#⤷ ᯽･ﾟ: peachy matters

[yasashiiku]

okay, I'm aware I'm going to disappoint some people, and I deeply apologize for that, but I'm going to put this blog on indefinite hiatus for the time being. you can find me hiding on @espectres, single muse blog for shou, hmu if you're interested as I won't be following first ( save for a few friends ), details under the cut if youre looking for an explanation, just be careful abt irl things.

this blog queue will still be running by fanarts & musings. I'll also be reblogging this post a couple of times, so feel free to softblock here if you want. thanks for ur time ♡

my mother went through shoulder surgery and I'm going to have to take over her share of work in the house, what was already difficult became even worse with our current state and the refugees we're housing, and my activity might even bevome lower than before but idk, running a multi has already been giving me anxiety and I don't believe I'm up for it anymore with all that's been happening.

[renewedarchives]

Ep. 6 Squirm

Life is life, quarantine is quarantine. Sickness is sickness. Love is often not love. Time for a bass boosted episode of the magnus archives.

Right of the bat, hate that word. Squirm, you feel it in your skin right away.

Timothy Hodge, December 9th, 2014. Location unspecified.  London

He’s a designer, graphic design? architectural design? Fashion design? Idk, but apparently it’s commission based and he spends his time off unwinding at the club.

Which honestly makes this one of the scariest statements outside of the monsters, I’ve never been to a club, but loud crowds are intimidating and uncomfortable.

It also revolves around the strange rituals of finding someone you've never met to take home and have sex with while just out and about, which is a wild and foreign concept to me.

Neither of them are drunk, she looks a bit fearful at first, and almost wordlessly they decide to get together.

They don’t really start talking until they’re already leaving the club to go to his place.  Her name is Harriet

She’s nervous and stares around every corner.  She starts visciously scratching her arms on the way there.

She relaxed a little once they got to his flat on the third floor at the site of his second deadlock. deadbolt, one of those two words.

She’s an art student, new to London, already been fucked up be some entity.  Got mugged by a beautiful pile of worms.

She saw the woman in the red dress laying in the glow of orange streetlamps, she saw small undulating movements underneath the cloth.  the woman suddenly rushed to her, pinning her to the wall and Harriet felt a great pain in her stomach.  

Is this why people love Jane Prentiss so much, they just want to be pinned to a wall that badly? Plenty of characters could do it, I don’t see any people lusting over..... That’s a lie, ya’ll some thirsty bitches out there just period.  No matter what character I put there, someone wants to get pegged by it or something, I guarantee.

After letting all this painful news out, she just kisses the guy and drags him to the bedroom.  Maybe she wants the worm queen too.

“I mean, we had sex, not much more to say about that really” Thank you for not.  I find descriptions of grisly body horror, much more pleasant.

“Something under her shoulder squirmed against my cheek" Ooh boy, you gonna get worms cuddlin like that.

This entire episode sounds like some abstinence PSA from the bible belt tbh.  

He left to go grab her some medicine, and her pained moaning stops after a loud wet thumping noise came from the bedroom.

He came back and could see nothing in the darkness of the room. He didn’t want to see what was in the room, he didn’t want to illuminate the room, but in a thin sliver of light from the window he could see a shape on the bed where she had been, just a pile of pitted flesh, worms swarming from every newly bored hole, spreading across the worm of a silvery carpet of insects.  

He decides it’s much easier and safer

Post statement

“This story is concerning” O rlly, Jon? It’s concerning? You’re finally a wee bit concerned. Wowee.

No evidence of arson and no sign of human remains.  Charred organic matter is found in the bedroom, but results to determine what organism it was prove unconclusive.

That would mean that everything human had been eaten away.

Harriet Lee was appropriately reported missing around this time. the bugs aren’t pulling any stranger bullshit and making an oogie boogie replica of a person to replace her.

Jon’s worried about none of these facts.  

He is however familiar with Jane Prentiss. The woman in the red dress matches her descriptions, and mentions that Timothy Hodge will have to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

Final thoughts

I’ve always wondered how much Jon knew before the podcast started.

Jurgen Leitner is a major figure in the industry, so of course Jon is familiar with him.

But Jane Prentiss is an avatar of the corruption, that I imagine would have most of her work in public Section 31′d and covered up right? All evidence of her work Jon could find would most likely come from the archive. So what does he consider a verifiable source here when he’s so skeptical of the rest?

I mean I guess, at this point, he does think she just has some form of terrible voracious parasite.  Rather than there being anything remotely spectral or ethereal about her.

But still he knows about Jane Prentiss, but has never heard about Micheal Krewe before two statements ago, or Agnes Montague, or the equally eldritch Jared Hopworth.

I guess Jane simply is the most feral of the avatars.  Her victims are chosen without reason or prejudice. As should be true from someone operating as a human embodiment of illness.  So it’s not exactly hard to find cases of her.  

None are safe from the love of her and her swarm.

She’s also definitely a top.

Recommended weather: Falling For U by Peachy! and mxmtoon

[ofsahars]

hey guys ! my sincerest apologies for everything going on on the dash right now. i’m going to be making one last post about this so we can clear up confusion / have a psa up about this particular mun who likes to join rps and spread hate when she doesn’t get the attention she wants. under the cut, i’ve written up a brief explanation of what’s been going on with me and the admin team, complete with screenshots to prove this mun’s wrongdoing. 

this all began yesterday, tuesday, july 2nd, when an ic rumor was spread on the dash. now, we’re no strangers to ic rumors here; we love them. we love ic drama. however, this particular mun was not asked about a hurtful rumor being spread about their muse beforehand, so they were uncomfortable and upset, which is completely understandable. they came to me, dani, the admin, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. i’m here to help resolve drama and get to the bottom of things ( and good god, i really did with the help of our members and the other admins. ) 

here are screenshots of me speaking to said member:

after they expressed that they’d like me to speak the mun, em, i messaged her-- very politely, i might add--- which i’ll provide screenshots of right now:

see ? polite af on my end. not once did i snap or accuse her of anything. and i thought that was the end of it. the mun that had had rumors spread about their muse was back online, and everything seemed just peachy. come to find out, when em said she spoke to the mun about it, she really meant that she gave a short, bullshit apology just to be able to say she did so. 

think i don’t have screenshots of that ? i do. here they are !

although it was a half-assed apology, that should’ve been that. but then the mun got an anonymous message:

now, admittedly, my first thought was that it was em. and maybe that was wrong of me to think right off the bat. i shouldn’t just assume that someone is doing something as serious as sending anon hate to my members. but i was right. it most definitely was em sending hurtful messages like this.

because this entire time, she was having a great time talking shit:

you sure used the word joke a lot, em. you expect me to believe that it was a coincidence that that’s exactly what the anon hate sent to they said ? and you’re talking shit about them ?

so mad, right ? mad enough to send anon hate ? i definitely think so. and this whole blocking and blacklisting people you don’t like is tired. you’ve been doing it since the first time you were here under the alias sybbie. 

“really doubt she got any anon hate”. you know what ? you’re right. i didn’t. but you knew that, didn’t you ? because you’re the one sending anon hate, and you didn’t send shit to me. you weren’t even online, but just minutes before, you reblogged a picture on your muse’s-- vesper’s-- blog, em. if you’re going to lie, you can at least try and keep things consistent. and i’m not even mentioning the various screencaps i have of you talking shit about my other members since you don’t know there’s a line between ic and ooc interactions. 

you said it yourself two screenshots ago: you graduated high school so long ago. you’re what ? 28 ? 29 ? grow the hell up already. i am nineteen and handling this way more maturely than you could ever hope to.

so, ultimately, i made the decision to remove you from the roleplay. i’ve seen the hurtful things you’ve said behind people’s back, i came to the obvious conclusion that you’ve been sending anon hate, and i very politely ( probably too politely ) told you that we’d be posting your unfollows:

i have never been anything but kind and welcoming to you, but you take ic things personally. every time you show up in this rp, there is constant anon hate to my members. i will no longer allow you to play the victim when all the facts are here. there is so, so much more i could say about you and the hurtful things you’ve said about my members, but i am a kind person, and i’m only going to show the facts of the matter at hand. 

i gave you a chance to communicate. you gave a half-assed apology and responded to me with one sentence. i gave you a chance to come back to this roleplay after the first time you came here and started blocking people left and right because you were butthurt. i gave you multiple chances to come be a part of this very loving, very loyal group of amazing writers, but you decided to take it upon yourself to spread your narrative of manipulation and hate instead of a narrative of coming together to write incredible, thrilling stories about characters that i gave you the liberty to create. and that is something i will stand for no longer. and i ask you, please, do not send any of my members any more anon hate. grow up, stop lying, and move on from this. 

and now you’re mad enough to go around talking to rpt’s about us because we’re attacking you for being right and finally standing up against you ? bye.

f

[riverdeens17]

PSA for people in “that” weird relationship

I want you to know that I am also one of those people in “that” weird relationship. For those of you who don’t know what I mean, it's this. 

I’ve been in a relationship for two years now and I love the person I’m with. However, some things he dislikes, I absolutely love. And I just don’t want people to think they have to put the things they enjoy tucked away in a box to please others. 

My boyfriend doesn’t like me dying my hair, he doesn’t like the idea of me having a tattoo or getting one, he doesn’t like me binding (yes, I bind my chest), he doesn’t like that I’m on social media so much, he doesn’t like me wearing makeup. Honestly, the list could go on forever. 

I stopped dying my hair and even shaved my head so my natural color would grow in for him. I stopped thinking of ideas for tattoos. I started to not bind as much, then went to not binding just when I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him. The same thing with makeup, I stopped wearing it for a bit, but then just started not wearing it around him. 

But I don’t want people to think he’s a bad person because he’s not. All of those things that I stopped doing were personal choices that I made to make him happy. And I understand that in every relationship you have to be willing to make sacrifices. But you shouldn’t have to sacrifice things you enjoy for the happiness of others, no matter how much you love them. 

YOUR HAPPINESS COMES BEFORE ALL ELSE!!!

My hair has grown out to its natural color for almost 10 months, I’ve been posting not as much on socials, I put on subtle makeup that he doesn’t notice, I wear a little bit bigger shirts and jackets over my binder so he doesn’t notice. But I shouldn’t have to do that. 

I should be able to see my boyfriend with purple hair and a red lip without fearing to upset him. I should be able to post a picture of him and me without being criticized for it. I should be able to wear a suit and not worry about him being frightened. 

I’ve hid away in a box for two years to please him and I’m honestly sick and tired of it. But he guilts me into thinking I’m hurting him or that I’m ugly/making myself ugly by doing that. When the reality is...I’m not. 

Dying my hair is a form of self-expression, brown hair is so boring sometimes for me (no judgment to people who have brown hair, if you don’t want to dye your hair then don’t, this is just personal for me) that I have to do something new with it. 

I love trying out black lipsticks and smokey eyes, or peachy blush and nude shades. But I feel ugly for experimenting. 

No. Relationship. Should. Make. Anyone. Feel. Ugly. For. Self. Expression. Or. Experimentation.

So long story short, “that” weird relationship is when you feel judged, but your partner isn’t doing something others would find judgey. 

And I want you all to know, if your relationship has been 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 years like mine, it’s okay to get up and leave. You deserve someone who will not only support you getting a tattoo, but will hold your hand while it’s getting done. You deserve someone who will not only keep you company while you dye your hair but will tell you when you’ve missed a section. You deserve someone who will SUPPORT YOU IN EVERYTHING YOU DO NO MATTER WHAT!!! 

If they love you, truly, then they will love and cherish your weirdness as well. 

(Sorry for the long rant, had to vent and felt that this was important because some people are in relationships that aren’t specifically abusive, but are very manipulative, but not in the typical way.)

2-4-2019

[dahlialittlejames]

Miracle Elixir

Goofing with the logistics of a goo transformation that isn’t instant, all AU but always fun to get the good nasty vibes goin’.

“Lemonade?” Holly asks.

Nick smiles. “Aw, jeez. Don’t go to trouble for me.”

“Nonsense, Nicky! We have a spread in my office for a reason. It may not look like it by my figure, but I try to stay fed and watered in a job like this. I’d be insulted if you didn’t partake!”

Nick’s smile goes a little sheepish. Well, if that’s the case. He hasn’t eaten since this afternoon, so if it’s rude not to eat he won’t gripe. He takes a little cup and fills it, sipping idle as he eyes Holly’s office. It’s a cute place. Every bit the garden she likes to call her business, even if it’s still in its seedling stages. “Thanks! You really know how to make a guy feel home, Ms. Hemlock.”

“You’re looking to stay in Perkins permanently, then?” Holly asks.

“Oh! I didn’t think about it.” Nick goes red. It’s the truth, but he feels weird considering it. “Maybe just the year.”

“Give it time,” Holly says. Soft, almost to herself.

Nick waves. He holds in his arms the rest of his samples, since she reminded him. “Yeah! We’ll see what happens, captain! Er, Ms. Hemlock. Bye, boss!”

“Goodbye, Nicky!”

Nick climbs into his van. Smells faintly of lemons, and he grins. He’ll unload the rest of his equipment and samples in the morning. He has time to. It’s been weird, being in flux so long that he feels like he’s been living out of the same two cardboard boxes. He hadn’t even asked Holly about shower or tub in the lab, even if she seemed to assume he’d be staying there from the couch and clothes.

He eyes the moonlight out the window. Maybe he’ll try to move deeper into town. See what happens.

When he pulls into the lab, he’s almost pleased to see it. It’s not home, but it could be. He kisses his fingertip and boops it to the stuffed critters on his dash. “See ya in the morning,” he tells them, before stumbling inside.

He doesn’t flip on the lights for long. He doesn’t dress down to PJs either, just sorta reclines on the couch and dozes before he can think to get ready.

The phone on the service counter wakes him up. That, and the splitting headache, which has him staggering up the shut the ringing up.

His hands slip a little on the receiver. Sunshine hits his eyes and he’s blinking. “Nick Cervos, what’s up?”

“Hello, Nicky! How’s the lab?” Holly Hemlock trills into his ear. Nick holds the receiver away a little. The clock declares it about 11am. Huh.

“Uh, it’s great,” he mumbles. He rubs at his eye and ends up smudging his vision more. Burns a little. “Ow!”

“Nicky?”

“Nothing, just something in my eye,” Nick says. “Are you planning on coming out today? I can set up everything fine on my own.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest from your trip?”

“It’s a five hour drive, ma’am. I think I’m good to go!”

Surprise fills Holly’s tone. “Oh. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Nick says, hand on his gut. Which is wet. His shirt’s soaked through, and kinda sticky. Huh. He looks over to his couch. No stains of anything, so where could it have come from. He sniffs his hand. Smells like lemons. He smears it on his pants. “Thanks for checking in, though!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Holly says. “Let me know who everything goes!”

“Will do,” he says, a little absent, and hangs up the receiver. His hands are still wet no matter how much he rubs them on his pants. He keeps rubbing and his palms don’t get any drier.

He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Like wax, his fingertip smudges, peachy flesh worn down to yellowy orange. Encased not in blood, but in this gooey substance like oil. Like soap. “Huh,” he says.

His fingers wear down as he rubs them with his thumb, like he’s rubbing off paint. Underneath, a gooey hand with the bones inside, but those too are dissolving. He moves and the bones dissolve a little bit more, until it’s just chunks of white only barely connected. It’s like tiny teeth trapped in jello. He gives his hand another wiggle.

It falls to the floor with a wet slap.

“Ew.” Weird.

His other hand goes to his belly. He fumbles his shirt and, sure enough, it’s all yellow and orange. Most of the fabric has eaten into his skin. He can’t get his hand past it. His chest stifles. He feels full, like he’s sick, like he can’t breathe.

He coughs. It comes out wet, like lava that ends up over his fingers. It’s burning, like a chemical burn. Like dry ice in his guts. He spits it out the side of his mouth, a glob of orange that sizzles the linoleum.

He kneels on the tiles. More comes out like drool, if drool usually left your throat raw as if you’d been gargling sparks. “Okay, okay,” he tells himself. “Everything’s going to be okay.” He dips a finger into the goo of his belly again.

His already stung fingers go deeper than skin, into reddening sludge and burns. He screams. “Okay! I won’t do that again. Okay. Fuck.”

Maybe he can wash it off. He shambles up to his feet and heads for the bathroom, then catches himself on the wall before the breakroom. His soles cling to the linoleum. He peels a foot up. Same sludge. He’s leaving a snail trail behind him.

One sink is good as another. Even if he has a bad feeling about it. His hand drips goo now, too, wearing down slower now that he’s not egging it on.

He reaches the sink. He runs his hand under the water.

If the goo burning him up is hell, the water burning up the goo is its deepest pit. The goo bubbles up his hand even quicker, as if running up his wrist to his arm to escape. He screams and turns it off.

The next hand doesn’t fall off, just drips. The drops inch toward his ankle, cling to it, and he hisses. It’s not as bad there, where it’s already burned. It’s seeping back in like blood into a wound, and he steadies on the lip of the sink. Then pushes away. Not again.

He staggers away, tries to think about this scientifically. He’s learning. What’s he learning? First observation: goo burns him. Second: water burns goo, and it’s not recommended. Third: goo has a mind of its own. Whatever intent it has, it’s this. Eating him up, until he’s gone.

The fear he feels permeates his body and he can’t get his breathing under control. He’s too thickly filled to breathe. It’d be like trying to breathe in syrup. Goo’s eating into his lungs and he braces on the chair. He talks himself down, talks without air because somehow it’s possible and he’ll take whatever reassurance he can get.

He manages to get back to the main lab. He dials the number Alan left him.

The phone rings and rings. He gets a beep.

“No, no- okay,” he says. He can’t take a deep breath and forges on without one. “Mo! Hey, but- uh-” How to put this? “Don’t freak out! Something’s just- wrong with me! I need Annie over, if you can call her. Please don’t worry about me- SHIT.” His fingers slip and ooze together. The receiver begins to dissolve. There’s almost a tang in his hand. His hand. Tasting burning plastic and he spits another glob of goo out.

The line goes dead in his ear. “Mo?”

Fuck. Fuck! He has to fling off the phone clinging to his palm. Okay.

Now what to do? He’s a pathologist, versed in the fine art of throwing ideas at a wall until one sticks. He needs a soundboard.

He fumbles a stirring rod into turning on his recorder. The machine shudders to life and he relaxes a little. To calm himself with his usual rhythm, he even dates it. “October 11th, 1987, 11:03am. Something’s happening to my body and it can’t be good. I mean, I try to keep an open mind, but the pain’s pretty bad. If anyone finds this and plays it back, maybe don’t. And maybe don’t touch any of this goo you find.”

His hand feels heavier and he lets the stirring rod clink to the floor. Heat buzzes up his arms. He’s trembling all over as it rushes to meet the heat in his chest, down into his belly. The effect’s spreading. He feels like a PSA for kids who eat too many lemon drops.

He grits his teeth. Even the inside of his mouth’s starting to feel off. Too wet and too thick and burning like a mouthful of tabasco. His words aren’t disturbed, though. “Uh, right. Symptoms. I’m falling apart. I think. I’d get the details if I could work my equipment, but my hands aren’t doing so good. Hand. I lost a hand earlier. Ugh, everything tastes like lemons!” he says, and spits a loogie of goo. He sticks out his tongue.

Goo overtakes it and turns it glowing orange. His eyes cross to see it.

“Ew,” he says, clear as if he’d spoken. “That’s a thing, too. Talking without moving my mouth. So that’s fun.”

His feet sink deeper into the linoleum. It’s about an inch or so. “Losing some altitude,” he says, tongue still out. The heat he’s feeling has dulled to an ache all over. Less of a sting when it’s not in one spot, but his feet are taking it worst. “I gotta stop putting strain on this until I know what’s going on.”

Nick sits down on the linoleum. He lays his legs out in front of him and frowns at his feet.

“Aw. I guess no more toes.” He slept in his socks so now his feet are stuck in the shape of them, even if they’re almost entirely goo now. Makes some sorta sense but he’s still bummed.

He goes on to describe the rest of himself for the recording, taking stock. Any time he loses goo, it comes magnetizing back. The goo’s coming from the inside out, so if it was on his surface when he woke up, his guts should have liquified in his sleep. All of his insides have been gone for hours, and here he is, somehow not dead.

“I’m not complaining or anything,” he says, hands on his belly. “It’s just not the greatest thing to wake up to, ya know? It’s like being sick but not as uncomfortable. If you don’t count the burning. Can’t breathe but I don’t even need to now! If water didn’t probably kill me, I’d go deep sea diving!”

He sniffs but his nose is overwhelmed with lemons. His face has a sheen to it but it’s relatively ungooed, aside from his mouth. He can feel the hair against his neck getting damp, though. His clothes can’t even be plucked off his skin. After a point he can’t even get up off the floor. His back’s stuck. There’s a dusty taste up his back but it’s not as unsettling as the plastic.

He just lays there talking and talking into the afternoon. Where else can he go? It’s a downpour outside, anyway. Who knows how long he’d last in it?

It’s about 2pm when he feels his headache flare up and finally die off. Good riddance, even if he feels something go dribbling out his ear. Goo, probably, but he can still hear. “That’s gross. Guess my brain’s gone. Like I ever used it for anything! Ha!” He chuckles, half-hearted. “Didn’t think this would be how I go out. Feels all Shakespearean, though. Getting my brain eaten by science.”

He puts a goopy finger in his ear. It sinks past his skull, painlessly since it’s goo to goo touch. Somehow he can feel it now. The same way he can taste the dirt against his back in sharper detail, it’s sending messages to his legs again to shift a little on the floor. That’s him, doing the moving and the touching and the panicking when he tries to fling parts of it away. It’s like it wants to be close, to be part of him.

He sticks his gooey tongue out. His teeth are worn down, and the sides of his mouth. He’s filled up to the back of his throat, instead of hollowed out for breathing and eating. “I should probably be freaking out, huh?” he yawns. Yet, come 3pm, he’s just resigned to it.

He spends the rest of his time singing to himself. The recorder’s been rolling all day but it’s not like he’ll use it again. He’s kinda hoping it gets found, and kinda hoping it doesn’t. Not by Alan or Mary-Anne. Anyone else, sure. Maybe Holly Hemlock so she knows she needs a new quality assurance chemist.

He’s halfway into Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat- ensemble cast: Nick Cervos, because without a mouth he can project more than one voice- when the last burns spark over his eyes. His vision’s foggy, like he’s lying at the bottom of a pool. He tries to blink it away.

There’s a puddle on the linoleum. It goes still.

Then trembles and glows. It’s orange and yellow and white and trying to think. It’s tired and only barely grappling onto life. But it manages a torso and limbs and a head and a mess of other features until the goo rises off the tiles.

Nick Cervos holds his head. His fingers are back, distinct and separate again, and digging into his scalp. His eyes blink open, white with no pupils but a nice ring of orange in the centers. He can see, and think about how weird he feels or the fact that he’s not on the floor anymore.

He looks down. “Ha. Ha! Nice! I thought we were down for the count, me!” he says. His voice comes from all over his body. He moves his mouth but it’s all for show. He pumps his fists in the air. “Hell yeah! I’m alive! Take that, living goo!”

He still sees no puddle on the ground. Oh, yeah. “Oh! I’m the living goo.”

[yasashiiku]

𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ! Opening commissions once more ! Please consider supporting my brand, and take a look at my doc, containing all that you need to know, alongside some examples ( ´ ▽ ` )/ ♡.

[yasashiiku]

in case someone doesn't catch it in the doc~ my Kyojuro will be exclusively shipped w/ @tvrningout's Kaiya ! & she'd be part of his canon from now & on ! :')

[yasashiiku]

IT'S READY. Please fill out my interest checker ♡

[yasashiiku]

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