#and in the end they split apart and live their lives individually

[goji-pilled]

i think out all media i consumed that had groups id say sees is easily the one that haunts me the most

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[peachsukii]

Hi there, I was wondering if I could request a cute comfort story for Kiribaku x reader. The reader having a small dehydration headache and goes on a patrol with the boys only for it to get way bad and the pass out of them. when they wake up in their bed a worried Kiri and baku are extremely worried about them ^^ Or you can just have fun writing what every you want ^^ you enjoy yourself!

omg yes!! thank you for the suggestion!

Fragile: Handle with Care

『♡』  kiribaku x fem!reader ⇢ reader is on a pro-hero patrol shift with kirishima and bakugo when they end up passing out from a headache and collapsing.

꒰ pro-hero au | aged to 20 | poly relationship (bf/gf/bf) ꒱ tags & warnings: no cw other than cursing (bakugo lol) and mentions of medication | fluff, emotional & physical comfort, reader passes out, protective kiribaku -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist | kirishima eijiro masterlist

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Bakugo and Kirishima waited for you in the living room of your shared apartment, the sounds of Bakugo’s boots tapping against the wooden floor like a pissed off rabbit. You're skipping down the hall, bouncing to slip into your hero gear quickly as your rounding to the entryway to find your boots. Kirishima laughs under his breath while you stumble along, hurriedly trying to make it to your joint patrol shift on time.

"Don't forget your meds, idiot," Bakugo reminds you as he's heading toward the door, smacking you playfully on the ass. Thankfully, Kirishima's right behind you with a glass of water and pills in hand.

"Thanks Ei," you say as you take the medication and chase it with the water. The three of you are out the door and on your way to the agency, making it just in time for the start of your shift.

───

A few hours into your patrol, you and the boys are leisurely strolling through different sections of your assigned district, covering the large area by splitting up individually. It was the middle of summer and the city was boiling hot, the humidity fogging up your senses more than usual. Your stomach rumbled, a rude reminder that you forgot to eat breakfast this morning. You’d slept in too long and needed to rush out the door and let it slip your mind. The boys hadn’t noticed and couldn’t harp on you about it, so you downplayed how dizzy you’ve been feeling all day long. There was only an hour and a half left in your shift and you kept telling yourself that you’ll be okay until then.

You should have known better, considering you also took your meds on an empty stomach…and didn’t put any other fuel in your body today, including water.

“Hey, how’s it goin’ on your side?” Bakugo asks through the intercom. “Y’been quiet for a bit.”

His message startles you, making you flinch unnecessarily. “Yeah, nothing crazy. I helped a lost kid get back to his mom and that’s about it.”

Not surprising that there wasn’t much activity in the area considering the weather - even villains and criminals thought it was too hot to scheme today.

“ ’s hot as hell, even for me. Careful out here, sweets. Your meds can overheat ya as it is.”

You hesitate with an answer, trying to mask the exhaustion in your voice. “Mhm, I will be.”

The communication line disconnects with a click.

───

Half hour to go. You can do this!

Rounding the corner, a lone little girl wanders up to your side, asking for your attention.

“Excuse me, miss hero?” She couldn’t be more than ten years old.

“What is it, sweetie?” You answer, kneeling down to be eye level.

“My little brother passed out in the park around the corner and I can’t carry him home. Can you help?”

You take her hand. “Of course! Lead the way, please!”

She brings you to the nearby neighborhood park as you’re starting to feel a bit fuzzy in the head. It’s just a small boy, though. You could handle it!

“He’s over here!” She says, pointing to the boy peacefully snoozing in the sandbox. You approach him and pull an ice pack out of your medical supply pouch, one of the smaller kinds that you crack in half to activate. Once it solidifies, you place it on the back of his neck carefully, rotating to his cheeks and forehead. He comes to, confused and a bit delirious at first until he gets a better look at his surroundings.

“Wha…what happened?” He asks groggily, looking back and forth between you and his sister.

“You passed out from the heat. I’m here to help you and your sister walk home.” You hand him the ice pack to hold, directing his hand to hold it against the back of his neck.

He smiles at you. “I never thought I’d be this close to a hero!”

It warms your heart to see civilians, big or small, thankful for your actions. It reminds you why you wanted to be a hero in the first place.

You stand up, about to lift the boy onto your back and the world around you spins out of control, a sudden headache striking you out of nowhere.

The last thing you remember is falling into the sandbox next to the two kids.

───

"Babe, she's finally waking up!" Kirishima calls from the bedroom, eyes worriedly darting back to you.

"What...what happened?" you ask as you're regaining your vision, taking in the surroundings. "Are we at home?"

Bakugo comes storming into the room with a wash cloth and glass of water. He looks absolutely pissed - something you never liked to see.

"We're home 'cause your dumbass passed out on patrol! I told ya to be careful. You didn't eat this morning, did ya?" His words have a frustrated tone, but his expression is pure concern. He sits on the bed next to you and hands you the glass as you sit upright.

"I didn't want us to be late for patrol, and it slipped my mind afterward to grab something at the agency."

Kirishima sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Honey, you have to be more careful! Especially in this heat wave."

"Y'coulda fallen off a rooftop or into traffic!" Bakugo yells, hands flying though the air for dramatic effect. "You're lucky that little girl was a quick thinker. She grabbed your communicator an' called for help."

The thought of those kids taking care of you when you were supposed to be caring for them tugs at your heartstrings. You can't help but feel guilty thinking about how scared they must have been seeing you faint like that.

"Kat, it was an accident. I'm sure this is a lesson learned. Right sweetheart?" Kirishima asks while giving you the 'say yes so Katsuki doesn't lose his shit' look.

"Y-yeah. I'm sorry for worrying you both. Are the kids okay?"

Bakugo groans, grabbing your cheek roughly and placing the cool washcloth to your forehead. "The brats are fine. Ei walked 'em home while I carried your ass back here."

"That's a relief," you say quietly, trying to mellow the mood of the room. "Thank you both. I'm sorry again, I'll make sure to wake up earlier to eat."

"Ya better, or else I'll have 'ta start settin' alarms to feed you like a damn dog." He leans over and gives you a soft kiss on the lips. "Don't be an idiot, 'kay? If ya feel shitty, tell us."

"Yeah, don't be afraid to just say so! We all forget things." Kirishima leans over to kiss your cheek for reassurance. "It's okay."

From that day forward, Bakugo always made an extra serving of whatever he ate for breakfast for you, just in case you ever forgot again. Kirishima started carrying protein bars on him too - in case you needed them on patrol as a pick me up.

They weren't chancing their favorite girl falling victim to another medical incident.

⋆ ˚ʚɞ —  i hope you enjoyed @snowwolfraintw ! you know for a fact the boys would constantly be shoving snacks in your face after this.

[tropicalcryptid]

My Favorite Detail in Farscape is [Spoilers!]

Ok for real spoilers for the entire show including Peacekeeper Wars, so I'll put a gif here and you all agree to scroll on past if you don't want spoilers for a show that ended in 2004.

Ok, so for everyone still here, my all-time favorite detail in Farscape is one that I didn't catch until my second watch-through, and I don't think it's common knowledge in the fandom. (Edit: apparently it's more commonly known about then I realized! Obviously this is because Farscape fans are keen-eyed and insightful and starved for content lol). It's certainly never mentioned or pointed out in the show itself. But it's just so perfect that I get giddy everytime I think about it.

So after Crichton gets twinned, in "Thanks for Sharing," Crichton A gets injured in the bar explosion on that planet that puts lobsters on your head. He is left with a cut above his left eyebrow, and the resulting scar can be used to tell the two Crichtons apart for the rest of season 3 (Crichton A is the one on Talyn with Aeryn).

Wound in "Thanks for Sharing"

Scar visible on Crichton A

No scar on Crichton B aboard Moya.

(Also frell me it's hard getting clear pics / gifs for this show somebody get on that)

Anyway, the scar/injury is never really addressed after that first episode, it's just a super-subtle costuming detail that shows the two Crichtons are now living separate lives. Crichton A then dies after finally achieving everything he ever wanted, Aeryn is heartbroken, drama ensues. The question is raised and discussed often, with much angst: which Crichton was the real one? Did Aeryn fall in love with the original or the copy?

Of course, Crichton B eventually accepts that they were both "him" and yet both individuals too, and Aeryn eventually says "There is no longer any difference in my mind." So it's resolved, mostly.

BUT.

2.5 seasons later, at the end of "The Peacekeeper Wars" Crichton B finally activates the wormhole weapon. After Einstein unlocks the knowledge for him, he returns to Moya bloody and hurt. And for the rest of the movie, he has a wound, and then a scar--a small cut above his left eyebrow.

It's never mentioned. It happens right near the end, when obviously a lot of other things are going on. It's really, super easy to miss. But I think it's amazing. They both really were the real Crichton. And even when they split and began leading separate lives--their destiny was still the same. The timelines reunited, kinda, or two separate possible outcomes synced up. It's such a beautiful, perfect bow to wrap up one of the most emotionally powerful arcs in the show. I just love it. Farscape really is in a league of its own.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking my roommates to clean the bathroom in a specific way, or pay me to do so for them?

I (21F) live in student housing with 3 roommates, all 20-21F. We started living together in August and will continue living together until we all graduate a year from now. Our apartment has four bedrooms but we all share one bathroom.

When we first started living together we came to some agreement on cleaning things, like that dishes are the responsibility of whoever dirtied them, rotating trash duties, and importantly for this post we decided that we would alternate who cleaned the bathroom each week and posted a calendar that says who’s week it is with a place to leave a check mark when it’s complete.

This ostensibly works fine, as people are roughly on time with their cleaning and check off their name as they are supposed to. However. Each of our ideas of cleaning the bathroom are vastly different. For example when I clean the bathroom I scrub the toilet bowl, wipe down the toilet seat top, lift up the seat and wipe down under there, wipe the flusher and the back of the toilet because it gets dusty and gross, wipe down door handle as you have to touch it with dirty hands to get out of the WC to the sink, wipe down the countertop and and the sink, spray and then rinse the shower with cleaner, take hair out of the shower drain (bc they refuse to use a drain cover), vacuum up the insane amounts of hair that end up on our floor, and then mop the floor as well as take out the bathroom trash.

my roommates will maybe clean the inside of the toilet bowl and spray/scrub the shower before checking their names off the list. It drives me insane bc it means that I have to clean everyone else’s weeks of grime off the floor and toilet seat, and pull so much hair out of our shower. There have been weeks where I’m not convinced any cleaning happened at all, and I think people just checked their names off without doing anything. I’ve discussed this with my roommates both individually and as a group in the past but they say that they are cleaning the bathroom so there shouldn’t be an issue

This is where I may be the asshole: enter The Cleaning List. Basically I made a list of requirements for the bathroom cleaning. It’s formatted with headings of areas to be cleaned and bullet points underneath of specifics. (For example one heading is “TOILET” with the bullet points “-clean top of and underneath toilet, -seat scrub toilet bowl, -wipe flusher.”) I then took a picture of this list and texted the group saying that I would like to implement these as the new cleaning requirements and post the list next to our calendar of who’s turn it is to clean. I also told them that if they couldn’t commit to the time/effort that these new rules would add, they could pay me 30 dollars on their weeks to do it for them.

My roommates did not appreciate my idea for The Cleaning List nor the idea of paying me to clean on their week. They called me a controlling and said I wasn’t appreciating the work they do to clean the bathroom already, and just because I have ridiculous standards doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have to pay me. They said the current system works fine so we should just keep doing what we’re doing.

I don’t think I’m the asshole because I’m doing more work than everyone else to maintain the cleanliness of our shared space and I think we should either split the work fairly or that I should at least be compensate for making up for everyone else’s refusal to clean the bathroom in a way that’s productive. But I could be the asshole because I did ask them to put in more work to meet my own standards, or ask them to pay me to do it for them if they can’t even though their standards aren’t the same.

So, AITA?

Extra info: 1. it’s worth saying I have contamination OCD and cleaning other peoples grossness gives me intense anxiety but the anxiety is far worse when I have to interact with the grossness on a daily basis with no recourse. Some of my roommates are aware of this some are not. 2. When I claim I don’t think the bathroom is being cleaned properly, it’s not because the bathroom isn’t sparkling and spotless. It’s because there’s consistently pee stains on toilet seats, shit streaks in the toilet, a visible layer of hair strands on the floor, and enough hair in the shower that if I don’t clean it the whole thing clogs.

[spider-stark]

Anti-Hero // Hero x Villain Trope // pt. 1 //

Next Part

Summary - Reader and Peter are both living double lives. Spider-Man is considered a national hero, while the reader is viewed as a criminal. In their personal lives, they're both head over heels for one another, their friendship finally blossoming into something more. But as vigilantes? It's complicated.

a/n - A very sweet anon requested a hero x villain trope with Peter or another Marvel character, and after being bored at work for several hours, I ended up playing around with the idea. I decided to split it into two parts because I'm still toying around with the next half, so let me know what you think. :) And thank you anon for the request!

If there was anything in this world that Jonah J. Jameson loved, it was finding new ways to prove to the public that Spider-Man was a menace to society. More than that, he loved having photographic evidence of Spider-Man’s failings, which is exactly what New York’s latest crime-doer had been giving him.

Some random New Yorker had started an Instagram live just a few days back right after spotting Spider-Man leap onto the rooftop of the citizens apartment complex, and right on his heels was the most recent villain—one who had become the suspect of countless armed robberies as of late.

This footage was the first live-action clear shot that anyone had managed to get of the mysterious individual that now plagued the streets of Queens, and everyone wanted their hands on an exclusive with the boy that saw them first-hand.

“Now, tell me, what did they look like up close?” Jameson questioned the boy, leaning so far forward on his chair that it looked like he could slip out and hit the floor at any second.

The boy was glancing around the studio in pure amazement, clearly relishing his time in the spotlight. “Uh, well, they were dressed in all black. Like, black shoes, blank pants, even this weird black mask that covered their entire head! Literally just like all the victims have described so far—they’re like a shadow!”

He was beyond excited, talking about the person that had thieved and pretty much brutalized over a dozen people in the last month. He spoke like he had just spotted a celebrity, rather than a criminal. The severity of the situation went right over his head, and Jameson gritted his teeth at the fanboy before pressing on.

“And what were they doing on the roof of your home?”

“Chasing each other!” He might as well have squealed from joy, his eyes looking directly into the camera as he spoke rather than Jameson.

Jameson edged closer, his ass just barely touching the seat at this point, “So Spider-Man was going after the assailant?”

“Oh, God no!” The boy laughed as he said it, leaning back in his own seat to try and create some distance from Jameson, who was violating his personal space more with each second. “They were chasing him! By the end of it, Spider-Man could barely catch his breath. I think that’s why they were able to escape!”

Jameson’s brows snapped together, processing the information and prepping his next question. “So they were able to outmaneuver him? Outpower him, even! Tell me, as someone who got to see this as it unfolded, do you think it’s possible that this new man also has powers?”

“I’m not sure.” The boy answered truthfully, seemingly thinking back on the occurrence. “They were definitely fast, and super strong, so maybe! And those knives—” The look on his face was practically orgasmic, as if the sheer thought of the villains power had him bursting at the seams. “They might as well be a part of her! She never missed—not once! Superpowers or not, she knows what she’s doing.”

Jameson’s jaw fell open, practically touching the dirty rug that laid across his studio floor. “I’m sorry, did you say she?”

The boy nodded rapidly. “Yeah! It’s kind of hard to see in the video, but I told the police in my report that it was definitely a girl! I was hoping it would show up better on camera, but you can tell by their build it’s a woman. And God, her ass–”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Jameson quickly cut the boy off, throwing a sharp glare in his direction that had him immediately shutting his mouth, cheeks turning red. “Spider-Man not only let the assailant involved in countless crimes get away, but he also lost to a girl that might not even have superpowers!”

Behind the scenes Jameson could see his publicist making an X motion with her hands, trying to get him to shut his mouth before he made any further sexist comments. He ignored them, mostly.

“In my opinion, Spider-Man is no better than the rest of those animals. New York has placed him on a pedestal, bestowed upon him the title of ‘hero’, and yet he can’t even catch a girl with a pocket knife?” Jameson scoffed at the camera, shaking his head. “He’s nothing more than a fraud, a feckless, treacherous, unhinged menace!”

After seeing the interview, Peter had wanted nothing more than to throw away his entire television set and never check news headlines ever again. He had been trying so hard—unnecessarily hard—to catch you, and yet despite his best efforts, you always slipped right out of his grasp.

“Seem a little off your game, Spidey!” Your chipper voice rang through the empty alleyway they had found themselves in. Your tone was so steady, so even, as if you hadn’t even broken a sweat during their fight. Peter, on the other hand, was practically gasping at this point. “Still upset cause that idiot from the Bugle called you out on being weaker than a girl.”

He could practically feel you roll your eyes at the word, letting the taunt roll off your tongue despite being just as annoyed by Jameson’s comment. It felt like a cheap stab at both of you, and it annoyed you just as much as it did him.

“I’m getting really tired of you.” Peter huffed, desperately trying to make himself sound as composed as you did, trying not to show his exhaustion. How were you so damn fast? “Not only are you destroying the city, but now you’re dragging my name through the mud too?”

You shrugged your shoulders before slipping another knife out of the holster on your upper thigh, “Well, if you’re so tired of me, then why don’t you try to catch me for once?”

He narrowed his eyes, the white of his Stark Tech suit mimicking the expression. You were just a few feet away from him, and you had practically backed yourself into a corner by darting into this alley, nothing but a brick wall behind your back.

“That’s the plan.” He snidely remarked, taking a sharp inhale of breath before darting straight towards you, webs shooting from his wrists as he tried to pin you in place.

Miss, miss, miss.

The words chanted in his head, playing on a loop as you repeatedly dogged the webbing he shot at you, as if you always knew exactly where they were gonna land. This is impossible, he thought to himself, his irritation growing more and more.

Once he was close enough he took a swing at you, his webs rendered practically useless due to your keen senses helping you dodge them each and every time. With just centimeters between your face and his fist, you ducked, giggling to yourself as you heard his knuckles collide with the brick wall.

A series of obscenities fell from him lips, and you took this small window of opportunity to slip past his leg and get behind him, swiftly using one hand—the one that wasn’t holding a knife—to grab his arms and bring them behind his back.

“That looked like it hurt.” You came in close, so close that Peter could feel your breath brushing against his covered ear. He didn’t like the sensation, the way his body betrayed him by his knees going weak at the sound of your voice purring in his ear. “Did it?”

Peter didn’t respond, afraid that words would fail him if he tried, and instead just grunted as he went to rip his arms from your grasp to spin himself around so he was facing you.

Despite your quickness and impressive strength, he was still stronger than you. But as his left arm slipped from your grasp, you swiftly brought your other hand up and let the thick metal of the knife slice across his suit, tearing the fabric and digging into his flesh.

Peter hissed at the sensation, his hand immediately flying up to apply pressure to the wound. It was a deep cut, one that could potentially cause fatal blood loss in the average person, but Peter was not the average person, and you knew that much. He would heal, quicker than you wanted him to.

“Too slow.” You grinned at him beneath your mask, he could hear it in your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but our fun is gonna have to end here for now, mkay? I’ve got big plans later, don’t wanna be late!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Peter growled, his rage towards you finally building to a lethal point. He never lost control, not with any villain, but you always made it so hard to keep composed.

He took a step forward, but staggered a bit. It felt like his legs weighed thousands of pounds, like he was carrying a load of bricks. His gaze shifted back to you, squinting as his vision began going blurry. “What did you do?”

You lifted your shoulder in a half shrug, watching as he stumbled against the wall, using it to hold up his weight. “You know what botulinum is, right?” You paused, pointing your knife in his direction, waiting for an answer he couldn’t get out of his mouth as he fell towards the ground. “Guess not. Well, it’s essentially just botox. The lethal dose is around 2.1kg for the normal human, and you’re obviously not normal. So I decided to triple it!”

Peter’s eyes widened as the words rang through his ears, his muscles suddenly feeling stiffer, more difficult to move. His arms were locking up, unable to move from where they laid at his sides.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You frowned at him, holstering the knife you had used on him now that he was struggling to move. “I haven’t killed anyone before, have I? Injured, maybe, but I’ve never killed. I’m certainly not gonna change that by killing New York’s savior, alright? It’s just gonna paralyze you for a bit, maybe knock you out for a while. That’s why I led you here!”You motioned to the dank alleyway.

“No one comes down here, so you should be safe until you recover. You’ll be back on your feet in like an hour—two, at most!” There was a pause as you scrunch your nose up a bit, a gesture just barely evident through your mask. “That is if I estimated the dosage right. Kind of hard to tell when I’m not sure what all that radioactive spider did to your body, ya know?”

You took a few steps back, beginning to move yourself back towards the street. Once you turned your back on him, you shot him one last smile over your shoulder. “Anyways, I’ve gotta hit the road. See ya next time, Spider-Boy.”

Peter tried to scream, tried to move, tried to do anything—but his body failed him entirely, forcing him to do nothing but lay against the cold, damp brick pressing into his back and watch you leave.

He was definitely gonna be late for his date with Y/N.

a/n - A very sweet anon requested a hero x villain trope with Peter or another Marvel character, and after being bored at work for several hours, I ended up playing around with the idea. I decided to split it into two parts because I'm still toying around with the next half, so let me know what you think. :) And thank you anon for the request!

[skeletoninthemelonland]

I've been following behind the codes for a while now; I took part in a Q&A on Twitter a while back!! I was wondering, Why springtrap? Like, I know he's one of your favorites and he's a cool villain, and it's intriguing him not knowing he's a killer and he is evil, and not knowing the man he is stopping (security guard) is himself. Why did you pick the main villain of the FNAF franchise? Was it to show there is good in evil? Or to change our perception of him?

Before it become official, Behind The Codes was another humorous way to talk about William's fate in UCN. He was always supposed to be the protagonist, and even as the story developed into something else, that never changed.

I enjoy writing characters who struggle with their own identities and sense of belonging, who are prompted to face their everyday lives despite their anxious thoughts. Characters that can be broken apart in brutal ways, and then forced to pick themselves up piece by piece. Sometimes they end up discovering more about themselves by learning to care for others around them, individuals who are just as fragmented and lost.

It's canon in the Behind The Codes universe that inside the digital dimension of Ultimate Custom Night, Springtrap is a person apart from Scraptrap, from Springbonnie and from the entity named William Afton.

It's ironic how splitting a person apart can create another. I called it the "Detachment Phenomenon". That's what I chose to work with in Behind The Codes, still very aware of the fact that viewers might initially believe that William and Springtrap are the same.

Still, even if they're separate characters, my intention is not to distinguish The Evil from The Good. It's more of a growing frustration. Nothing he does erases his past, but his actions in the present define the future — not just for him, but for those who need guidance. The fate is the same for all of them, but the adventure is worth it, more than any prize or resolve — "It was good while it lasted".

[vulpixisananimal]

THE AU MASTERPOST MASTERPOST

So! You got interested in one of the other Aus for sale at this humble vulpix's blog?

WELL HERE'S WHERE YOU FIND THEM!!!

SIFSTEM - OF LIGHTS AND MINDS

My baby of a fanfic. I've worked in it for so long and will be working on it for so long.

The summary: post two hats ending Siffrin and co are living their lives! Met up with Nille, traveling all together! However, two things happen. One, Siffrin finds that there are others talking to him inside their head. And two, weird things are afoot in Jouvente with mind altering crafts.

It has it's own masterpost here! And thank you @neoncityrain for helping with it! Look at his stuff too it's so cool!!

CADENCE OF VAUGARDE

An AU Where Cadence, from Crypt of the NecroDancer is thrust into the world of Vaugarde after the Kings Curse gets, stranger. The Saviors are all frozen on the day before their great victory, and now she must fix things with the help of a wonderful star~

[0] [1] [2] [3]

Cadence Ref

BURNED AND FORGOTTEN - CARRION AU

(Better name pending.) An AU by @traumaboyexo that I kind of went crazy with and I'm gonna write a lot for now I bet. TL;DR Siffrin isn't normal, very, not normal. And they don't even know it yet. Warning for this one, there's gonna be horror, and body horror, and a lot of stuff.

[1 - Act 1] [2 - Act 2] [3 - First floor]

MAY YOUR HEART BE YOUR GUIDING STAR

The world has ended. You was just going through another blinding room, but the world has ended out of nowhere. You and your friends where attacked by dark creatures and Dormont was torn apart untill nothing was left. What will you do now?

Split up into three perspectives, A-Side, B-Side, C-Side. You can follow the suggested reading order by following the links in the individual posts!

A-Side: The Bright One

[1]

B-Side: The Key

[1] [2] [3]

C-Side: The Star

[1] [2] [3]

FROZEN IN MIND

Despite your body resetting every time you loop, for some reason, some how, some why, you can't move. The king snapped your back before killing you, and now, you, can't, move.

What do you do?

[1] [2] [3]

Second Chance

The reflected spell from Mirabelle froze the King in time. He finally got what he want, but, what if it did not freeze time, but reverse it. What if after the spell was reflected it turned back time for the King only to when he was a child, with no memory of who he was or what he did.

How, do you deal with that?

[Preview]

[harryshomebaby]

it's hard to find the right words to say and i truly never thought i'd ever be writing something like this. and i apologize if this doesn't all come out the way i want it to.

i hate that i have to preface this by saying that i was not a fan or a supporter of Liam in recent years and do not condone anything that he did. the victims of his actions still deserve to be heard and find closure that they'll now sadly never see...

but if you were anything like me, Liam Payne was a significant part of who you were growing up. 1 of 5 individuals that we looked up to as role models, and that created some of the online communities we're still a part of today. that built friendships we probably still have to this day.

a mature but loveable boy that we all fell in love with in the very early days of One Direction, or even later. with video diaries, music videos, and behind the scenes clips that shared a glimpse of his personality with us, and tweets that some of us will never forget (it's a snake habitat, turn around!!), we watched him grow up alongside the boys while we were growing up ourselves.

we even had the privelege of seeing a small part of where he grew up and the people who raised him in This is Us and the "Story of my Life" video. we got to know a little bit about his life before One Direction, with small stories and anecdotes from his mother, Karen, and his father, Geoff. we got to see how loved he was by his family, by the band, and by all of the fans that adored him just as much as we did.

i still remember when i first learned about One Direction in 2012 and couldn't tell Liam or Harry apart because their hairstyles were so similar. and the shock the fandom had when he buzzed his head.

we got to see the good in him... even if it was only for a brief moment. five years of a band that carried so many of us through dark periods in our lives and that connected all of us to one another in a way that many of us had never experienced before.

we watched him grow up, live through the prime of his career, and saw the subsequent downfall of who he used to be. after One Direction split up, he opened up about his struggles with addiction during their tours and it was clear that despite what we all saw, it was never as pretty as their management had made the band out to be.

it's completely devastating that he was still struggling with substance abuse in the end. that he was never able to get the help he needed. and i am deeply sorry to all of the people who became victims at his hand. to maya henry who only recently opened up about her relationship to Liam and who is going to receive even more hate than she already has because of this tragedy.

i am sad that he wasn't able to get better. to get sober and attempt to rewrite some of his wrongs. that his addiction caused so much harm to him, but also to so many others. i am sad that he was so deeply troubled in his youth that he turned towards drugs and alcohol, and was never able to truly get his life back. i am sad at what fame did to him at such a young age. and i am sad for every single person that he hurt.

the entire fandom is on my mind today. all of those victims are on my mind today. his family is on my mind today. his 7-year old son is on my mind today. Niall, Zayn, Harry, and Louis are on my mind today.

this is heavy. and it's hard. and if you're struggling with the news, you are not alone.

my 15-year old self is in mourning today at news that i never thought i'd hear only a decade after One Direction's time. i may have never been a true fan of Liam in his solo endeavours, but he was still a big part of my childhood and the band that partially shaped who i am today.

this isn't how his story should have ended. and i'm sorry that it did. we'll never know the true intent of what happened today, but i do hope that he is in a better place and can find peace, and i sincerely hope that everyone he hurt is able to heal.

rest in peace, Liam Payne.

we'll all remember the good times we once shared every time we hear a One Direction song.

-

if you're struggling with your mental health, addiction, substance abuse, or thoughts of suicide, please consider reaching out to someone. everyone deserves a chance to get better. ♥

Suicide Hotlines & Support Below ↓

USA:

Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988 Crisis Textline - text HOME to 741741 Youth Helpline - (877) 968-8491 or text 839863 

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Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988

Suicide Hotline - 1 (833) 456 4566 Kid's Help Phone - 1 (800) 668 6868 Tran's Lifeline - 1 (877) 330 6366 First Nation's and Inuit Hope for Wellness Hotline - 1 (855) 242 3310

Australia:

Suicide Lifeline - 131 1141 Suicide Callback Hotline - 135 247 Beyond Blue Counselling & Helpline - 1300 22 4636

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Suicide Hotline - +4408457909090 Samaritans - 116123

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National Suicide Hotline - 0800 689 5652 Mental Health Crisis Support - 01708 765200 Hopeline247 - 0800 068 41 41 UK Supportline - 0 (170) 8 765200

For a full list of hotlines & support in your country:

Or find a Helpline Here:

[yourmomxx]

[the art of making a house a home]

JJ Maybank x male!reader (no pronouns)

or: most people in jj’s life tend to leave him behind in some way - not you though. never you.

warnings: (mentions of) child abuse, wounds, angst, jj doesn’t know what home is, smoking, weed, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.4k

a/n: I really like writing those kind of imagines, so I’ll probably do more of them in the future! but for now, have this angsty piece of literature

request

JJ took a big step out of the shower. He grabbed one of the towels hanging on the heater and wrapped it around his hips, the fabric feeling comfortably warm against his bare skin.

Opposite him hung a huge mirrored cabinet. The hot water had formed droplets of condensation on the surface, now hiding them behind a thin layer of bright mist.

In fact, this mist actually lingered throughout the bathroom.

Your bathroom, JJ suddenly thought. Your bathroom, your towel, your mirror. Your shower, your heater, your sink.

But somehow it might as well be his, or both of yours, as often as he found shelter and sanctuary with you, when he couldn't bear to be at home again.

Home. JJ involuntarily grimaced. Was that what it was? Were his father – Luke? - and the shabby house where they lived and where so many terrible things had happened to him, his home?

Not really.

He found the idea of ​​the small apartment with the bright seat cushions on the couch and the light-colored curtains, an apartment where you would wait for him, where he could wake up next to you every morning, much more inviting. Much more homely.

He wiped the mirror once with the palm of his hand, clearing a condensation-free spot on the smooth surface.

Sometimes he wished it would be just as easy in his head.

Simply raise his hand and wipe away the wafts of fog with one movement, being finally able to see clearly again. Or at least a little clearer, when he took a closer look at the blurred area.

He supported himself with the heels of his hands on the bathroom sink that was fixed under the mirrored cabinet and looked at himself in the free surface with watchful eyes.

Thin strands of blond hair stood up from his head and hung over his face. The otherwise light-blonde surfer mane had taken on a dark color from the shower water. A few small drops of water still fell from some ends, landed cold on his bare upper body and left an irregular trail of water there.

Despite the blurred water vapor, JJ could clearly make out his figure and the individual moves.

Involuntarily his gaze wandered over his upper body. There was a yellowish discoloration where the towel ended and his defined abs began.

He gently ran his finger over it. Unlike a few days ago, that slight contact with the bruise no longer hurt. The swelling had gone down too, he noted with satisfaction.

Irregular, he could see circular, white scars that split on his forearms. Remnants of burns from cigarette butts to be extinguished.

He caught his gaze in the mirror. Blue-grey eyes stared back at him. They seemed lifeless to him, with the dark circles underneath and the heavy lids that suggested he hadn't had a comfortable night's sleep in days.

Which wasn't even necessarily wrong.

He rubbed his eyes with one hand. Now, when the adrenaline subsided, he felt exhaustion settling in his limbs.

As if automatically, his fingers wandered a little higher on his forehead, just below the hairline. He felt a slight bump in the tanned skin under his fingertips. He lifted his hair out of his face.

The scar wasn't big, probably less than an inch. It was almost directly parallel to his hairline and was therefore mostly hidden by the blond mane that fell over his forehead.

And yet sometimes he felt like it was yelling at him when he looked in the mirror.

The thin white line seemed to mock him. Again and again he found himself struggling to fix his hair at all times so that no one could see it, and only take off his caps with his head bowed when he did so.

It was a too constant reminder of the night his father - Luke? – came home drunk once again and hadn’t been satisfied with the meal his (eleven-year-old) son had cooked.

He had pushed him against the edge of a table that evening.

JJ told the doctors at the hospital that he had tripped over a fold in the carpet and injured himself on the table that way. The doctors bought it from him.

It would have been so easy for JJ to just tell them the truth. Screaming at the nurse, begging on his knees, how awful his father was to him, for someone to set him free.

But he hadn't. Luke hadn't even been to the hospital at the time.

Anger overwhelmed him. He banged his fist on the edge of the sink impulsively. Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

Shit Luke Maybank, shit American health care, shit doctors who should have checked further, and shit little eleven-year-old-JJ who didn't have the guts even then to stand up to his shit father.

He clenched his jaw as he felt a sting behind his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry, not now, not at all anymore. He had brought this on himself, he, and his damned cowardice.

JJ pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. Something to counteract the headache that was coming.

He flinched when the bathroom door opened and caught his breath when he saw you standing there.

"Is everything okay? I heard-" You cut yourself off mid-sentence. JJ tensed when he saw where your eyes were going.

"Shit, JJ," you managed to ground out. He avoided looking at you.

He hated it - when you saw him like that, so wounded and vulnerable, and when your voice took on a pained tone and your sentences started with Shit, JJ.

JJ didn't look up. Skillfully, he just pretended that there was nothing there that seemed worth your attention and kept his gaze fixed on his arm. Just his skin, and the muscles beneath it.

He efficiently ignored how your gaze roamed his back, which had probably already formed red welts and bruises - consequences of the anger of Luke Maybank - his father? - and the one reason why he was standing in your bathroom right now and not lying somewhere in his bed.

There was a thump as you put the first aid kit down next to him.

He frowned at himself as he realized he hadn't even noticed you left the bathroom. Had he been too caught up in his head, had the mist blocked his view too much for him to notice?

You gestured for him to sit down and he complied. He was too tired to argue anyway.

JJ vaguely noticed you take a seat behind him on the bathroom floor and moments later he felt your fingers gently trace his back. He could only imagine what he looked like. Swollen welts and probably even little wounds, maybe crusted blood? He felt sick.

JJ fell into his thoughts. Into the deep nothing. From time to time he almost shied away from your fingers and the cold ointment, but caught himself again immediately.

You sat in silence. You hadn't said anything since discovering his wounds, and JJ himself found the thought of straining his vocal cords far too tedious.

The blond boy caught a glimpse of the mirror out of the corner of his eye, recognizing you.

Your facial features were concentrated on working on his wounds, but your eyes reflected the deep concern in them. JJ loathed that. Hated that you cared for him, cared for him when he didn't deserve it.

For a brief moment, nothing happened, then JJ felt your upper body cautiously leaning closer to his, and you placed a feather-light but honest kiss on his shoulder from behind.

JJ almost winced at the touch, tensing at the softness that lay within it. So gentle, in a way he wasn't used to even after a few months in a relationship with you.

You didn't blame him, you never had. You knew what was going on at JJ's house and why he showed up at your door pretty much every day, head hanging, muscles hurting and mind aching.

There were better days too, when he was almost glued to you, taking your hand, snuggling up to you every moment he could get his hands on.

But of course there were worse ones, like today, for example. Then he didn't talk much if at all, carrying on conversations more in his head than out loud.

But then you always gave him his space without ever leaving him completely lonely. And he was grateful to you for that.

“Come on, big guy. ‘S time we get you in bed." Your voice was hoarse next to his ear, yet so soft and warm he wanted to sink into it. He stood up slowly and you lifted your chin from his shoulder.

Obediently he trotted - or rather dragged himself - towards your bedroom (both of yours?). You just followed him without a word.

JJ liked your bedroom. The king size bed was placed in the middle of a medium sized room. A tall wardrobe stood against one wall and a door led to another room, the bathroom.

On the opposite wall, two curtained windows offered an almost perfect view of the open sea.

Over the months, JJ had found that knowing the ocean so close to him whenever he stayed at your place was immensely comforting, and how the sound of the crashing waves breaking on the beach lulled him to sleep.

You never told him how you didn't really like the salty cold of the sea air and only ever left the window open for your boyfriend.

Without a word, you handed JJ a hoodie – burgundy, no print. With slow movements he slipped the garment over himself, the soft fabric nestled comfortably against his tingling skin. He took fresh boxershorts from a drawer.

JJ took a deep breath. Your scent enveloped him. Coconut palms, perfume and cedar wood.

No cigarettes.

This had to be the sweater you never allowed yourself to smoke in, then. It was a - for him strange - habit of yours. You smoked regularly, and yet there were some areas, or items of clothing, where you absolutely forbade yourself and others to smoke.

How many times had you sent him into the kitchen so the stench of smoke wouldn't eat into your bedroom walls? Or on the terrace so that the kitchen would be able to "breathe" again?

JJ grinned to himself.

He glanced out the window where he could vaguely make out the light sand of the beach and the blue-pink sky as the sun slowly set behind.

He shuffled his way to your bed, where you were already waiting for him, lying on your back and one arm stretched out for him. JJ dropped ungracefully next to you.

He rested the back of his head on your shoulder, felt your body beneath him and stared at the white ceiling, lost in thought.

JJ also liked your bed.

He found it comfortable, with the wide mattress, which even springs back a little when you adjust to it, and that wasn’t saggy, as if Charlemagne had slept in it himself.

A not sagging mattress, JJ thought. Not worn out like at his place... at home? Inwardly he shook his head. Somehow, it still didn't feel right.

“Hey, JJ?” He suddenly heard you say. Your voice was quiet, maybe to not startle him.

“Mmm?” JJ hummed.

“Say something next time.”

JJ felt his stomach drop. He had known. He had known you were angry with him. That you were fed up with how he always came to you to cry to you about his tearful stories, how you always had to take care of him. JJ tensed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

This would be it. You would tell him to stop being whiny and dramatic, to suck it up and behave like a man.

His hand cranked into the fabric of your shirt.

“Hey,” you softly said. “Hey, JJ!” Abruptly, you sat up and took his head into your hands. JJ hadn’t even realized that he was shaking up until now.

He avoided your gaze.

“Hey JJ, look at me.” Your tone was commanding yet gentle and JJ found himself doing exactly what you asked of him. Stupid welling tears that made his vision blurry.

“JJ, it’s alright,” you calmed him down. Your thumb was softly stroking his cheek. You noticed his breathing even out.

“JJ, I’m here for you,” you said, “But you’ve gotta talk to me. I want to help you but I can’t do that if you keep this from me. Do you hear me?”

For a second, JJ was confused. So you weren’t angry with him, or yelling, you were actually just … worried. Really simply only worried, for him.

He felt his head grow dizzy at the thought.

“J,” you repeated. “I want you to tell me you understand.” A bit of the fog in JJ’s mind cleared, as he looked into your eyes. Then, he slowly nodded.

A small smile started tugging at the corners of your lips. “Good. Now, come on.”

You used your thumb to wipe a loose tear off of JJ’s cheek, and laid down onto the bed again. JJ went back to his former position with his back laid on your side and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He was still processing this entire situation.

Well, of course, rationally speaking, there was no chance you would’ve gotten mad at him over this. After all, the bruises weren’t his fault, he had learned that by now.

But a single drop of doubt always managed to mix into his already uneasy mind, and had the habit of turning soft waves into torrential floods over just the right amount of time.

The hiss of a lighter snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his neck towards you and could see you holding the orange flame to the end of a hand-rolled blunt.

JJ watched as your cheeks drew in with the hit and you took the joint back from your lips. The smoke that followed didn't bother him the slightest.

Then you held the smoldering joint in front of him. JJ frowned and looked up at you.

"The hoodie?" he asked confused. You just shrugged.

"Can be washed," was your short answer. A faint smile formed on JJ's lips and he snuggled a little closer to you, if that was even possible.

The tips of his hair tickled the base of your throat as you watched him take a deep drag on the joint. His cheeks hollowed out, and after a brief moment, holding the smoke in his lungs, he puffed it out in the air toward the window. Like that would make a difference, but you appreciated the thought.

You took the blunt out of his hand and, with some difficulty, stretched to put it out in the ashtray. You would check later whether it could still be used afterwards.

You turned your full attention back to JJ, who by now had rolled onto his side and was snuggled into your side like a little boy, his arm wrapped around your waist.

He buried his face in your tank top and relaxedly closed his eyes.

The sounds of the rushing sea came through the half-open window, the wind seemed to be stronger out on the sea. Here and there a few squabbling seagulls could be heard screeching to each other.

You carefully lifted the arm JJ was draped on and slowly brought it near the back of his head. Carefully and slowly you tangled your fingers in his blond locks and began massaging his scalp.

JJ made a sound, that could be close described to a purr and you dared to apply a little more pressure.

At your feet lay the duvet, crumpled at the end of the bed.

The summer night wasn't necessarily hot, but after all, JJ was wearing your hoodie and you had your boyfriend's body heat to keep you warm.

The blond boy moved his hand, which was on your hip, and slipped it under a fold of your tank top. He placed his hand at your side, just above the waistband of your pants. Automatically his thumb began to draw gentle circles on your skin.

He felt you breathe beneath him. His ear could dully hear the slow beating of your heart.

JJ's breathing also became shallower and more regular. He felt exhaustion catch up with him and sleep drew him to it with open arms.

On the edge of his consciousness he noticed how you pressed a gentle kiss on his hairline.

JJ sighed in content. And this, JJ thought, just before he finally fell asleep, is what home feels like.

@miofrommars

[trans-ralsei]

i get really annoyed — and borderline hate — the word 'individuals', especially when applied to trans people:

transgender individuals non-binary individuals gay individuals

this is absolutely a critique of the english language and how we use it to communicate. very rarely would i actually allow use of the word when i edit stuff that goes out on the city-wide movement for trans rights.

the word runs counter to the idea that we are part of a community. it implies that we can still be split apart, into singular units, when it should be recognised that we are an indivisible part of a society, intimately interlinked with everyone else. we are your bus drivers. your train operators. your journalists. your musicians. your coders. your sanitation specialists. your lovers. your family. your friends.

sure, individualism will get you some of the rights you enjoy as a human being. but it means that you are now separate from the rest of society as a whole. when things break down and crumble from the stresses that end-stage neo-liberal capitalism causes, what then? an individual needs friends, family, strangers to live, eat, dream, fuck, survive. what then is an individual but not a person? a human? what then is a group of individuals but not people?

[percyposting]

Now while I am of course critical of them as characters, I’m not that crazy about when people, when talking about Percy and his family, either put all the blame on one side or the other. Like, when people who don’t take the time to understand Percy’s perspective will say he was unjust and didn’t love his family and a scorn upon the Weasleys, which is obviously a very black and white and incorrect perspective on his character which literally is incorrect when you reference the canon. But on the other hand, I don’t always agree with some of the ways people defend him, either, because a lot of those statements are also black and white; for example when people say Arthur is a terrible father, or that Percy’s siblings are unwaveringly cruel, or that Percy didn’t make any mistake/he was imperiused. I especially hateeeee that last theory specifically because it really undermines everything that he was going through during the course of the story and does more damage to his character than anything. He made the choices he did not because he’s a bad person but because he was like nineteen and wasn’t being listened to and he was being manipulated by the individual Minister’s he worked under because they were targeting his biggest weakness which is that he comes from a poor family that have been labeled as ‘blood-traitors’ and because of that, he was not born with as many opportunities that others are, and this clearly effects him as he brings it up during his argument with Arthur. He blames Arthur for their struggles, while he is wrong about this it’s not like he’s given much help to see why he’s wrong. Percy is naive and believes he’s smarter than he is (not slander of course, like these are very reasonable things to be as a 18-19 year old) so it leads to him thinking he understands how the world works but really he’s stuck in this box his government/society has built around him. And I think the rest of the Weasley’s are only a tad bit more enlightened, because they don’t seem to recognize this. They just don’t realize that Percy is just as much a victim of this system as they are, and can’t help but point fingers and resent one another.

I wouldn’t say any one of the Weasley’s are really at any major fault here. Percy misunderstands that the reason he’s struggling is not because his father’s lack of effort in his work or in providing for his family, but it’s because his father is actually a decent employee but the institution he works for will never give him any benefits or a raise because they hate him and his family. This is one of the major reasons for Percy’s split between his family, and it’s not his fault, nor his family’s fault, it’s the fault of the pureblood aka oppressive and corrupt society that they live in that actively promotes their downfall. Along with any other person that doesn’t match their blood purist beliefs.

I don’t think any of the Weasleys hated each other. I believe they loved each other VERY much, and the forces actively and canonically working against them nearly succeeded in tearing their family — but in the end they ultimately failed because that the Weasley’s truly do love each other and never wanted to be split apart. That’s what I think people miss when they attempt to defend one or the other: they misunderstand that no one is the villain but corruption, manipulation, and misplaced blame. Percy was young and tricked into believing something hopeful after his entire future was almost crushed (Barty Crouch Snr’s death and the subsequent investigation). Arthur didn’t want to believe his son would actually align himself with the enemy and tried to get Percy to understand the truth, but this only causes more friction because he goes about it wrong, instead insulting Percy’s capabilities, which are his most tender subject. And Percy’s siblings grew up in a loud, chaotic house where there wasn’t enough validation to go around, so they accidentally began resenting each other as time went on, most of the time because one was getting what the other wanted or (like Percy getting constant praise and attention for his academic achievements while the twins watch, waiting to be scolded for ‘not being successful like Percy.’) These are common family difficulties! They’re very realistic. And I don’t think it points to anyone being the bad guy, just that they may have said and did some bad or hurtful things, but by the end of the book most of these things are resolved because the Weasleys find each other again and go “I’m sorry, I love you, and I forgive you.”

[enkays-den]

I'm demi/aroace in a very similar way to how you wrote skizz and I don't think them ending up in a non platonic relationship would go against that honestly. Being aspec is a very individual thing that makes you examine relationships and split then apart from the general categories to the actual building blocks that make them up. And that gives you the opportunity to build totally custom relationships out of those blocks that fit you and the other person without being confined to that exact rulebook of a platonic or romantic or sexual relationship the way society generally understands them.

There's a world where impulse never confesses and they're just friends and he just kind of pines and learns to be okay with that.

There's a world where he confesses and is turned down and they talk it out and continue on being friends. This is possible. I've been on both sides of this interaction and it does colour the friendship you continue to have somewhat but having the knowledge of those emotions out there so both parties are aware without really changing the relationship much from before the confession can be a very nice resolution. You do get over it and the love just kind of is love in whatever way it's able to exist. Spending time with someone you love that cares for you and enjoys your company is often times much more valuable than anything that sets apart a romantic relationship.

And there is a world where he confesses and they do form a more romantic leaning more intimate relationship. Again, to me being aroace doesn't mean you can never have any form of relationship that isn't purely platonic. Its about taking apart what these concepts mean and looking at each aspect individually and then looking at the other person and deciding together what you want to be and how you want to act towards the other person. Do you like kisses? Do you like being called specific endearments? Do you like having sex? Do you like living together? Do you want to spend your lives together? Do you want to sleep in the same room? In the same bed?

And there is a spectrum in every aspect like this of not being able to tolerate something, being willing to tolerate it in small doses if absolutely necessary, being willing to tolerate it because it makes your parter happy and you don't mind it, not having an active desire for it but being happy to do it if someone else does, liking it a little, liking it a lot, not being able to imagine going without it.

And you can figure out where you lay on that spectrum of repulsion to desire for each of the endless aspects that make up a relationship. And you match that up with the other person and figure out compromises. You can have a very intimate relationship and still be very asexual and aromantic. It's all about what you like and don't like specifically and what you and your parter decide between yourselves.

Sorry for the long ramble but this concept of romance and romance adjacent relationships while being aroace is something that hits very close to home and something that I'm very passionate about. Asexuality and aromanticism are such an incredibly diverse spectrum of experiences. I can't wait to see where Skizz will land on it.

- 🐦‍⬛

totally agree on all those points, just hope that the audience receives it as well. I'm writing from my perspective as demi-aroace-ish

Won't elaborate further as that firmly counts as spoilerssss ;)

thank you for the long reply though, anon!

[wuxiaphoenix]

Headcanon: Kabane

First off, if you haven’t seen Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress, I highly recc’ it. Despite the kabane it’s a monster apocalypse, not a zombie apocalypse. We all know monsterapocs give main characters much better survival chances than zpocs. Yes, gore, horror elements, some horrible deaths, but our good guys never give up. Not easy, when you’re up against hordes of kabane.

BTW, the etymology on that name is interesting. The Japanese word for “dead body” is shikabane. Leave off the shi for death, and... you have a body that is Not Dead.

Canon evidence supports this. Kabane breathe. They bleed. They have (sometimes visible) heartbeats. They respond to what they see, mimicking people’s actions if they aren’t attacking in a bloodthirsty frenzy. They are, in short, living creatures aware of themselves and their surroundings, even if they appear to have taken over dead human bodies.

“Appear to” being the operative phrase. We see through the episodes that every body that revives was bitten/infected before death. (Or in one specific case, shortly after, but I haven’t seen the Battle of Unato myself.) The point being that the majority of the body’s organs would be still alive when the kabane gets it breathing again. In particular, the heart.

To kill a kabane, you have to destroy the heart. To prevent a body from rising as a kabane, you have to destroy the heart. Both of which are best done with shaped charges, because even before an infected person dies the kabane may have formed its iron cage, making ordinary weapons... ineffective.

Now we get into headcanon and speculation. Warning, there be spoilers (and weird biology) here!

You may be wondering if the kabane are an unprecedented monster. Zombies! Black smoke/fused colonies! Surely there’s nothing in nature that acts and feeds as a mob of individuals, then gathers into one massive form to travel to new hunting grounds?

Yes. There is. We call it a slime mold.

Now, slime molds aren’t psychokinetic, they don’t create iron cages, and they don’t break back apart into individuals once they’ve formed their “slug”. But they do have chemicals to order individual cells to “group together”, which would fit neatly with the “black blood” in canon. Inventing “white blood”, a chemical to split everything back into individuals again, is just a step of SF farther; justified by kabane being actual different bodies instead of single cells. Also various slime molds can be parasites (though mostly of plants) carried through liquids or spores if they land in an appropriately moist place. This fits well with being bite-spread (saliva to blood) or some unlucky souls getting infected through an open wound or scratch without getting bitten.

Now let’s get into the Stargate stuff. Ma’chello warning here!

(Yes, he deserves his own warning. Fridge Horror at the very least.)

Ma’chello, in the eps we see him or his influence, has the main goal of wiping out the System Lords. To that end he produced... various not at all ethical things, including a device that switched people’s minds between bodies and wouldn’t switch them back, and a page-turner infested with parasitic creations that targeted Goa’uld and drove anyone who wasn’t carrying a Goa’uld crazy. Apparently the better for them to encounter a System Lord or Jaffa and pass on the parasite. You can imagine for yourselves what was likely to happen to someone having a psychotic fit near a System Lord. We know the page turners were found in a sealed room that had dead bodies who had been a group of Goa’uld... and we can deduce their symbiotes were killed, and then the suddenly freed hosts couldn’t get out through the door that required System Lord tech to open from the inside, and died of thirst.

So. Yeah. Ma’chello... while apparently an unparalleled weapons-crafter, doesn’t really get human or animal behavior, and is exactly the kind of guy to find or create something that will wipe out Goa’uld and blithely let it loose without regard for the consequences to anyone else.

Consider if he found something kind of like a slime mold. (Kind of like army ants too, more on that later.) Probably an alien parasite/predator of alien animals, no interest in humans at all, originally. Infects something frog-oid, or rabbitish, or what have you. Takes out the higher brain, creates a new brain for itself by infecting the heart neurons (yes, those exist, look up sensory neurites), and protects that new brain with some kind of internal “skeleton” cage. Spreads and feeds, and when prey grow thin on the ground and hibernation isn’t enough to keep them from starving, all the individuals ball together as a lumpy, mildly psychokinetic beastoid like ants creating a bridge out of their own bodies, that crosses long distances and falls back apart in a fresh hunting ground.

Ma’chello would love this. The original critters wouldn’t be that smart, so he’d think unaffected humans could easily take them down. And the kabane infection, from what we can observe, kills almost all of the brain, and would definitely kill the Goa’uld in the process. Or it would, if Goa’uld didn’t usually destroy just about all parasites and diseases in their host.

Well, he has a way to get around that! Just tweak it so that “skeleton” makes a kind of biological equivalent to naquadah, which the System Lords have engineered their own biology to not attack. It probably wouldn’t even take much tweaking; you simply cannot get that much life-sustaining calories and “iron” from just blood, they have to be creating both of them somehow. (Also it can’t be iron and stop bullets to the heart, the physics doesn’t work. It has to be something nastier.) Weird alien fusion? Who knows. They’re doing it, it can be tweaked to do even more exotic things.

...Are you getting a Bad Feeling About This? Good.

Tomorrow: Unintended Consequences.

[warcoaxed]

On Wearing Your Heart On Your Sleeve

Or: the disjointed post where I diagnose Q!Forever with BPD-like tendencies in regards to Q!Philza.

Anything from this point forward is about the characters only.

continue reading under the cut!

1. On Brunim's entire existence.

One of the first real moments we got with Forever were his interactions with Philza and how he quite instantly got attached to him. While quite comedic at first, this later spirals into straight up obsession.

The basis of this obsession is Brunim Neets, or Forever's ex-husband who's very much not on the QSMP & bears a striking resemblance to our Philza.

It's quite easy to see that Forever is rather attached to Brunim, to the extent that he occasionally believes Philza is Brunim who simply lost his memories.

This leads to the conclusion that Brunim is quite literally Forever's FP ( Favourite Person. )

[ For the uninitiated, an FP is a person who someone with BPD relies heavily on for emotional support, seeks attention and validation from, and looks up to or idealizes. ]

Philza, who Forever uses as a replacement for Brunim, turns into one of Forever's main motives to do things, to gain his attention and love. This also makes Philza one of Forever's FPs, albeit an unhealthier one.

2. On Festa Junina & Forever's relationships.

Festa Junina was another turning point, where Forever entered a relationship that was just to make Philza jealous. Forever has a tendency to impulsively enter relationships and exit them just as fast.

Forever as a character is often categorized as airheaded, but that's very much not true. His emotions are very much a double edged sword, and can act as a source for his strength but also make his interpersonal relationships fall apart.

His stilting of Maximus' feelings is a result of this, where he gets so hyperfocused on Philza, he somewhat ends up using Maximus.

He has a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. This can be said to be true in regards to both Philza and Brunim.

3. On the fear of abandonment & The Wedding (?)

Forever misses Brunim & there is no denying it. It's evident in how much Brunim is mentioned by him, to the extent that even Richarlyson pokes fun at it.

It's quite fair to assume that he feels a little abandoned by Brunim, with them being ex-lovers and Brunim very much not being around on the SMP.

And when you bring Philza to the equation? The Philza who very much wants to leave, the Philza who very visibly doesn't want this?

In comes the Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

The wedding canonically happens while Philza is either tripping on drugs, or simply in his head (have your pick,) where Forever builds a shrine around them, declares them married and then proceeds to try to (badly) gaslight Philza into believing that they got married in Vegas.

His attempts at gaslighting are laughably pitiful, but they're incredibly desperate and frantic. It's almost like he thinks that if he can convince Philza that they're married, he wouldn't leave.

4. On Splitting and the Proposal.

Splitting refers to the difficulty to accurately assess another individual or situation. It can lead to intensely polarizing views of others, for instance, as either very good or very bad. A person typically splits unconsciously or without realizing it. Rather than seeing people in their lives as complex human beings with good, bad, and in-between characteristics, they may apply intensely polarizing or exaggerated labels. To them, their partner may be the “worst partner in the world” one day and the “greatest partner ever” the next.

The real turning point in Forever & Philza's relationship is the proposal following Cellbit & Roier's wedding. Their dynamic between then could easily be described as teasing, but this when things got very real very quick.

Forever asked for Philza's hand in marriage and got rejected ( very harshly at that- Thanks, Phil .)

This lead to a rather drastic reaction from Forever, where he ran to practically throw himself off a cliff, only for Philza to chase him down and stop him. What follows is a rather interesting conversation where we can watch Forever's high-held opinion of Philza practically plummet, where he later proclaims that he never even loved Philza, and how much he wants Philza to explode ( his words, not mine. )

It's almost like a switch has been flipped, with how he goes from happy to very upset, to determined to be president out of spite.

Not as obvious as others, but this can point to a persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

There's probably more I could speak about this, but this is all I can say from the top of my head. Feel free to add things, I enjoy spitballing all kinds of things!

[starsfic]

if your prompts are still open may i request monkey king getting groomed by someone after not being groomed in centuries and swk just up and falling asleep to the touch?

Anon: prompt of monkey king shuddering into macaque’s platonic touch after being groomed for the first time in centuries Anon: Prompt: Wukong gets nightmares one night and Macaque is left to hear the agony as Wukong talks in his sleep

Sun Wukong ended up moving in with him.

Macaque wasn't sure how, exactly. He just knew that Wukong needed a place to stay while the hut on Flower Fruit Mountain was rebuilt and the kid, for whatever noble reason, refused to let him stay alone at the temple. So, somehow, he ended up with him.

It...wasn't too bad.

Sure, it had been centuries since they had actually lived together. (Macaque didn't really count his dipping in and out at the mountain since Lady Bone Demon was living with Wukong.) But Wukong was pretty, almost weirdly, polite. He made some messes here and there but quickly picked them up, and even made dinner. He had started working at a garage he supposedly owned to help out with rent. (Macaque hadn't yet told him that the landlord was too scared to collect rent from anyone since he moved in. All the money was being saved in a jar under his bed to give back to Wukong when he eventually moved out.)

It was a nice change from when they first lived together, but Macaque had a feeling it was because Wukong worried about being kicked out and possibly disappointing the kid. When he returned back home, he would return back to his usual annoying self.

What wasn't nice was Wukong's sleep.

Macaque was a light sleeper. He often awoke thanks to a weird noise that his ears caught, and then he couldn't go back to sleep for hours. Usually, he would work during that time, focusing his awakeness on a project that would eventually lull him back to sleep.

Wukong slept like a rock. A crying rock.

It took almost a week for Macaque to catch it, suggesting Wukong must've tried to hide it.

It happened usually around one to three in the morning, when Wukong was deeply asleep. Silence, except for the shuffle of his sleeping body adjusting positions. And then, a noise. Soft, almost easy to miss.

A sob.

The sobbing would continue for a few hours, leaving Macaque the only one to hear what sounded like Wukong's heart being ripped out. Occasionally, he mumbled in his sleep, soft whispers of names or words that Macaque didn't try to listen to. It felt too private.

Eventually, they would die down, and the silence would return. The next morning, Wukong and his weird polite elf would come out, and then they wouldn't talk about it. Macaque never moved from his bed, tried to ignore the whispers.

Until, tonight, when-

"MACAQUE!"

The scream jostled Macaque right out of bed. "What the-?" he grunted, sitting up and rubbing his head. The yell of his name echoed in the silence of the apartment, excluding the quiet sniffles and whimpers from down the hall.

Despite the pity and grief at lost time that had been stirring in his chest recently, Macaque couldn't help an annoyed noise. "Of course, Wukong wakes me up- probably something stupid-" Still, he got up and headed down the hallway.

The guest room was almost too neat and tidy. The only point of mess was the bed, where Wukong had shaped a rough nest. Faintly, in the glimmers of moonlight, he could see the amber fur of said monkey. It was visibly trembling, Macaque's hearing picking up the noise of the individual hairs rubbing together.

He stepped closer. Before he could raise a hand, shake Wukong's shoulder, the monkey rolled over. Macaque froze at the sight of Wukong's eyes wide open, the glamor fading to be replaced by deep blood red. He raised a hand and waved it in front of those red coals.

Wukong didn't move.

Oh. He was sleeping with his eyes open.

That probably gave those soft tears easier access.

Macaque, for a split second, was tempted to run back and hide in his bed. Whatever could make the legendary Monkey King cry was nothing to sneeze at. Still, he stayed put. He watched those tears roll down his former king's cheeks, unsure of what to do, fighting that urge to run.

Instead, his hand raised up.

The moment his fingers brushed against that soft amber fur, Wukong's trembles suddenly stopped. Macaque dared to push his hand in, feeling his skin prickle at the touch. Wukong's eyes stayed open but dead to the world.

Macaque scritched.

His other hand rose up and joined the first. It took a moment or two, but they began to move in a familiar motion, something Macaque hadn't done in years.

He sat next to Wukong and groomed him.

He wasn't sure why. His own sleep was being disturbed by this, after all. Still, he stayed put, making sure to untangle every knot and bite down on any pesky bugs. Macaque, maybe, needed the comfort as well.

All he knew was, slowly, Wukong's eyes slid close and relaxed.