food and support systems, and makes it way harder to keep your house clean, all of which also lead to an increased risk of injury, illness, and death. I've missed rent more times than I can count, racked up credit card debt, had my utilities shut off, all because I just can't fucking remember to pay bills on time without my meds, I've missed fucking black mold in my shower, accidentally eaten food out of date, gotten way too drunk without realizing it, it's a nightmare, it really is.

I really just hate thinking about how many people with ADHD have likely died or been seriously injured or suffered due to simple mistakes that they never would have made if they were properly medicated, and it makes me so angry that ADHD treatment is so hard to get almost entirely based on bullshit scaremongering about addiction. In fact being medicated puts ADHDers at LESS of a risk of turning to alcohol and drugs to make our lives manageable, and it's nearly impossible for someone with ADHD to get addicted to a stimulant medication anyway.

(Not that addicts deserve what happens to them, they need help and support as well, everyone deserves human rights and to have their needs met, this just is a completely fabricated problem when it comes to ADHD and it's normalization is legit killing us. My mom has also nearly died due to not being medicated and she to go through like four different licensed psychatrists until she found one who would actually prescribe ritalin for her, the rest all cited risk of addiction as a reason to deny her even though they should fucking know that isn't a legit concern. One even said she just "didn't want to be held responsible" for her patients forming addictions to ADHD meds. I wonder how she'd feel if she was held responsible for all the suffering her desperation to keep her hands clean has almost certainly caused.)

And tbh I'd also rather a million people get high off adderall than have even one person with ADHD miss out on medical care that can save their life because disabled people shouldn't have to suffer to make up for shit we basically can't do. Why should someone else abusing adderall mean I have to risk my life and go without. Make it make sense.

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

[gatheringbones]

This current topic has reminded me of a realization I had a few months back… a conversation with my coworkers about what energy people give off led to multiple cis women telling me I was intimidating on first impression. Only one could tell me why, which was “you seem really sure of yourself.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d been told I was intimidating, which was confusing to me, as I think of myself as quite outgoing and approachable.

When I brought it up to my housemates, one who is also visibly gnc said the same thing had happened to them—being told they seemed intimidating by cis women despite not trying to be seen that way at all.

When nonconformity & love of one’s own nonconformity appears in front of them, cis women get scared! And they transmute that fear so that instead of recognizing that it’s coming from within & realizing their bias, they make it so you must be doing something to make them afraid.

thank you, well said

[mareastrorum]

Been chewing more on how C3 wound up here. What’s throwing me is the strange shift from the cast’s unflinching “yes, and” game in C2 to a misplaced feeling that they need to choose correctly in C3.

I want to be clear here that this isn’t a criticism post because I genuinely don’t know what’s happening here. It’s just odd behaviors that seem to signal a problem, and I don’t know what solution would resolve it. I’m not going to be so presumptuous as to hypothesize about any cast member’s thoughts.

In the Cooldown for C3E118 (and offhandedly previously), Laura and Ashley expressed some nervousness about making big decisions because they’re worried about making the “wrong” choice. Without more, that attitude alone would explain much of the party’s indecisiveness about key campaign questions. After all, their characters are the two Ruidusborn of most interest to the campaign villains, and other characters (especially Orym, Laudna, and Ashton) have insisted that Imogen and Fearne take the lead on Predathos.

But this isn’t a story in a vacuum. C2 got completely derailed multiple times. The Mighty Nein decided to steal a pirate ship and leave the continent the campaign was set on; shortly after they returned, they decided to reopen a collapsed tunnel to go the opposite side of the continent; then Caleb returned the Luxon Beacon and made themselves heroes of an enemy nation instantly. That’s not even getting into the fact that Molly died before the Nein got to Shadycreek Run (which absolutely would have been all about his backstory) or that Twiggy left an incredible magical artifact that wasn’t supposed to be given to the Nein. Each time, Matt adjusted and made it work. Granted, C2 was more of a sandbox campaign, but Matt demonstrated his flexibility as a DM time and again.

Like, as a general rule of thumb, DMs shouldn’t offer options that would torpedo the campaign. It’s rational to avoid situations that have a genuine possibility of undercutting the game. Matt has been DMing for a long time; he’s done a very good job of finding ways to make the campaign work regardless of the decisions the players make. Even when players do something directly against the signals he threw out (like Ashton trying to absorb a second shard despite consistent, dire warnings that it would kill him), he works with the players to come to a reasonable solution (Ashton survived but the shard wouldn’t take, and he got some character moments out of the failure). We, the audience, know Matt is good at pivoting when he needs to.

In addition to taking the players’ curveballs like a champ, Matt also takes big swings for the sake of the story. In C1, Matt broke his biggest city with a dragon invasion, then made a new god leading an undead titan to go stomp out the world’s oldest civilization. In C2, he let the players go off the map whenever and still made the digression relevant to their character arcs every time. Not to be parasocial, but if we can figure out that that Matt can handle this sort of thing, the players certainly have a better feel for it than us.

So what is going on in C3? We know Matt isn’t scared of breaking Exandria or destroying the pantheon: he set that possibility in motion as the default ending if the players did nothing. CR literally did a mini series about the start of the end of the world with EXU Calamity. Laura and Ashley were also in Downfall and making big choices between the gods and mortals. Breaking stuff is what they do!

Where did this idea that there’s a “wrong” choice come from? That type of thinking kills a lot of great improv, and the whole point of the “yes, and” exercise is to shake it off. While it’s incredibly obvious to say not to think that way, the real issue is sorting out why that mentality has taken hold at all. That’s a problem no amount of fan discussion is going to resolve.

[blueberrymilkcookie]

kye's shmilk trailer Nooticing compilation

The Keys

if you've seen the leaks from a while back, we already know that one of the stage assets for shadow milk's update is a room with an extremely big key hole dead center of it. here in the trailer we can see more key imagery! in the first shot, we see the white pillars have a keyhole, and the gold ones have a key shape on the bottom of them. when we finally see the depiction of past-sm, his staff has a key shape on the bottom!!!!! also in the bottom right, you can also see a pillar that seems to be a key as well. (edit: ALSO THE KEYHOLE ON HIS CHEST idk why i forgot to mention that)

as for what this could mean, i mean my best guess is that they key symbolizes unlocking more knowledge, as we know from the 4th anni description that shadow milk was very curious and tried to learn everything there was to learn. the fact that it's a key also gives us a sense of mystery and secrecy although, and may tie into unlocking hidden/forbidden knowledge?

different soul jam design

so this is most definitely a different design from what we saw in both the beast-yeast trailer even past-sm's staff in the image above. i'm not entirely sure why this is, but i'm just gonna throw out another idea.

if the soul jam physically change upon the user's emotional state/will (dark cacao's soul jam turning white when he became apathetic in ep. 4) then it's possible that past-sm's soul jam changed into this very obviously darker and corrupted form once he began to embrace deceit. this could be wrong though and it's just a cool visual thing for the trailer *shrug*

Pondering His Orb

so this is very obviously pure vanilla (same skin tone and his chin is being covered with the same fabric) but why the hell is he pondering his orb rn. and why is he in a shady ass cloak and watching himself go to the spire of knowledge ?? is this like him in the future or... idk. WE'LL SEE I GUESS cuz idk what to make of this

interesting thing to add, past-sm is holding an orb. they're both orb ponderers

(this makes me think he might have had the ability to prophesize the future with a crystal ball or some shit. we already know he likes tarot cards so... Btw i already had this idea so devsis needs to pay me again.)

Let's play a homoerotic game of chess

board game time! not sure if it means anything, but shadow milk is initially holding a bishop, uses it to attack a pawn, and then picks up the king piece and uses it to attack pure vanilla cookie. the pawns on the white team are pv's friends... so he's calling them fodder basically

(also, side note: he changed the queen piece to what looks like a jester. is he calling himself a queen? LMAO)

WELCOME TO THE MINDFUCK!!!

multiple things to be talking about right here!! 1) when shadow milk seems to be gaining control over pure vanilla, pure vanilla's third eye/star marking melts

2) interestingly, as he does this, shadow milk doing his little cool animation also melts into pure vanilla. this could be a way to show him getting inside of pv's head i think. btw i drew this already like 11 months ago so. Devsis pay me.

"It's time to accept the truth you like so much! You, you are merely following in my footsteps. Oh, but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become me!"

3) extremely interesting of them to show past-sm, then show pv looking into the reflection of seemingly his own future corruption (btw it's the same silhouette as the pv costume from the livestream). we all already know what this means guys!! we're going to see the cycle that both shadow milk and dark enchantress went through happening to pure vanilla as well!!!! yippie!!!!!!!!

FUCKING BLUEBERRY YOGURT ACADEMY FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE

EVERYONEEE WOULD YA LOOK AT THAT. WHO IS THAT? THE FIRST HEADMASTER. NOW. this doesnt confirm that shadow milk is the first headmaster BUT now we know that there is canonically a very real connection between him and the first headmaster!!!!

oh yea theres also this weird fucking sun/moon thing

ok what we can currently piece together about shadow milk's lore

"You know, I've always dreamt of a beautiful world of perfect chaos, where lies and truths can't be told apart!"

this isn't gonna be a deep analysis bc we don't know anything yet, BUT, from what i can gather, shadow milk cookie was a very curious god who was always in the pursuit of more knowledge. we know now that CANONICALLY he has ties to the blueberry yogurt academy, and at some point (if not from the very start) began to use the forbidden dark moon magic.

based on the 4th anni description alone, we can see that the or one catalyst for his corruption was the fact that... people were just stupid, and listened to him no matter if he was telling the truth or not (i assume it's deeper than that, but this is all we know rn). after learning this, he began to spread lies, using his knowledge to sow chaos and confusion.

also WHY ARE ALL THREE OF HIS DESIGNS FUCKING DIFFERENT

DEVSISTERRRSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[aritsukemo]

Invisible Scars | Multiple Characters

Summary: In which the night before leaves you traumatized and causes your emotionally constipated/emotionally reserved friend to seek you out.

Warnings: Purposely vague descriptions ahead ( no names are mentioned besides yours ). Reader killed someone and is negatively reeling from it. Blood is mentioned but nothing seriously descriptive. All that said, read at your own risk!

A/N: I got the idea to write this after scrolling through @creativepromptsforwriting's sideblog and finding this prompt. I plan to tag characters who come to mind, but this is really an open drabble so feel free to imagine whomever you see fits! :D

Tagging: @nursedflowers and @saioratral

The high-pitched screech that bounced off the walls was a sound one would typically associate with tea at it's boiling point or maybe a hotpot screaming to be eaten. One thing that certainly would not have come to mind was a running faucet—specifically one that ran water so hot that it made even the durable metal cry out in pain.

The incessant shrieking, as annoying as it was, didn't faze the girl who sat before the sink. It was as if the noise was never there...which actually wouldn't be that far off from the truth.

In reality, she couldn't hear a thing aside from the same bloodcurdling screams.

Her hands worked as if they were trying to create a fire. They slide together at blinding speed, rubbing against one another so hard that a few more minutes of it would surely cause a tear in the skin of her palms.

Part of her wished that would actually happen.

A knock on the door sounds followed by the mellow hum of her friend's voice as he called from the other side, "Y/n. Are you still in there? It's me."

Heavy silence replaces her much needed answer, and if it weren't for the faint sound of running water, he would've been none the wiser in assuming she wasn't in there. Since that wasn't the case, however, he had no other choice but to try again.

"Y/n," He calls only for the same result. He then tries a third time, "Y/n!"

Silence. He sighs. Guess he has no other choice.

"Forgive the intrusion," With that gentle request serving as a small warning, he takes his time to twist the knob, giving her more than enough time to make herself presentable if need be as he swung the door open at a turtle's pace and peered inside.

As he suspected, she was standing at the sink, her back facing the door and preventing him from seeing what she was doing—not that he needed to. The steam, the running water, the uncomfortable sound of her hands sloshing together and sounding like two blades clashing...it all gave him an inkling of what was happening.

But how long has she been doing this for? He was almost to scared to ask. Almost.

"You've been in here for a while now," He said, and unlike his usual tone, his voice was dipped in uncharacteristic gentleness and sounded rather withheld. It was as if he was being held at swordpoint, and even then, it was surprising to hear him sound that way.

Maybe if she was paying attention she would've heard it and teased him about it. Possibly cracked a joke or two about him finally growing soft enough to warm up to her after all these years.

But instead he received silence and that scared him more than any enemy he's has faced in his lifetime.

"Hey," He called out again, but this time more sternly. He also didn't give her nearly as much time to answer. Not that she likely would.

"You can stop now. I doubt your hands are that dirty.." He's slow with his steps, closing the distance bit by bit, "Hell, by now, your hands are probably cleaner than mine."

She doesn't move, flinch, or do anything that would acknowledge that his words had reached her. It was as if she was in a trance, put under a spell of some kind or was a victim to some hypnotism caused by unknown means.

In a sense, what was happening right now was kinda like that.

In the matter of a minute or so, he's close enough to reach out for her delicate wrist. He does just that, but not too long after he snatches his hand away. He then paused, looking at his hand before looking back up at her with horrid shock gleaming off his hues.

This water was hot. Really hot. Hotter than any water boiled for food or tea.. He's surprised that the droplets don't just evaporate as soon as they leave the faucet.

"You don't feel that?" He leans in, getting closer to her face as his brows furrow, "Does that not hurt?"

He already knew the answer—of course it did—but the fact that she wouldn't answer him struck a nerve and in the end he finds himself grabbing her roughly by the wrist and snatching her away from that molten lava altogether.

He shuts off the water quickly after that, putting the annoying whistling it produced to an abrupt end. It seemed only then that the trance she was put under was broken and she was finally able to think and move for herself again.

As he lets go of her wrist, she finds herself opening her palms and staring down at them. She stares for a long while. Just opening and closing her palms repeatedly and rubbing her fingertips together, as if she was examining a foreign object.

The skin of her palms looked as if she had ran them across a rough surface for an hour; puffy with an angry hue of red to them.

They were a deep shade, just like... She clenches her teeth. He's quick to notice.

"If this is about the other day.." He began, his words dying in his throat as he watched as she flinched away at his very words.

He knew this would happen in the end. He tried to warn them all but nobody wanted to listen to reason. They sent this fragile glasswork into that cage of knives and sharp fangs without a care in the world and left him with the job of mending anything that was broken back together.

It truly irked him. More than something like this usually would.

"If... If you were in my shoes yesterday.." She began slowly and quietly, and despite her voice sounding like a mouse's squeak and a part of his blood boiling at the sound of it, he bit his tongue and held back his snapping comment.

Right now was not the time to be reckless. Too hard of a hit—or any pressure at all really—would cause his dear friend to shatter into a million pieces and he can't have that. How would he be able to fix her up in that condition?

"If you were me last night, if... If you had your weapon to that person's throat. ...If they begged you through their sobs and reduced to a blubbering mess...going on and on about how they needed to live.." She pauses, whether that was because she noticed how her voice grew more and more unsteady with every word she spoke or the fact that her hands had begun to tremble was unknown to even her. It seemed that at this point she was unsure of, well, everything.

And at that point, her friend saw no better of a time than to take a risk and speak his mind.

"If you plan to continue on to ask me if I would've still killed them than let me spare us both the time; I would in a heartbeat."

She laughs at him, her giggle sounding like a sick bird trying to sing. It should be comforting to here despite it's raspiness. After all, despite it not sounding exactly like her usual laughter, it's a miracle she's able to laugh at all. He should be sighing out of relief that she still seems to be gripping onto her sanity enough to find humor in such a dank situation.

But he couldn't, and all because of the simple fact that he had grown used to her sounding so full of life. It was truly a pity.

"I suppose that was a silly question of me to ask you of all people."

In all this time, he's noticed she hasn't looked up from her hands once. It was unnerving to see her like this, but there was nothing he could truly do about it. He could direct her attention elsewhere, sure, but that wouldn't stop the swarming of her thoughts or reduce her heightened awareness of what was once staining her hands and forearms. And, it surely wouldn't halt the constant loop of that incident from playing in her mind—that moment of her taking a life with her own hands, in a quite grotesque way at that.

Her mind was stained just like her skin and just like how she couldn't truly rid herself of the grimy feeling of blood sticking to her skin no matter how hard she scrubbed, he couldn't wipe her mind of what happened. They were both truly powerless.

But he had to do something. Now that they've gotten her foot out of the door, she has to walk through it. There's no backing out of this, she knew this when she went on that mission yesterday. There was no way but forward. He knew that better than anyone.

"Nevermind what happened, come on," He slides his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and dips down to the upper part of her back where he gently pushes her in the direction of the door, all as he tells her, "You should get off your feet and actually rest. You'll need it for tomorrow.."

For the first time that night, she glances up at him. It was for a mere moment, but that quick second was all he needed. Her eyes..were like a starless sky; completely devoid of it's usually glimmer of life. It was as if he was staring at a solider who's spent the last decade at war.

Truly astounding how such a look was formed just after a single night.

Wordlessly, she allows him to push her in the direction of the door as if she weighed nothing. She walked slowly, and as she did she looked back down at her clean, reddened hands. Her eyes sinking even more as she does.

She finds herself wondering if the blood she felt would ever go away—if it were possible that her palms would be capable of ever being truly clean again—and that led her to softly murmur to the only one she could think of turning to; her companion and partner in crime, him.

"Does it.. Does this ever get better?" She asks to which she receives probably the heaviest sigh she's ever heard in her life. It tells her all she needs to know but does little to quell the turmoil in her heart. It has her questioning if she'll be able to handle the path forward. If she'll reach the end or go insane halfway through.

Whatever happens, she finds herself praying that she'll be able to walk this path hand in hand with someone who's treaded this gravel before.

..And it so happens that a person like that is leading her to her bedroom right now. How convenient.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[ghouljams]

Ok, just wanna say that I love your Hephaetus!Nikto.

Just a few things I’d like to say about Aphrodite. Love the way you have them written, I am in no way trying to make you change your interpretation of them.

She is one of the oldest gods along side Poseidon. Their lore dates back way before Ancient Greece and yet Aphrodite still predates him. Aphrodite is not just a soft thing. She started the Trojan war dammit. And she’s been associated with War as well, and not just in the sense that she has a relationship with Ares but of herself (then again haven’t done much research on this part so I could be wrong).

And Aphrodite is of the sea. The sea is no tame thing. It is wild. She is the Goddess of love and beauty and I’m getting a little pissed at Nikto for thinking she wouldn’t find him beautiful when it is her literal job to see the beauty in everything. Like come on dudeeee!!!!

I think the way you wrote him also pairs kinda well with the way you have the other Olympians view Aphrodite!Reader. I’d wonder if Aphrodite!Reader will ever snap on them and show them what it means to be the goddess of love and beauty.

Also fun fact, the ancient Greeks had multiple names for love that all had different meanings. I personally don’t know them all, but from what I recall, Eros is what they call romantic love.

Sorry for blabbing on, you don’t have to respond to this at all, just wanted to vent a little.

Oh no you're fine venting, I think a lot of people often think of Aphrodite in a specific way (pretty goddess of love who just cheats on her husband and is vindictive all the time) and here's what I will say regarding the way I'm writing Aphrodite!Reader:

Neither the reader nor Nikto is a reliable narrator.

Aphrodite sees herself as this wonderful loving force but she still walks the battlefield, taking trophies as often as she takes lives. She views herself as innocent in all of this drama and rumors, but she's done nothing to stop them(It's nice having Ares talk about how beautiful and good in bed she is, y'know?) She loves Nikto but she also treats him a bit like a curiosity, waiting for him to come to her because, well, everyone does eventually.

And Nikto is stuck in his vision of being cast aside by the gods. He's trapped in their mockery of him, why wouldn't he assume his unwilling wife, who begged to be kept a virgin goddess right before their wedding, doesn't like him? Aphrodite forces their way into his life, into his space, disrespecting any boundaries he tries to put up, of course he's wary of them. But at the same time Nikto only sees the parts of Aphrodite that they want him to see, the soft, the gentle, the loving with sweet voices and stroking fingers, so of course he thinks they're a bad fit. He's every bit her opposite.

The Trojan war has yet to happen in the timeline of the hephaestus!Nikto anthology, but I keep thinking about it because it will feel very out of character for Aphrodite to start a war over something as petty as vanity, but that's only because we've been seeing her through her own eyes.

Also I will say I think a lot of my softening of Aphrodite comes from my disbelief at the way goddesses act within Greek mythology. You're telling me every single goddess is vain and jealous, that they can't keep their man from cheating on them, that the Goddess of love can't find anything to love in her husband, that Artemis would turn her back on her desire to remain a virgin because one guy looked at her the right way? Like the way that the goddesses are depicted just reeks of misogyny and that particular brand of ancient Greek hatred for women. IDK So excuse me for making Aphrodite a little out of character from the myths in my attempt to give her the benefit of the doubt where no man ever did.

[deliriousblue]

the scene on the boat honestly feels to me like kant's actions are just the culmination of a spiral that's been going on for a while now.

he’s being pulled in different directions that are fundamentally incompatible. protecting babe is the single drive that the entire show has been built around; none of the rest of the events in the show after the first part of the first episode happen without it.

at the same time kant genuinely has fallen in love with bison at this point. and there’s nothing he can do about it! he can't work for captain christ and protect bison but he has to be at his every beck and call to protect babe. by the time he admits to himself that he cares about bison too much to betray him he's already betrayed him too much.

i think he's known the whole time, on some level, that he’ll never be truly free of the captain. but he’s already made the choice. and even if he were honest with bison now what good would it do?

and yet he tells style he's going to stop working for the captain anyway. he even cites babe as one of the reasons.

this, honestly, makes no sense. nothing about the fundamental dynamics between him and his brother and the captain has changed. christ explicitly threatened babe in the first episode and — the way i read it — he hasn't stopped.

i don’t think kant is thinking clearly through the situation and deciding that the captain will never let him go so he might as well save the man he loves. i think he’s just desperately flailing at anything anything that would let him out. fox in a trap chewing off his own leg!

and so then the scene on the boat where he just. stops. i think there are multiple things going on simultaneously there — obviously kant is terrified and bison is a loose cannon — but it isn't his only option. bison is expecting to be cajoled and groveled to and what he gets is kant jumping wrists tied into the water. you can threaten me all you want, but i quit.....

[docagonthoughts]

MY PROBLEMS WITH THE LEGEND OF ZELDA MOVIE

Okay, hi.

I have a LOT of reasons this movie should never in a million years happen, but my family is getting sick of hearing them, so I'm here to share them with you because I'm very frustrated with some school things right now and I need to channel my anger into something that matters.

First is that it's going to be live-action.

This was a terrible choice on their part because no matter who they cast as Link and Zelda, they aren't going to be good enough for the role. And no, I don't mean as in acting skill, I mean in terms of appearance. They're just not going to be able to capture it.

Second of all, casting.

Casting for this movie will be tricky for multiple reasons. Like I said previously, whoever they choose to cast won't be able to capture the physical essence of the characters. Not only that, but they can't cast a super famous guy (ESPECIALLY not Tom Holland) because Link is always supposed to be a little nobody twink who shows up with a 'i have no idea what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway' mentality, not some hotshot guy everyone knows.

Third, twink-y-ness.

As we all know, Link is twinkier than a Twinkie, and if they fail to capture that, what is even the point. We need to see Link in at least one slutty outfit with a stupid hairstyle or else that isn't Link, that's just Chad.

Fourth, the target audience.

The target audience is probably my main concern with this movie, if I'm honest. Based on recent media, I've seen many things get taken over by 10 year old humor, Jack Black (no hate on him, but I think ykwim), and bad graphics. That's where I get concerned.

A good majority of the people who love the Legend of Zelda like I do are older than the age of 10 and don't want this movie to be overly goofy or 'watered down'. Like I said before, the Legend of Zelda games are whimsical, but also very dark at times. That's what makes them perfect; there's a balance.

Fifth, Link himself.

If you didn't know, Link doesn't usually talk or have a super distinguishable personality because the creators designed him with the audience in mind. You're supposed to be able to imagine Link in any way, even as yourself.

Now, that's not to say he can't have a personality. I'm just saying that whatever personality they give him will not work.

Not only that, but I just know they're going to make him talk. I know it. Now, i know some people are probably like 'wEll, DrAgON, How aRe theY suPPOsEd to MaKe him INterEstIng If HE doEsN'T TAlK?', to which I pat them on the head and remind them of the incredibly successful movie 'The Quiet Place' where all of the characters were silent and used sign language. In this movie's case, ONLY LINK would be silent, making it even EASIER for them.

Sixth, is Hyrule.

Now, I don't have too many concerns about Hyrule itself since it's pretty easy to make a movie pretty in terms of the landscape, but if it looks anything remotely similar to the Minecraft movie trailer, I will not watch it.

Seventh is the Villain.

My main concern with whichever villain they choose (most likely Ganon, but I think it'd be interesting to use a different villain like Vaati or the Demise), only because I don't want them to act like Bowser did in the Mario movie. Don't get me wrong, I think that worked for Bowser. But for Ganon? No. And I swear to you, if the villain or ANYONE is played by Jack Black, I will have an actual meltdown. (Love you Jack Black, but please no)

Eighth is the music.

As we all know (or at least you should), the Legend of Zelda has some of the most beautiful music ever. The Song of Storms, Zelda's Lullaby, Ballad of the Wind Fish, these are all great songs. If they screw this up, I will hate it.

And finally, number Nine: the essence and vibe of the movie.

This is my other main concern. Can I explain to you why I love the Legend of Zelda so Much? No, I can't. All I can tell you is that the 'feel' of it is what I love. If they fail to capture the whimsy and the wholesomeness but also the underlayer of darkness that the games possess, this movie will bomb.

Let me give you a few examples of other medias that failed to capture their source material:

Star Wars (The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, The Rise of Skywalker). All three of those movies sucked imo because they didn't feel like a Star Wars movie, they felt like a Star Wars fanfiction. This isn't any of the cast's fault, either. They did good for what they were given. But the movie itself (expecially the character changes in Luke) lacked that feeling the other Star Wars movies hold.

Star Trek Discovery and Picard. Both of these shows are objectively the worst Star Trek series. And, it's for the same exact reasons as those Star Wars movies. THE PEOPLE MAKING THEM AREN'T FANS OF THE FRANCHISE!!! They don't understand them, they don't understand why people LIKE them. But if you look at their newest show, Strange New Worlds, it's doing spectacularly. Why? BECAUSE THE NEW WRITERS ARE FANS OF THE SHOW. THEY GET IT.

If you couldn't tell, I'm very passionate about this one.

In conclusion, you can tell that my hopes for this movie are incredibly, painfully low. Can you blame me, though? This is my favorite thing in the world, an I'd love to have a movie about it. But in recent times, movies and shows based off of already beloved things have not been doing well because they don't capture the feeling of them. The people put in charge of these movies most likely haven't played a single Legend of Zelda game in their lives, so they don't get it and they aren't going to be able to capture our souls like the games do.

Thank you for listening to my messy rant.

[indiestsnake]

okay. for real this time. Major In Stars and Time spoilers for act 3 and beyond. To my wonderful friends playing this masterpiece, to no further. To potential readers, buckle up. This gets long ._.

I thought this game was done with causing me symptoms of emotional exhaustion and stress overload. I was wrong.

Acts 5 and 6 of this game caused the most emotion a video game has ever inflicted on me. Like- the tightness in my chest was an emotion I can only describe as grief. Genuine grief. I felt like I needed to sob for most of act six, for multiple reasons.

Let’s start at the fuckin transition I guess!!!!!!!!!! Siffrin finally thinks they figured it out, and they haven’t. The genuine fear I felt in the cutscene with Euphrasie, the realization that… that this was it, Siffrin was simply stuck. I believed it. I could not find a way to break my suspension of disbelief. I fully, genuinely could not believe that this game had a happy ending. I did not know this game only had one ending, but even if I did, it… I don’t think it would’ve done anything.

The following monologue was the usual terrifying, the game using its informal dialogue to reap horrific subversive effects as usual. Of course it saved some tricks for this moment, like taking away control of when the dialogue progressed. Watching Siffrin snap so thoroughly, lose all his hope and cling to the thought of defeating the king alone because he doesn’t know what else to do, it… it really breaks you.

So. Now that the game has maximized my potential sympathy for Siffrin. And torn my empathetic heart to shreds. It immediately turns on a heel and makes me hate them within three conversations. The things they say to Mira, Odile, Bonnie, Isa, made me so thoroughly angry. I would not blame Odile for actually harming him. I would not blame Mira if she never spoke to him again. I would not blame Bonnie for never wanting to even think about him again. And I would not blame Isa if he no longer loved Siffrin.

I am a person who believes in redemption. In second chances. The readers of my fics know this well. But sadly, actions have to have consequences. And the actions Siffrin takes should have lost him his friends, his family, forever. Even in his circumstances. They had no reason to keep caring.

So then, reeling from the genuine sense of loss and grief and hate and despair, Siffrin nicks the orbs and goes in alone. Through about, what, 20-30 minutes of gameplay, this tension persists. The game didn’t even need to barrage me with monologues, just show those conversations of the family Siffrin left, tear apart the house and the menus and the game till it was barely recognizable. Siffrin. The Lost One, says his profile. Memory of emptiness. Rock, paper, scissors. It’s so dry. So dull. So full of despair and pain and fear and a question of what he could ever do to deserve this hell. He can’t go back. He cannot find the hope or will or anything to go through with it, to follow the script. So even if this does break the loop. What then? He is left with a world where the people he loves most despise him.

Then finally, he reaches the king.

The fight is almost dull. Simplistic. Full of pain. Siffrin does not need a shield to withstand the vision of the future. Because the world they live in cannot get any worse. Nothing scares him more than the hell he now exists in.

Then, he begins to freeze. The king slows him down. And he falls asleep.

The following sequence was just… indescribable. The sadness variant of him, Mal du Pays. French for “homesickness”. Just a simple drawing of Siffrin. The music. The dialogue. The words that come from its mouth. From the party’s mouths. Siffrin tries to say it’s fake. Isabeau’s segment convinces him it’s not.

I didn’t even realize what was happening till it flashed forward and gripped the screen by the face.

He was turning into a sadness.

The frame of his sadness gripping the screen, like many of ISAT’s frames, is something I can’t manage to forget. The cloak and the face and the way it fills the screen so suddenly and finally speaks as itself, not as Siffrin’s party. And he can’t fight it. They just can’t. The universe leads, but he is tired. And now, he can rest. If he just lets go.

In that moment, I was staring at a black screen, begging, pleading for the credits not to roll.

And then he wakes up.

Because his friends are back.

Despite what he said and did, they knew he didn’t mean it. And if he did, they didn’t care. It was clear something was wrong, and they were determined to fix it. Because they were his friends.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a game manage to convey self-hatred so convincingly that I, the player, began to hate my character in a way their friends could not. In fact, I was not aware that was a thing that could happen.

I don’t even know how to express the feelings this give me coherently. It feels like this game snatched away one of my closest moral beliefs only to clothesline me with said belief so I learned it even harder. What Siffrin did was not unforgivable. But it truly convinced me that it was.

So of that when all hope seemed truly, truly lost. It pulled the basic trope of “your friends come help when you thought you were alone”. And it nearly knocked me out of my chair.

First off, get fucked king. Second off, happy for you king.

And then the walk to Euphrasie. I was mixed with giddy glee and unending dread for this whole thing. Isa helps Sif walk while Bonnie holds their hand. Color exists again but only red and oh god the world is ending. Euphrasie is still broken oh god please no don’t send me back don’t take this from me please no no no no WAM REVERSE BOSS FIGHT

Cue that scene. I wasn’t exactly happy that my only option aside from hurting my friends was hurting myself. But it did not take long for me to start groaning in annoyance when Mira healed me.

And then. Against all odds. Siffrin breaks. As does the text formatting as the party literally claws at the text box edges to yell at him.

They fall. Hands clasped together. And he tells them his wish. That he just wants to stay with them.

Of course. That’s all he ever wanted.

And oh god, oh thank every deity, that’s all they want too.

And he finally gets a god-damn motherfucking son of a bitch eye-losing tear-jerking MOTHER FUCKING HUG

and damn it was a good one. poor guy was all squimshed. lost his hat too

the rest of the dialogue is just. amazing. I was gigging and smiling and shaking and vibrating with joy before I even finished Mirabelle’s segment. Walking to Bonnie was when I realized it felt like I wanted to cry. During Bonnie’s dialogue was when I almost did cry. Then Odile. Who I obviously asked for the long version of her theory and she was very helpful for explaining all the stuff. and then.

Isabeau.

oh. my. fucking. god.

the joy I felt when he said it. The leap I leapt, ungracefully dancing over to my bed and mouthing screams of joy. I genuinely just collapsed and writhed around like a fish out of water in happiness. You know how some folk flap their hands to stim? Yeah, imagine that but my whole body. I was so unbelievably happy. I don’t know how a game did this much to me.

The rest of the dialogue was wonderful too. Sif apologized for everything, even the optional events, even admitted the bad touch event. And of course. Isa freaked the fuck out. Because oh my god Sif kissed him. And then when Sif clarifies that it was not a good kiss. He just thinks for a moment like. “…………. Maybe u just need more practice!!! ^^” and it was at that point Siffrin and Isabeau plushies manifested in my hands and I mashed their faces together like barbie dolls

Mira doesn’t want self-spoilers and thats hilarious. Bonnie has no fucken clue what’s going on but she knows Sif was hungry sick and at school so all is well. Odile admits she linguine’s him and yes I fucking love that joke. SIF’S HOME COUNTRY MIFHT APPEAR IN THE DISTANCE????? AND ISA AND SIF ARE GOING ON A FUCKING DATE

and it was at this point I saved my progress, crossed my heart, and prayed Euphrasie would not send me back.

And she didn’t.

oh, god, this game…

welp. this post is two hours in the making. dunno if any of this is coherent but I think if you’ve played isat you get it. thank you to everyone who’s been blowing up my liveposts recently!!! it’s been cool to see the fandom giggle evilly at my suffering :3

tho my contributions to the Isat fandom do not end here. the fic is imminent. I could not stop it if I wanted too. If you couldn’t tell by the essay you just read.

thank you for reading this far if you somehow did!!!! hope you enjoyed my nonsensical babbling. I’m gonna go pass out. have a good day!!!!!!! .3

[yayadrawsthingz]

Oh Hey look it's Ch 2 of this thing I made for @keferon 's Mecha au. More Texaid because I can not, not love them. This paring has done stuff to me, so I am making all of this, you're problem. Have fun reading.

tw for mild gore

----------------------

All was black, that’s all that Vortex could see as he pushed against the restraints of Shockwave’s weird mind control thing. “Come on. Just. Let. Me. THROUGH!” Vortex pushed and pushed, until he was falling. Down and down, faster and faster until he hit the ground hard. Or was it really the ground, considering that this was Felix’s mind.

Getting up was disorienting, Felix’s mind was a rush of multiple things happening at the same time and truthfully, it sometimes made Vortex’s head hurt by how overcomplicated Felix made unnecessary things. No matter what, he is in the depth of his mind. The only problem now, finding Felix alive. 

The Problem was how? How can you find someone that’s trapped in their own mind, and how does he know he’s not talking to a memory? Uhhg Think Vortex Think, there has to be a- 

Laughter filled the area and a tiny figure ran past him. The darkness was no longer darkness, instead, a fuzzy memory of outside. Looking down at the kid-First aid;Felix as a kid, he was holding something in his hands, running closer to other kids. Looking closer he could see that what little Aid was holding was the shedding of a garter snake. Kid happily presented it like a trophy only to be screamed out that he was disgusting, before they ran away from him. Lil Felix looked down at the snake with a pout. “What’s wrong with the snakie pajama?” Before any more words were said, the world changed around the two of them, well mostly Vortex as now he was standing in a classroom with a teenager Felix cutting open a frog. He was the only one enjoying it, as the others around him were gagging at the smell, or were refusing to dissect it. He heard whispers around them from the ‘popular’ girls. “Eww is he really enjoying that?” “What a freak, like dissecting animals.” “You think he killed animals when he was younger.” “He should be put in the loony bin.” Vortex growled at those words, how dare they say such mean things about Felix. Ya He may be a freak, but he’s not a psychopath. If only he can give them a piece of his mind, but he can’t, as it was just a fucking memory. 

Just like the last one, The memory was changing into a courthouse. Felix was in prison cloths, and it seemed like he was being sentenced when- 

Shockwave walked in, asking the judge if he could take the organ stealer off his servos, and put him to good use of community service as a medic in his company. The Judge thought about it, before giving him his sentence that he would be put into community service by Senator Shockwave’s Mecha program. 

The memory changed once again. He was standing in front of himself- His Mecha. Glowing red visor as it displayed “Get inside” only this time it was different, instead of letting him in all the way, no the visor closed shut, blood everywhere, as Felix gasped for air, screaming his lungs out, trying to push open the hydraulics of the visor. But it was fruitless, He would die here, another victim of the cursed Mecha. 

But unlike all of the other times, Felix’s eyes snapped directly onto his, a hand outstretched as he weakly called out.

“V-Vortex.” 

That got the ghost into action, rushing to his side, pulling him up and off of his mech's closed visor, blood following as his legs were left outside. He placed two hands on his cheeks. “Felix, First aid, Listen to me, it’s all going to be ok, you need to fight him. You need to fight Shockwave off. None of this is real. You are not hurt. I will never harm you like this. This is all him trying to scare you into giving up. So please. Felix. Don’t give up on yourself… Don’t give up on me.”

A hand was placed on his own cheeks, the smell of blood was strong, as Felix smiled. “You came.” “I,, Of course I came, I’m not an idiot, the only one who’s allowed to control you is me. Got it. No one is taking that away from me!”

Felix laughed weekly, hoisting himself up so he could wrap his arms around Vortex’s neck. “Got any ideas on how to leave the deep corners of my mind?” 

“I may know a way, so hang on tight baby.” He grinned, sharp fangs showing. Then they were taking off, out of the fake memories. Felix gained his legs back, and the blood disappearing the moment they came back to the darkness. 

Then they were being thrown back into real life. Vortex knew it was real mostly because he felt cold, ghostly, and not solid like he had been in Felix’s mind. The man in question gasped loudly, throwing his head forward, saliva dripping from his mouth. The mech paused, it had been moving before but now it was stopped with no one playing with the controls. 

Felix immediately took his hands off, realizing that he had just touched the one thing that had killed off multiple other pilots. Vortex just grinned at Felix’s worry, it was so cute, he really wanted to chomp down on him, perhaps find a way to make him a ghost piloting this mech alongside him. 

But no, they had bigger issues to attend too. There was electricity that flowed through the helmet into Felix, making him scream again. Damn it, Shcokwave was not going to let up was he. He will have to break his own rule. 

“Felix Pilot me.” “W-what, Pilot- I’m not going to- AHK”

“You can and you will, I am ordering you to pilot me, While I take on Shockwave. Don’t disappoint me, Aiddy.” His Grin was back to being sharp and full of venom, disappearing into the mecha itself, He was ready to defend Felix with his life. Not to let a single code from Shockwave get anywhere near Felix. 

He trusted the man not to fuck him up. Because it was no longer just him on the line, it was both of them. With a yell from the both of them, One piloting the mech like second nature while the other took on the waves of code.

They will stop Shockwave, once and for all.

-----------

This will possibly be the last chapter. But If I think of more, I'll just make a third chapter, hope you all liked it.

[lokisswiftie]

My beloved ghost and Me (Spencer Reid x Reader)

3.2k words

First time writing for Spencer, please be nice! I’m open for requests :)

Summary: Spencer Reid was your entire world. Until he died, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of him. But Is the ghost of him more present than you expected?

Warnings: Main Character Death (it’s literally the premise of the fanfic), mentions of Guns/Gunshots, loss and grief is a key theme, Reader is probably depressed, BAU!Reader, Heavy Angst, descriptions of violence, Ghost!Spencer, possibly ooc Spencer because I’ve never wrote for him before, written with early seasons Spence in mind. Yes I did make Wuthering Heights the book, who is going to stop me? Tell me if there’s any I missed.

When you first met Spencer Reid, you were both young agents at the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Before he ever became close to you, you’d found yourself slightly intimidated by his vast intellect. Still, you grew close fast, Spencer Reid was a kind person, more than that all his little quirks seemed to make you like him even more. The rest of the team could see you both falling for eachother fast, they could see the way his eyes always found you after he told a fact- searching for your approval. He always got it.

There was reluctance to accept the love between you. Love could hurt, and the two of you had experienced enough hurt to know that. But try as he might, Spencer Reid could not pull his eyes away from you. He could not stop himself from wanting you. The longing between you grew and resistance was futile. So on that quiet night at some hotel the team was staying at, when he had sought you out and your lips had met for the first time, it was a breath of relief after so long pretending.

After that your life was filled with Spencer Reid, and you woke up in the morning when the sun was creeping through your windows and saw him next to you and knew this was were you needed to be. You saw a brightness in him that seemed to pull you towards him, like a moth to a flame. Though, in the time that Spencer Reid was in your life he had only ever hurt you once. The pain of that flame came unexpectedly.

You both knew that with your work, with the job that you both had that there was danger. Part of the reason you both had for being so reluctant to be together was that something happening to one of you in the field was a haunting thought. And it could happen. And though you reassured eachother constantly, promised to be careful and tried to be… it did happen.

You never should have left him. There was a sinking feeling of dread in your gut the moment Spencer even proposed the idea of splitting up, but you had pushed it down. You had given the okay, agreed to him taking the back of the building and pushed down the crawling feeling of nausea in your gut.

Less than a minute. Less than a minute after your beloved had left your sight, the snap of gunshots echoed through the air. Your head had snapped in the direction of the sound, hands flying to your radio to alert Hotch that something had happened. Something had gone badly wrong.

Try as you might since that day, you can’t forget the sight of Spencer on the floor of the building, dark blood pooling around him. His eyes had been wide with almost childlike surprise, looking at the blood on his clothes like he didn’t even realise what it was. You stayed beside him till the EMTs came, and he’d begged you not to go. While you had been holding onto his steadily whitening hand, he remained as calm as he could and promised you everything would be okay.

Spencer died in the hospital. The gunshots- yes, that bastard had shot the love of your life multiple times- had broken inside him. Just like something had broken inside you the moment the doctors told you and the team that Spencer was gone. The rest of your team were doing their best to support you, but loss weighs down heavily. Especially when someone like Spencer is gone.

Since Spencer died life has felt at a stand still. Mandatory leave has resulted in you trapped at your apartment. Surrounded by your shared belongings. In the months after he died, Penelope was a rock for you, and bless her she really did try to keep you steady. She forced you to actually venture outside the apartment. And on the days when she arrived and you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed, she stayed with you too.

Nothing could replace him though. And the team couldn’t be there all the time- you understood, of course. But when you were alone, you felt the darkness creeping in. You couldn’t bare to open the curtains so your apartment remained in half darkness most of the time. When you slept, you dreamt of Spencer. And though you knew it wasn’t helping… you were just glad to see his face again. Even if he did fade with the morning light.

Three months after Spencer died, and you think you’ve driven yourself mad with pacing your apartment like this. Your daily routine has turned into getting up, and finding a new area of the house to be flooded with memories of Spencer by. Today you were standing by the bookshelf, swaddled in your pyjamas. Tears wet your cheeks. They always do.

This apartment had originally been Spencer’s, but when you moved into it he had accommodated space for your belongings. Both of you being avid readers, a large chunk of that was books. Your fingers trace over the spines of countless books, eyes flickering to titles. You don’t have an eidetic memory, but you can remember Spencer’s voice reading these stories to you during cold winter days, his arms around you tightly. You pull your hands away when you find a book Spencer had read to you late one night when you were both stressed after a case. Wuthering Heights.

You can feel the tightness in your throat already, and when you close your eyes you can see him again. Your hands hover over the bookshelf while your mind flicks back to that day with Spencer. Your Spencer.

“Are You okay?”

Spencers voice broke you out of the trance you had been in, your head snapping up to look at him in the bathroom mirror. He looked exhausted, already wearing his pyjamas and leaning on the door with tired eyes. He’s been watching you. Watching you staring at your hands, soaking them in the sink for so long they’ve started to prune. The water stopped being filled with blood long ago, but the urge to scrub your hands so hard the skin peels prevails. You wipe your hand on your face, sniffing while you quickly drain the clear water from the sink.

“I’m fine. Sorry I’ll be right in-“

You freeze in the middle of drying your hands, staring at yourself in the mirror. You can see the haunted look in your own eyes. Somehow the flickering bathroom light isn’t bright enough for you to forget what you saw on that case. Both of you know it. Spencer watches you for a moment, watching how you visibly recoil at the sight of yourself. For a long moment neither of you speak, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breathing.

When Spencer’s arms gently encircle your form, you jump at first before settling into him. Admittedly, you’re shaking.

“It’s Not your fault.”

He whispers by your ear, his voice as soft as the sweater he’s wearing. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror and find your lip trembling. There’s a look of skittish fear in your eyes that’s strange to you. You don’t remember starting to cry.

“I know-“

You try and reassure him, unable to meet the soft brown eyes you know are staring back at you.

“It’s Not your fault,”

He repeats it anyway, saying your name with a firmness. you realise how much you’ve begun to lean on him, and how his hands steady you. You’re filled with a rush of emotions and you turn around in his arms before he can see you fully start sobbing. Spencer pulls you into his chest without hesitation. Your eyes sting so you press your face further into his neck, and he repeats those words over and over again until you can believe it. Until you can’t cry any more, and he’s gently rubbing your back and pulling away.

You know you must look even more of a mess now, skin puffy with broken sobs. But he doesn’t look at you with anything less than adoration. His hand comes up to hold the side of your face and you exhale shakily, the space between you tiny.

“Let’s go to bed baby,”

And so you do, following Spencer into your shared bedroom and slipping under the lavender covers. You look up In confusion when he doesn’t join you, and your eyes land on him as he finally comes to join you with a book in his hands. He smiles when he sees you squint in questioning, and you could melt at the adoration in his eyes at that moment. He slips into bed beside you, beckoning you closer which you eagerly comply with and find your designated place in his arms.

“What’s this?”

You question finally, looking up at the sharp curve of his jawline from where your head rests on his shoulder. His face is focused as he flicks through to the first page of the book.

“Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë.”

He replies, and sensing the scrunch of your nose in confusion he adds with a coy smile.

“I’m going to read to you.”

You’re sure you’re burdening him with your unpleasantness, because once again you find yourself replying in a far more abrasive tone than his.

“I’ll probably fall asleep before you’re even started.”

You grumble, and you’re not sure why you’re fighting off the affection but something within you wrestled with your morals, begging you to be difficult. Maybe to see if he’ll love you anyway.

He turns his head to look at you when you say that in that specific tone, and his eyes have this way of seeing through you.

“That’s the point. Get comfortable, I’m about to start.”

He turns his head back to the book and as promised, begins to tell the story to you like you’re a little kid. You settle down without another word of protest, too exhausted and too content by the sound of his voice to fight it anymore. You find yourself Inhaling deeply while you watch his fingers dart over the page, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and drifting in a sea of his voice.

As promised, you slip into a sleep quickly, one far more restful than would be without his help. And when Spencer tenderly brushes your hair back from your face you lean into his touch. Sometimes you still find yourself leaning, but find nothing left of him to hold you.

A choked gasp leaves your throat at the memory, and then before you can judge the situation better you grab the book tightly by the spine. It’s hurting your hand how hard you’re gripping the ornate cover, clammy hand shaking with rage. The sound of your own crying has become like white noise over the past few months. It's filled so much of your time recently that the sound of silence is more distressing than the wretched sobs.

Your eyes flash and once again your head is filled with images of Spencer. When his eyes appear in your mind, you hurl the book right at your front door. For a moment you choke on your own sobs, before caving into the bookcase and without much grace slump to the floor. With your eyes blurry with tears you can see the book, it’s spine looking cracked. Spencer would have hated that. Spencer would have hated you for doing that.

“God, I’m sorry-“

It’s pathetic, you tell yourself. How often you find yourself apologising to the memory of your partner. The reason why changes every time. There’s so many reasons to beg for his forgiveness now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry-“

You wail, and you can’t even be bothered to think about your neighbours. The first few times your wailing had disturbed them they had been understanding, and they gave you the same pitying smiles in the corridors that everyone did. Now, you're certain their sympathy has worn off. The bookcase makes a noise while you suddenly slam your head back against it. It aches deep into your skull, and when you find that it somewhat muffled the sound of Spencer’s voice in your head you do it again. And again, and again and again and again and-

“Y/N.”

No. You’d been slamming your head back so hard you were starting to see stars. Surely reprieve from the torment that is his voice should have come by now.

“Y/N.”

No, he sounds clearer this time. You almost scream in frustration. You weakly hit your head again.

“No!-“

Your voice comes out in a scream that silences the voice for a moment. The relief doesn’t even get a chance to fill you, before your chest starts to feel like it’s being crushed. You keep Your eyes screwed tight shut to avoid the sting of your own salty tears, and deep down to avoid his voice. Jesus, you must be past the point of insanity now.

“Y/N!”

Like a crackle of thunder, Spencer Reid’s voice echoes into the air around you. And it is a startling realisation, one that spurs you to blink your eyes open- but you’re certain. You didn’t make that up. He’s here.

Tears blur your vision, and you struggle to make out the room in front of you for a moment before it swims into focus. The sight rips the breath from your lungs all at once. Your eyes travel up, from his shoes which are shiny and polished, to the top of his head where his hair shines like a halo in the warm lighting of your apartment. There, like a mirage in the depth of the desert, is Spencer. Your Spencer. And he looks back at you with soft eyes.

The seconds where you stare up at him like a worshipper to a god seem to stretch into hours. You gape like a fish wrenched from the ocean, silently begging for words. Begging for an explanation for the man you love standing In Front of you, when for the past months all you’ve done is remember him dead.

Finally the silence breaks when you wheeze out a reply, breathing his name like a prayer while tears threaten to cloud your vision again. You frantically wipe them away, lest he disappear from the world again and leave you more broken than ever.

“Spencer?”

He looks back at you, his eyes startlingly alive. So bright, you could almost kid yourself that the young man before you is still alive and well, and not buried with all of his future in the ground with him. The guilt eats like maggots under your skin, a rot you’re certain is polluting the air around you. The way he looks at you with some kind of divine forgiveness in his eyes does not ease this feeling.

“I’m here, it’s me.”

He replies, his voice eerily nostalgic. And then he reaches out a hand to you, and you look at it. You realise how pathetic you must look, on the ground with your lips wobbling while you suck in breath after breath. You can’t seem to care when all you feel is disbelief. You stare at his palm; you don’t trust yourself to grab ahold of it in case he vanishes like mist in front of you.

“How… are you here?”

Your voice cracks and his fingers twitch like the sound pains him. You look up at him and can’t restrain the flood of liquid to your eyes when you say the words out loud.

“You’re dead.”

He looks down at you, his eyes warm with heartbreaking pity, and then he comes closer as he drops to the ground. You watch with stunned half believing eyes as he sits beside you, leaving a distance of approximately five inches between you both as he too comes to lean against the bookshelf.

“I was. I don’t know. I think I still am, I’m not sure I-“

His voice is like a fever dream, every syllable making you shiver with memories. You stare up at his face, and he cuts himself off and looks down at you. That’s when you know this must be real, because he has that look. The one that seems like he’s totally enraptured with you. None of your previous visions of him had given you that mercy, the burn of hatred in his eyes was more common. Spencer looks down at you with sorrow.

“I remember dying. I remember… watching everything that happened after.”

He explains, fixing his eyes on his hands while you stare at him numbly.

“I watched you for so long, Y/N. I tried to talk to you- I think I wasn’t strong enough then, maybe or something like that.”

Your heart, which you didn’t know could still shatter further, somehow does. Spencer. He’s been here, within reach but somehow not. If you could remember how to, you would laugh bitterly at the revelation that the universe has found yet another way to kick you down.

“What changed? How are you here now?- I don’t understand-“

You frantically ask, and he quickly reaches for you. His eyes flash with hurt for a moment when you duck away from his touch before they fill with understanding.

“Y/N, please- I’m here. I don’t know how, I think maybe I’m… stronger? I’ve been trying to get you to notice-“

You listen to him and at this your mind flashes with memories of the various objects that have been falling off of tables. You didn’t care at the time, but the pieces fall into place now. He continues.

“…I saw you hurting yourself and I didn’t think about it, I just spoke. And you heard me.”

There’s a moment of silence where the world seems to settle- it turned on its head when you saw him, and you’re not sure it will ever return to the way it was before. But the world around you settles as you grapple with the knowledge.

You stare at your palms stunned, and you can hear the anxious tapping of Spencer’s fingers against his thigh. It’s a sound you didn’t realise you’d missed. It’s then you realise sluggishly that he’d tried to touch you, and you’d pushed him away. It’s then that your body is filled with overwhelming need for Spencer, and it’s the moment that you realise you can have him again.

He lets out an exclamation when you quickly turn towards him and briefly look at his face. Not bloody, not bruised, not pale and lifeless. You choke on a sob, and launch yourself into his arms again.

“Oh my god, Spencer-“

You sob, and his arms wrap around you without hesitation. He’s just as eager to have you in his arms again, and he doesn’t flinch at the way you squeeze him harshly. He’s real. You reach up and you can feel the softness of his hair under your fingertips. You bury your face in his neck and you can smell his cologne once more. Then his hand moves up to gently cup the back of your head, which you’ve only just realised has started to sting. He cradles you close to him, and you can sense the worry emanating from him.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

He whispers, and presses a firm kiss to your forehead. You shudder at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as his breath tickles the hair on your neck.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

[indinvitydsire]

He has his hands on your hips, gripping them with rough hands. His thrusts made your eyes go cross and your thoughts go absolutely stupid.

"B-Bucky-.." you whine his name between moans.

"That's it, baby... Moan my- fuck- name, fucking scream it" he grunts, hips slapping into yours. His metal hand reaches down, circling your clit. You let out a moan, your hand reaches up and grips his shoulders. "Atta girl, doin' so well f'me.. such a pretty fucking face.." he says, his hand reaches up to your face, holding your chin.

"Open." He commands, forcing your mouth open. He spits in your mouth multiple times "Fucking swallow it. Good girl. What happened to that attitude you had earlier, hmm? Is that little brat gone now?"

You nod. He grips your chin harder, "I asked you a fucking question, answer it. Fuck- you clenched.. you like that, don't you? Me fucking degrading you? Naughty fucking girl"

You reach your hand down to play with your clit, he slaps your hand away. He then takes your hands, pinning them above you. "Wait, no.." he says, pulling out of you to change positions. He flips you so you're face down. He pins your hands above your head, slipping his cock back inside you.

"Fuck-.. I've been fucking you for 20 minutes and you're still tight.. think 'm gonna cum like a teenager when I'm done with you.." his thrusts soon get sloppy, he reaches down again and rubs your clit. "Cum f'me... C'mon, doll..."

Your climax hits you like a freight train, your eyes roll back and your legs shake.

"Good fucking girl.. cum f'me, let it all out.. you're doing so well.." he growls out. You're practically screaming at this point, most likely waking up the neighbors. He soon reaches his climax, cumming inside you.

He pulls out, going to grab a damp rag to wipe you down. "Did so well for me.. you okay, baby?"

You nod, getting up. You sink to your knees in front of him.

"And what are you doing, sweet girl?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowed. You giggle before responding, "cleaning you up.." he rolls his eyes.

"Then fucking get to it." His hand gently goes into your hair, he's already getting hard again. You gently lick his tip and shaft, running your tongue along him. "..'s so big.." you mumble, taking him into your mouth. He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair pulling slightly.

"Can I fuck your mouth, doll?.. gonna let me use you?" He asks gently, to which you nod. He takes your hair and makes a ponytail, gently pushing until you take all of him. "Breathe through your nose, baby.."

He then starts fucking your throat, you look up at him with teary eyes. "God, look at you... Fuck- so pretty on your knees... Such a good girl, you know exactly how to fucking please me.."

Soon, his thrusts get sloppy, his grip in your hair is rough. He groans as he spills in your mouth. "Fuck.. you okay, doll?.. can I pay you back?" You nod. He brings you up, setting you on the bed.

"Spread your legs f'me." He grips your knees, opening your legs. "Such a pretty pussy.. suits such a pretty little doll.." he gets on his knees, before pulling you to him.

He starts eating you like a man starved. "Tastes so fucking good.. could eat you every single fucking day.." he says, sucking on your clit. His fingers find their way inside you. You moan and whine, gripping his hair.

"Bucky!" You groan, closing your thighs around his head. He moves you so you're sitting on his face.

"Ride my fucking face.. grind on me, treat me like a fucking tool" he says, pulling you down by your thighs before eating your cunt. Your eyes roll back, you start grinding down on his face, his nose catching on your clit making you let out a moan. You whine, riding his face.

"Fuck, James! Oh God, I'm fucking cumming... I'm fucking cumming.." you shout as you soon reach your climax, legs shaking and clenching around his head.