#and it tied to his upbringing and it was easy to figure out where it came from

[fernsnouveau]

@agentofcalamity thank you for the recs, but the romance or action genre thing wasn't important to me, also it doesn't matter to me what the character looks like. I was thinking more about the psychological side, mental health issues (but not catastrophized or harmful stereotypes), the social masking, compulsive people-pleaser tendencies, high compassion mixed with low socialization experience, alienation? Low/conditional self-worth? Character flaws that aren't about explosive anger/violence? Argh I'm bad at explaining this, sorry.

[Edit – also, the tag rant is general observations and frustrations, not directed at you.]

Anyway does anyone have recs for fiction with characters similar to Adrien but they don't devolve into edgy murderboys?

[bonnibellexox]

Writing: Things I Learnt the Hard Way #7

Status Quo Addition...

Having revamped the synopsis for my WOP book, I’ve learnt many things:

I talk too much

Because I had only just finished the planning and plotting of the book when I wrote the first blurb, I was excited to throw every idea out to the public in as much detail as possible. Now that I’ve explained the concept to every stranger on the street, I’m much better at getting to the point.

Names aren’t necessary. Just make it clear what their role is and move on.

Start with your opening concept, then make it clear where the story will be headed. This book could have been about an adventure across the country or a tale of survival, so it’s important that I highlight Canopy (the girl) as being the centre of the narrative. The last section also hints that the conflict with circles back to his home and upbringing as he starts to realise how twisted his worldview was.

Use Canva. Everything is better when you add leaves and pretty graphics.

A mutated world that turns out to be beautiful is already a concept people are familiar with. I didnt need all those examples, save them for the book.

It’s pretty easy to figure out what a scientist’s goal would initially be in a world like this, I didn’t need to specify that they were looking for a solution to the mass mutation.

The whole thing tied itself off too well, the tone made it feel like I had gone through all there was to tell. “They fall in love and live happily ever after... AND THEN-”

Any other ideas or suggestions? I’d love to hear them!

[evaglass]

Four men, four countries

So I'm just posting and speculating for fun. This is a small theory, but I think it would be interesting if each of the four men were from each country in the British Isles.

So we already know that Fowler is from Ireland, but we don't know about Violet's, Skeffington's, and Routley's origins aside from the fact that they're most likely from the British Isles. Usually, you can tell where someone is from by their surnames, not always, but usually; however, I don't think that will help us in this case. The reason why I don't think the mens' surnames will give clues on where they're from is because I don't think they're using their real names.

The reason I think those names are aliases rather than their actual names is due to the timeframe and historical context. There is no way around the late 16th century to early 17th century would an Irish child be named Abijah Fowler; he would have most likely been named after his paternal grandfather if he was the oldest son, and it would be an Irish Gaelic name, along with his surname also being Irish Gaelic.

It also makes sense that the men are not using their birth names as they are participating in the black market.

However, I think I can at least make an educated guess on where each the men could be from.

Violet - I think he's English, I also think he was somewhat of the leader in that group. Violet was referred to as "old Violet," which could mean he's an old friend or he was possibly very elderly, maybe the eldest out of the four men.

It would make sense if he was the eldest, considering in the flashback he seemed very easy to kill. I also want to bring up that Fowler genuinely seemed upset about Violet's death and looked like he was genuinely going to kill Mizu for it. I believe each of the four men came from harsh upbringings, like Fowler, and I think Violet was likely the first to go into that sort of black market lifestyle and took the other three men under his wing. It's likely Violet took Fowler in after he lost his sister and thought him everything he knew.

It's a bit tricky to figure out Skeffington and Routley, especially if the surnames do turn out to just be aliases. So, let's look at the names from a more metaphorical lense instead.

Skeffington - so when I do a quick Google search of the name Skeffington, its meaning has roots in the words 'sheep' and 'farmstead', which you'll find a lot of both in Wales. A bit on the nose, to be honest.

Routley - looking into the meaning of the surname, Routley was a bit more difficult as apparently to some sources, the meaning is lost, but according to ancestry, the surnames can be associated with the term 'cliff', and Scotland makes 60% of cliffs in Britain. RIP Welsh Routley theory, you will be missed

Another thing is that I believe that Skeffington will be the most sadistic, as someone on another post pointed out that Skeffington can also be referred to as Skevington, which is also the name of a torture device know as Skevington's daughter. His last name having ties to the term sheep can also be used to foreshadow his personality as a wolf in steep clothing, someone who's a mindless sheep (a blind follower), or even a sheep in wolves clothing because deep down he's a coward.

As for Routley, I can assume he's probably the youngest out of the four. Also, let's be honest, many of us believe he's either Mizu's father, or if you believe in the European mother theory, then most would believe he's at least her uncle because of the 'pretty eyes' comment. It's very likely that Routley will be the most significant target to Mizu, and he'll play a big part in season 2. Which might mean Mizu be half of

In all seriousness, it could be possible that each for four are from one of each country in the British Isles as during that time frame it could be beneficial for the group for one person to know Welsh, another to know Irish Gaelic, and another to know Scottish Gaelic. I also want to point out that, apparently, the surname Violet comes from the term 'pathway', I guess Violet painted the pathway for the other three men to join him.

Take this with a huge grain of salt as this is just a theory for fun.

[pinkroseblooms]

Tunnel Vision

Summary: Iketeru is grateful to have you on staff to help him stay grounded, but what is he supposed to do when you're the one making his head spin? 3.7k words

A/N: Art is official from Gaku Kuze; Iketeru Daga/F!Reader who works on the set of Together with Maman as...let's say emotional support human? I didn't think that far ahead, the point is it's fluffy and tooth rotting sweetness. Enjoy!

Off camera, Iketeru is probably the closest to his oniisan persona: pleasant and approaching life with a more positive outlook than his co stars. Even though Iketeru spends a good chunk of time in his own little bubble, he’s not the type to hold grudges or be resentful; he’s too easy going and short sighted for drama.

So where’s the issue? Well, as much as you had an initial impression of Iketeru walking through life unaware and unhindered by the cynicism that grows from adulthood, he still holds himself to a rigid standard, like many people his age. You don’t know if it’s his strict upbringing or a childlike desire to please others when Iketeru is called on to perform a task, but if he falls short, he will not let it go.

Spiraling is the best way you can define it: if Iketeru is unable to accomplish something, he will press on, forcing himself to try over and over. The strain and stress makes him mess up or worse, Iketeru shuts down altogether, immobilized and on the brink of a panic attack.

“Let’s break.” You ignore Derekida’s protests at the nerve of you interrupting the shoot (he’s the director here) but you usher Iketeru backstage into a fold out chair with promises to make it quick.

“Breathe.” 

“But I have to-” 

“Not right now. Right now, you just need to breathe, okay?”

Iketeru calms down but he’s still staring at his hands; he looks like a puppy that’s been scolded for peeing on the carpet. “It’s all wrong.”

“You did one thing wrong.” You hand him a water bottle and step back so he doesn’t feel crowded. “What do we do when we have a problem we don’t know how to fix?” 

“....huh?” 

“I’ll help you: we take a step…?” 

“Into the river?” 

“What? No, what the hell-? Look, we take a step back, calm down, and ask for help. We learned that yesterday, remember?” 

“No.” 

“Here’s your reminder; now have some water, a sip won’t hurt.”

Iketeru drinks slowly; there’s color in his face again, but he still looks and feels a bit uneasy. You glance over your shoulder: a few of the kids are looking concerned, but Utano and Uramichi are leading them in the arts and crafts segment. You suppose Iketeru’s experience in the arts is more centered with performing, but once he’s shown how to do something, he catches on fast. And yet, here you are, another mini crisis to tend to.

The embarrassment he feels at having you see him in such a state is lessened by the need to be pulled out of his own head; it is strange though. When someone like Kumatani or one of the other staff are called upon to similarly aid him, Iketeru isn’t as concerned of how he must come off; he’s mainly worried to be a bother. There’s not a lingering sense of shame that makes Iketeru tongue tied and hyper aware of everything he does, like he’s auditioning on a stage and you’re in charge of critiquing his performance. 

“Sorry.” Iketeru wipes a drop of water from the corner of his mouth. “I’m slowing down the schedule…I’m letting everyone down.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up so much. Think about it this way, how would you react if one of those little munchkins was struggling? Would you tell them what a disappointment they were?”

“No.” Iketeru concedes. “I’d probably…I guess try to help them figure it out.” 

“Why?” 

“What? I wouldn’t want to make them feel bad, of course.” 

“There you go. Next time you’re having a little trouble, be kinder to yourself. Don’t worry about the others, they know you’re doing your best. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve met period: you’re not any less impressive because you’re having some trouble with your, uh, role.”

Iketeru nods and offers a small smile; of course you wouldn’t look at him in a poor light because of this. He knows you’re right but it’s not as easy to be so level headed when he’s in the moment. Yet you seem to have an endless wealth of patience; your words always manage to ground him back to reality. When you’re next to him, speaking to him so warmly and empathetic, Iketeru hangs on your every word.  Even when Iketeru’s mind drifts, he ends up thinking about you in an unrelated way to the topic of conversation: how pleasant your voice is, how close you are, your eyes-

“Iketeru-oniisan? Are you ready?” 

“Huh?” 

“Heh, looks like you’re feeling better, space cadet.” You smile wider. “I asked, are you ready to go out there and try again?” 

“Um, yes! I can do it.” 

“Alrighty, I’ll recycle this for you.” You hold up the now empty water bottle with a sly grin. “I’m just gonna take this and slide it through the hole.”

You thought Iketeru would get a chuckle out of that, but he’s not smiling at all anymore; was that one not blatant enough? Maybe the delivery was off. Derekida is already shouting for you to hurry up and not delay the schedule any further.  

“Oh sure, but when he’s brainstorming, he can hold everyone up for an hour or two; duty calls.” You shake your head and give Iketeru a quick thumbs up. “You got this!”

Iketeru nods and waves, stiff and mechanically; he wants more water now. His cheeks are hot, despite how long he’s been sitting away from the harsh stage lights. Don’t get him wrong, that joke was hilarious, but lately your inappropriate quips make Iketeru think about things he knows he shouldn’t be thinking. 

Kumatani leads him back to the children, using his Kumao-kun voice to say cheery words of encouragement, though Iketeru’s only half listening. Not good: it’s time to get back into the role. Iketeru smiles as the children welcome him back and show him their progress on their projects. Iketeru really does feel much better but still off somehow; the ball of nerves squirming in his stomach has been replaced by a knot in his chest. Is he sick? Maybe he needs to take a cough drop or have some hot tea after work. Iketeru hopes he isn’t coming down with something: he wouldn’t want to make you worry.

“Worry? I mean, I guess she would be? I hope so…wait, no. But I don’t want her to worry.” Iketeru glances to where you’re chatting backstage with Ikuko; a yawn escapes you, but you don’t look too exhausted and you give a sweet smile in response to whatever Ikuko is speaking of. 

“Iketeru-oniisan?” 

“Huh? Oh sorry, that looks very pretty; good job!” Iketeru smiles kindly as the young girl holds out her tissue paper bouquet of tulips; she mixed the papers somehow so they look multicolored. “I can practically smell them.” 

“I’m going to give them to my mommy to say thank you for being my mommy.” 

“What a thoughtful gift, I’m sure she’ll love them!” 

It doesn’t take long for Utano to show Iketeru how to bunch the papers together to make a nice pattern and to shape the chenille stems to secure the “petals” in place. You’re leaving for the day and see Iketeru finishing up a bouquet of what looks like red poppies; he’s laser focused on the project, hunched slightly over the table in his green room. His door is open and he looks ready to leave, save for the clutter overtaking some of the table’s surface. 

“I knew you could do it.” You knock lightly on the door as a courtesy before strolling over, grinning as you watch him carefully tie the flowers together with a ribbon. “Wow, that’s really good. Like, you could sell these.”

“Huh?” Iketeru looks up at you. “Sorry I wasn’t listening, I’m making flowers.”

“Anyway, how are you feeling? You should head home, you’ve done enough for today.” 

“I couldn’t, I had to finish this and you were still working.” Iketeru regards his handiwork with a content smile. “There, all done.”

“Wait, are they for me?”

“Sure are.”

“They’re really nice, but are you sure you don’t want to save them as a prop or something?” 

“I can make more later if we need them; these I made just for you.”

Iketeru turns in his seat and holds up the tissue paper poppies up with an absolutely angelic smile on his face; you take the little bouquet gingerly, careful not to bend or tear anything. 

“I made these to thank you.” Iketeru stands up, taking a minute to put everything away into a container he borrowed from the arts supplies closet. “I know it’s not much, but I was able to make them because you helped me.” 

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“Sure you did.” Iketeru’s smile grows sheepish. “I know it’s part of the job, but I hope you’ll accept these as a token of my appreciation. I wouldn’t have made it through the last few hours if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Aw, I just got there first.” You grin bashfully, beyond flattered at this gesture. “Thank you, Iketeru: I’ve never gotten flowers as a gift before and these ones will last me a long time!”

Iketeru smiles vaguely as you continue to speak, still admiring the poppies; he’s a tiny bit surprised to hear no one’s ever given you flowers before, fake or otherwise. You’re one of the best people he knows; surely someone like you gets bushels of flowers for all the holidays and special occasions, maybe even for no real reason at all. Iketeru can see you clear as day in his head receiving dozens of daisies, stems of cherry blossoms, strings of sweet peas and sprigs of lavender adorning your hair and clothes until you’re covered in bright colors and fragrant florets, a mountain of tokens from imagined people moved by how grateful they are to have you in their lives. At the center of that mountain of flowers is you, putting all of those beautiful blooms to shame; you smile at him and take the offerings of artificial poppies and homemade onigiri, cradling them protectively to your heart. Iketeru stares at you with helpless admiration, unsure what to do other than allow himself to melt into a puddle as you lean in to press the softest of kisses to his cheek-

“Iketeru?”

“I wasn’t listening!”

“You didn’t even try to make up something.”

Iketeru coughs. “Sorry.”

“Ah well, I figured.” You tuck the tissue paper poppies into your front pocket. “The inside of your head must be an interesting place.”

“Sorry.” Iketeru repeats. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you. You must think I’m rude.”

“Come on, I know you’re not like that.” You assure him. “And hey, I like to ramble anyway, so I guess it all works out. No harm, no foul.”

“If you say so.” Iketeru glances at the ground. “Actually, what I was thinking…can I bring you flowers again?” 

“You don’t have to do that!” You sputter, holding the artificial blooms to your chest. “You didn’t even have to give me these.”

“I wanted to.” Iketeru assures you. “I wasn’t planning to give them to you initially, but I kept picturing your face when I was practicing. It just seemed right for you to have them.”

“Okay then.” You chuckle. “Careful, you’re gonna make me think you’re sweet on me at this rate.”

“What’s that mean? I’m not familiar with that phrase.”

“It’s a way to say you like someone in a romantic sense.”

“I see, thank you for explaining.”

“No problem.”

“I really like how that sounds.”

Iketeru notices you’ve gotten quiet; the space between him and you is very small, the two of you are nearly bumping shoulders as you walk side by side out of the building. Iketeru rarely gets the chance to be with you one on one, but when the occasion arises, you do most of the talking. 

He wasn’t too sure, but Iketeru recognizes the way he thinks of you has long since changed from innocent admiration to affection. Even so, he hadn’t been preoccupied with trying to pursue something beyond being friendly coworkers. Iketeru couldn’t have guessed how much his attachment would cement into, but it’s impossible to deny there’s a difference with how he regards you and other people he cares for.

Whenever you walk into the room, Iketeru feels a sudden rush, not even realizing he had been anticipating your arrival to the studio. You speak firmly, but are never mean or insincere. Even in the midst of Iketeru’s crisis, seeing you make a beeline towards him made the dreadful, heavy weight on his chest abate enough so he could breathe a little easier. 

Has the thought never crossed your mind, at least once? Your face betrays nothing as you make your way to the station, Iketeru moving so you walk on the side of the sidewalk that isn’t by the street or the bike lane, even when he’s lost in thought; it’s like an automatic instinct at this point. 

“Iketeru, do you live this way?” Your voice changes tone from mild to concerned. “I’m actually going to a cafe by my place.”

“A cafe?” Iketeru perks up; cafes have cozy insides with places for people to sit for a while and share good treats and conversation.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head home after treating myself to a little something, so you don’t need to escort me home.” You say lightly. “It’s not very far, maybe five minutes. I didn’t know you lived in the area.”

“I don’t live around here.”

Your expression changes to slight shock. “What? Iketeru, didn’t you realize where I was headed? Oh man, how far out are you from your place? We’ve been walking for fifteen minutes.”

“That’s right, I was going to call my sister to pick me up.” Iketeru remembers; they were supposed to run a couple errands when he was done at work. “I’ll text her that I’m going to get a taxi home, she doesn’t really need me to help with grocery shopping.”

“Why don’t you have her pick you up now? We’re not that far from the studio, send her your location.”

“Yes, I guess that would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

Iketeru types out a message to let Mabui know where he is and apologizes for losing track of the time. It’s a good thing he’s a decent actor because otherwise Iketeru doesn’t know how he would keep the disappointment off his face. It sounds like you want him to leave. When you brought up going to a cafe, Iketeru’s first thought was that you were going to extend an invitation for him to join you, but maybe he was still daydreaming. 

“Something felt different about today.”

chest hurts as you watch him impassively type on his phone, explaining where he was and why his reply is so late.

“Is this being sweet on somebody? I’m pretty sure that’s how I feel. All I know for sure is that I would be so happy if she felt that way about me. Even if she didn’t, I still want to go with her. I want to see her more. I’m a coward. I can’t even ask her to have coffee.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I’m sure Mabui won’t be too upset, it’s better than if she sent me out on my own and I forgot the grocery list or something.” Iketeru can’t stop talking, saying anything to gloss over this awkward moment. He's spent enough time acting like a fool. “We’re running low on some things; I’ll probably get stuck on cooking duty for dinner tonight since I forgot all about it, haha. We usually split chores, but sometimes it’s easier to buy stuff when we both use similar things. I do like to cook though, I found this new recipe for onigiri filling, I should pack some for lunch tomorrow and-”

“Whoa, whoa.” You put a hand lightly on Iketeru’s shoulder. “You don’t sound okay.”

Iketeru tenses up; your hand shocks him through the layers of his jacket and sweater and undershirt, right to his skin. Your expression is measured, gaze steady but gentle; you’re off the clock and he’s still making you do work. 

“My apologies. I’m fine, maybe a bit tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” You withdraw your hand. “I didn’t mean to keep you, it was nice of you to walk me out.”

“No, don’t be sorry, it was my pleasure. You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Iketeru manages a smile to mask the shame he feels at his own behavior; you shouldn't have to humor him like this. You're a nice, thoughtful coworker and friend. 

“Do you want me to stay until your sister comes?”

Iketeru has to force down the burst of giddy joy from your kind offer. “There's no need. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, it’s nothing super bad or serious, just…it’s hard.”

“Hard, huh?” You nudge his shoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t resist that one.”

Iketeru chuckles; you really are too good to him. Despite almost ruining your plans to relax, you’re trying to cheer him up. Iketeru supposes it’s time to be an adult and focus.

“You go on, Mabui will be here soon.” Iketeru feels a buzzing in his pocket and the chimes of a bell; he takes out his phone. “Ah, she’s calling me now.”

“I’ll leave you to it then; have a goodnight Iketeru, let me know how the onigiri turns out!”

“I will.” Iketeru waves as you turn on your heel and continue walking down the sidewalk. “Goodnight…”

With a sigh, Iketeru accepts the call, hoping he sounds better than he feels.

“Hey, sorry sis, I didn’t mean to-”

“Is she still there with you?” Mabui’s calm voice asks. “Put her on the phone.”

“Why?”

“I want to say hello and thank her for looking out for my little brother.”

“Uh, well, hold on.”

Iketeru looks up; you’re only a few paces away. In a few seconds, he’s caught up to you, phone in hand. Any trace of guilt Iketeru has wavers when you turn around to look at him.

“Iketeru? What’s going on?”

“Sorry, it’s my sister.” Iketeru says, still a bit confused. “She wanted to say hello and thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

“Oh!” You look pleasantly surprised. “How nice; here, put her on speaker.” Iketeru does just that, holding the cell phone between you and him so you can both hear Mabui clearly. 

“Hello, Mabui-san, I'm ”

“Sorry to butt in, but Iketeru wants to ask you on a date. Normally I wouldn’t pry into his personal life, but he’s been getting worse with remembering basic things and being distracted over this, so would you mind giving him an answer?” Mabui’s asks as if she was requesting you tell her the time of day. “It would make things a lot easier on me.”

“Mabui!” Iketeru would say he’s panicking but he’s far past such a mild reaction; his insides have frozen solid. He might choke on nothing but his sister continues to address you like he's not there hearing every incriminating word. 

“Iketeru probably wants to go to that cafe with you, so how about there for a first date?”

“DON’T LISTEN TO HER SHE’S LYING SHE’S A MAD WOMAN!” 

“No, I’m helping.”

Iketeru yanks the phone away. “Sis, how could you?!”

“Well, I’m going to the store now. See you later.”

Iketeru stares blankly at the black screen. The call is over. 

No, his life is over. He can’t even look at you. 

“Did you want to go to the cafe with me?”

“I’m sorry.” Iketeru croaks. “I’m really sorry, please, forget the last five minutes, I’m so sor-”

“Iketeru, breathe.” You take his hand gently. “Just breathe. Everything’s okay. I’m here and I’m not upset.”

Iketeru does as he’s told, slowly inhaling and exhaling; your hand squeezes his palm just enough so he feels steady. You’re smiling; you’re holding his hand. 

“Um, so, we shouldn’t stop and talk in the middle of the sidewalk.” You glance around. “I think you scared someone and we should probably go before they call the cops. Besides, you look like you could use a hot cup of tea, huh?”

“Do you mean it?” Iketeru leans in slightly. “You want me to go with you?”

Your gaze falters from his face to over his shoulder and your lips are pursed together slightly. Iketeru forces himself to be in the moment; the circumstances aren’t ideal, but now that he’s been put on the spot, Iketeru has to see this through. If you reject him, he won’t argue or be offended. Iketeru can wait until he’s alone somewhere before he allows his heart to crumble. 

“Please. Please like me too, please-”

“It doesn’t have to be a date.”

Iketeru isn’t able to speak; he just nods like a puppet on a string but then you continue to speak.

“I always pictured dressing up a little for a first date.” You confess, chuckling self deprecatingly. “Maybe we can plan it out together? We can do something casual of course, but I wanted to look cuter for you.”

“I,” Iketeru blinks rapidly and gathers himself so he can speak clearly. “I want that too. I want to take you anywhere you want to go…and bring you flowers.”

“I’d like that.” You stand a bit awkwardly, smiling like a fool. “I like you a lot, you know.”

“Me too.” Iketeru smiles; he doesn’t feel nervous anymore. You made him feel so safe. “I can’t wait to bring you your first real bouquet.”

“I’m looking forward to it; but still, I like these poppies. I’m going to save them; all this time, I thought it was just me. I never want to forget today, so I’m glad these flowers can’t wither away.” You sigh happily and lean into Iketeru’s shoulder slightly. “It’s a gift from you after all: they’re special, ya know?”

“Hm?” Iketeru smiles at you, as if just realizing you were on his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’ll tell you some other time.” 

[sscrubberhose]

Ya got any dialtown headcanons? :3

hooo boy. ive been chewing on this all day and I think i have a decent amount to say!

Spoilers for Dialtown!

Tw for mentions of suicidal ideation and religious guilt

Phone/Typegingi:

-Is aware of everything that happens in my fics but forgets

-is more aware of how people perceive them than people give them credit for, wants to make everyone happy

-has a strong fear of being alone, which is why they bother people so relentlessly. if they were to be fully ignored for an extended period of time they would have a breakdown

-Has both the phone and the typewriter head and can change them out at will, dont ask where they keep them.

-has bitten theoroar many, many times and will do so again. is even more fearful and hateful of him after the zoo explosion

-has a lot of love to give and genuinely prefers being around their friends

-has a level of intelligence that is genuinely sort of surprising sometimes. this intelligence is used at random

-is surprisingly easy and hard to kill at the same time

-the narrator is actually a separate entity to them who cares about them very much

-seems to be passively suicidal but no one can tell if theyre joking or not

-roger rabbit rules, whatever biology is funniest is what they have

-perceived height changes based off of this rule as well. no one notices.

-breaks into town hall once a month for funsies

-enjoys sweet things quite a bit

-autistic beast

Randy:

-is actually a decent cartoonist, but rarely draws due to hand pain. likes drawing gingi and oliver the most

-has a lot of religious guilt due to growing up catholic with a very very strict, religious father, left home as soon as he could. also why he is afraid to talk to God.(hobo)

-father harped on him his entire childhood about being a burden, now feels that he owes the world for existing. this is slowly healing.

-due to his upbringing hes still learning how to function as an adult, i.e cleaning, cooking for himself, things like that. hes working on it!

-has sensory issues, has ASD

-fear of cgi animals comes from having to watch weird religious propaganda films for kids when he was young. he is getting over it thanks to oliver.

-extremely observant and notices things a lot of people don't, but usually doesnt say anything for fear of being annoying

-knows shooty and stabby on a first name basis(not that he knows whos who)

-sees Norm as a father figure but would never admit that

-has a long list of phobias that hes working on recovering from, but is too nervous to go to therapy for

-has a LOT of plushies in the ticket booth that Oliver and Gingi have given him, refuses to get rid of any of them

-taking the bandage off wont instantly kill him, he doesn't know this.

-can skateboard, does not do this often

-gets sick very easily, has to be forced to rest as he tries to insist hes not sick

-is roommates with Oliver, they have a bunk bed

-got his number changed so the hotline wasnt tied to him anymore

-is actually a good singer, never sings due to thinking he sucks. Will hum to himself while working at the ticket booth

Karen;

-Has actually gotten fairly close to the other datables since the conclusion of the game, doesnt know how to express this

-Visits Dialtown for a few months out of the year to catch up and spend time with her friends

-part of her contract with helping rebuild was better wages for those who worked at the bank. It took a lot of arguing but she felt that no one should suffer like she did.

-expresses her love for her friends by making them ponysonas. Is a huge pegasister. will infodump about it for hours to anyone who will listen

-enjoys botanical illustrations the best, next to drawing horses

-draws horses with normal horse heads as a form of abstraction

-puts capsaicin oil in her paints so Gingi will stop drinking them. This did not work.

-enjoys vintage movies and game shows and talks at length with Oliver about them when they go out for coffee or dinner together.

-she and randy doodle together sometimes

-also has severe sensory issues and has safe outfits she wears. will cry if she has to touch certain fabrics. (LOOKING AT YOU CRUSHED VELVET)

-safe foods are microwave dinners and pasta, but she keeps her diet balanced.

-her and Norm get along now and will sometimes go for hikes and chat about life(and ways to wrangle gingi)

-allergic to shrimps

-can play piano

Oliver:

-Got a new therapist who doesnt think hes weird or annoying(it didnt phase him but thats not groovy to say to someone)

-has POTS, often needs to sit down at work so he doesnt faint.

-is a HUGE horror fan, could tell you everything about the behind the scenes of every major and minor horror movie to come out in the last decade.

-works as a haunt actor for the Dialtown Haunted House every single Halloween, wants to run it someday

-has a log of every new thing he notices about Gingis biology, the log is three books long now.

-Really wants to run a youtube channel where he does amateur ghost hunting with randy, has yet to convince randy that this is a good idea

-is very physically affectionate, though he does ask permission first before touching anyone!

-Has had top and bottom surgery and is comfortable where his transition is, thankfully his insurance under Mr. Dickens covered it! (Mingus isnt a TOTAL monster)

-has a digital scrap book of all his favorite memories with his friends

-makes rage comics unironically.

-favorite color is actually black, red just seems to be his thing!

-has been legally adopted by Mr. Dickens but decided to keep his last name as Swift because "it was rad."

-is actually friends with most of the ghosts and poltergeists that live in the cinema/scareshack

-kept the popcorn and soda dispensers, but got the soda dispensers to dispense SODA and not...whatever the fuck it was doing before.

-helped renovate the basement of the cinema into a haunted maze that he helped design, the theme changes once a year!

-got those unicycle lessons and knows how to juggle as well!

-likes rollerskating, has Heelys on all the time

-allergic to peanuts

-can play guitar

Norm:

-Is aware that Gingi sees the face on the sticky note change and thinks its sort of funny

-Is actually good friends with God and the two go out to lunch once or twice a month

-enjoys fishing and will take Randy and Oliver on fishing trips, Gingi usually follows regardless of invite.

-Sees himself as a father figure to most of the dateables, and is willing to fill in that role.

-apologized to Karen for his behavior by baking her fresh bread. is actually an extremely good cook

-irises and pupils are both void black due to exposure to the wormhole. He has not noticed this. Eyes used to be honey brown.

-Has to stop Mingus from doing a new evil scheme once a month, has a spray bottle for this purpose.

-does actually have other outfits for when the space suit needs to be washed, is never seen outside the house when this happens

-Oliver, Karen, and Randy have seen his real face, they were like "cool" as Gingi is just...far weirder.

-i imagine him as strawberry blonde. Short hair, either buzz cut or just short. maybe some stubble. I dont have a good image of what his face looks like, it is just bag to me

-not great at public speaking but REALLY good at pretending to be

-is actually very good at using technology but will sometimes pretend not to be just to tease Oliver.(it works every time)

-can also play guitar

Bigfoot:

-...no.

-okay okay i have one. You could use his fur to make yarn IF you washed it. You will never be able to get close enough to brush him though.

Misc headcanons:

-heads can be repurposed after death, like cadaver bones!

-the more popular headtype for modern business men and women is a laptop

-after what happened to Callum Crown, the answering machines function was completely separated from memory storage

-Snakes have syringes for heads

-peter and his wife are poly and want roger to be their third, but roger is as dense as a brick and peters too formal to just say it out loud.

-Harry and Jack are a couple in this universe, Jack is just a very odd boss to work for regardless

-Billy is Abel's kid. The mother is unknown. probably a one night stand.

-the swans miss randy :(

-there are a few headtypes that are banned for various reasons, one of which is having a megaphone AS your head.

-Roger is autistic and has a stutter, and sometimes has to use ASL to communicate. Peter knows ASL for this reason

-The Narrator could talk to the others, but only if it was an emergency

-all Dialtown OCs are canon. theyre in town somewhere, having fun and living their lives!

-Dialtown is bigger than shown in game, including the town square which has a fountain and a park surrounding it, as well as a skate park, rec center, arcade, a pizza place, etc.

-all the dateables have met satan at least once, they just didnt know thats who that was

-shooty and stabby are dating, theyre just very bromance about it. good for them...

-rotery phone heads are coming back in fashion as a sort of 'retro' vibe.

-getting prosthetics/emergency plastic surgery and medical care is actually quite accessible.

-jerry and his wife come visit dialtown every christmas soley so that gingi doesnt run all the way out there to visit them and get hopelessly lost. theyre doing quite well!

-there are competent members of the dialtown mob but they dont really do much other than hang out at the bar

if i think of anymore Ill let you know!! thanks for askin!

[bentlands]

thanks for sharing your thoughts about Warren because I am also concerned. I believe in rehabilitation and I hate the prison industrial complex and capital punishment. all that horrible shit. it is fantastic that forgiveness can lead to such wonderful change and activism. I'm not saying Warren shouldn't be seen as a complex person who's actions are a result of his upbringing, but it seems that all some viewers are taking out of this is "reena is annoying and a bitch" and "poor baby Warren he's just like beccas brother 🥺" which feels so disgusting to see.

the way some viewers talk about reena makes me think that if they were at that school they might have even participated in reena's assault, you know? they are less forgiving of her mistakes than warren's. it makes me start to hate Warren because all the focus and empathy and forgiveness is going his way and NONE of it is going reena's way.

warren has been rehabilitated. he is out of prison. he's living his life. why does he need more sympathy? meanwhile, reena is still dead and people are still reacting to her as if it is the 90s. we are being fed this version of Warren that becca sees and it feels so reductive and counterintuitive to what the show has set out to do, which was apparently to bring light to the victim and her family and not turn the killer into some kind of celebrity. but yet they cast some teen heart throb to play him as a tragic character? I'm just so confused and I really hope the next two episodes can clear this up. sorry for the massive rant.

no youre good!!! i m in love with massive rants in my inbox <3

i think a main part of the way warren in the show is depicted is that he's seen through our 'narrators' eyes; who are rebecca and cam. cam has had no significant interactions with him, and rebecca has become some sort of big sister figure to him, where she sees him through rose coloured glasses, and if you take all of the show at face value, it is easy to see him that way as well, which also ties into casting a teenage heartthrob, etc. while i havent seen people hating on reena (i thankfully live under a rock known as tumblr.com and do not venture to other social medias often) its so hard to watch people engage critically with her character and not warrens. one thing the show has done (up until now, i won't spoil though) is kind of remove him entirely from the murder, which he helped commit.

again this isn't to say that i don't think he deserves to get a second chance in life, or that he doesn't have regrets, i think a key message of the show, especially at this point, is that everyone is more than the worst choice(s) they made in their lives, even if those choices are objectively horrible and cruel, and there is (or should be) an opportunity to make better ones, and that is a difficult message to convey sometimes!

[mhaccunoval]

if you have an oc named lucille you HAVE to tell me eveyrthing about her by law so w e can be namebuddies. me and your oc.

OF COURSE!!!! AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY HER!!!!

i should say first and foremost she's not to be confused with lucy from down on palladium. lucille is only occasionally called lucy while lucy DOP is lucy as a chosen name (over 'eden' and what it's tied to); they've both got independent girlie vibes but are otherwise very different...

SO LUCILLE. we'll see where i can get to with my lack of explaining rustling the hickory trees (RtHT) on here. lucille is a less-than-incidental side character who's the younger sister of one of the main characters, harry, and the bestest friend of the other main character, bill. she's five years younger than harry and five years older than bill, so perfectly middle child of the group. but also she's very much. 'younger sibling who seems more like the older sibling' type of vibe? not that harry is irresponsible or doesn't have a good head on his shoulders or anything. he's just. very laidback and easy going, sometimes falls easily into good things and pursuing his ambitions, so for a while, before he got with bill, Lucille was somewhat picking up the slack of logistics and reason and everything.

such slack as. when harry was 22, he moved east to virginia (the siblings are from huntington, West virginia) to try out for the coast guard without. well not without thought but definitely not neurotically going through every detail or scenario like lucille and bill would. and when he couldn't get in (passed the physical exam but his dyslexia cucked the written exams), it was lucky that lucille graduated early at 17 and is very good with numbers so she was able to go move in with him to ease the cost of living while he tried to find work elsewhere since her being good with numbers helped with getting a bank job.

the bank job where!!! in ~ten years time she meets bill. i still don't know what exact positions they hold but it doesn't matter because what matters is. this 21/22 year old kid came in interviewing for a job, and despite her cautious nature, some gut feeling told her, when said kid mentioned to the hiring manager that he was soon going to be between housing, to offer up a space on her couch. a space that would make history, as soon it blossomed into a friendship with bed-sharing closeness. which then blossomed into a friendship where she treats him like a kid brother (which is a part of older little sister-ship she can better handle than any responsibilities she's accidentally been thrown into) and he accepts it freely since she DOES feel like a sister— and frankly he's closer to her than any of his actual sisters.

as far as her personal life separate of the guys, i'm still trying to fully flesh it out. i'm leaning towards her being a lesbian but i don't know... in part because i'm still on the fence about whether she's one of those single aunties who's loving living life to the fullest (that she can) (but won't say no to spending time with the niece that made her an auntie, the guys' daughter hannah) or if she eventually ends up with someone. also maybe has some religious trauma, or at least easily jokes about her & harry's christian (some flavor of protestant?) upbringing— definitely to bill, who has no idea what the fuck goes on in a church (<- he's from a semi-orthodox jewish family). also also i still need to figure out a face for her...........

[heavenslapse]

@heartsaligned -- emet thinks too much & goes for a walk ☃️

      Sharlayan, famed as the island nation of scholars and academics. Once upon a time they'd been open to receiving outsiders, but since the Garlean Empire sought conquest across the land, invading neighboring nations, they retreated into their harbors and cut all contact with the outside. Through no fault but his own, Emet-Selch had pushed the scholars into their unwillingness for compromise with foreign affairs'. Those with noble ties, royal and political upbringing, were not welcome. The fear strife would break out and endanger their precious attempts to seek knowledge ever apparent.

      The choice words he would muster for how Sharlayan would rather turn blind eyes to the world around it; the threat of the Final Days looming well over their heads. They'd been herald by messengers from the stars, but not did they allow word to slip to the lands of Erozea dealing with the crisis of LUNAR PRIMALS nor the appearance of the sudden mysterious towers.

      Hard to believe he was here now. Hard to believe he was HERE at all. Another chance at life granted the option to obtain some semblance of redemption. Never could he undo the things he'd done over the course of 12,000 years. The suffering he'd wrought along with the sea of death dragged at his heels. His pain would forever be a part of him, stacked so keenly the weight of centuries labored on his shoulders. He could leave into the Lifestream when all was said and done. Washed clean of his sins and guilt to be born anew. But the thought of leaving everything behind, erasing the millennia of memories, left a dull taste in the back of his mouth.

      He rolled his neck, gazing at the slumbering figure lying half on top of him.

      The day to come would be a tremendous one: the Aitiascope. Where all the departed souls gathered before their descent into the Lifestream. Traversing the terrain was no easy feat, assuming one could first get down there without being crushed to death under the pressure of aether.

      Emet-Selch should have been sleeping. Yet his mind tossed and turned worse than a stormy sea. If he slowed his breathing, matched it with Hythlodaeus' shallow breaths, and closed his eyes long enough, sleep would undoubtably consume him. But his frustration won the battle over a blissful respite. He sighed and pushed himself up. Careful as he could, he detached Hythlodaeus from himself despite the latter's attempts to keep abed.

      ❝Come now, even after all this time.❞ Emet-Selch scolded. He wouldn't be gone long. Just enough to clear his head. Slipping free, he gently smoothed the hair out of Hythlodaeus' face and covered him back up. He grabbed his coat hanging by the door and draped it over his shoulders. The lights from the estate's hall were dim, just bright enough to peer through the darkness without bumping into something.

      The servant mining the door to the estate bowed courteously as the heavy emerald green and stonewashed gray entrance opened. The cold night air hit him, and Emet-Selch considered briefly returning to his quarters rather than enduring the chilly evening wind billowing off from the ocean.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Traveling with you - Victor

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event, 与你同游, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

This is an event for Chinese New Year, where you get to visit a Spring Festival Temple Fair with the love interests :>

Players are able to select the order in which they visit various locations, so they aren’t meant to be in chronological order!

Prologue: here

More: Gavin l Kiro l Lucien l Shaw

🌹 TEXT 🌹

MC: Mm, hmph.

Victor: Are you done with your work review?

MC: ???

MC: It’s prohibited to talk about work after working hours.

Victor: You stick to the rules when it comes to these things.

Victor: Why did you message me?

MC: Ooh... could you accompany me to the Loveland Spring Festival Temple Fair this year?

Victor: Give me a reason.

Victor: Don’t tell me it’s because you want to try different types of milk tea again?

MC: I vow to the heavens that I won’t rush to the snacks this time!

Victor: ...it’s truly easy to guess the thoughts of a dummy.

Victor: So when’s the temple fair?

MC: It has already started. Since we’re on the topic, shall we take a look tomorrow?

Victor: You could consider changing your habit of acting on the spur of the moment.

MC: Mister, it’s already close to the Spring Festival, so can’t you agree to the tiny request of your diligent and sincere, 10/10 employee?

Victor: I could get Goldman to adjust my schedule, but your work review report can’t be delayed.

MC: Yes, CEO Victor! I’ll see you at the temple fair tomorrow then, goodnight.

Victor: Rest early, and don’t make a fuss about not being able to walk tomorrow.

Victor: Goodnight.

-

🌹 Location: Traditional Snacks Stall 🌹

I sink into deep contemplation at the sight of various posters.

Victor: It’s unlike you to hesitate on what to eat.

MC: I’m not hesitating about what to eat, but worrying about whether or not they’re delicious. After all, I'm someone who has grown used to Souvenir, so I won’t be swayed easily.

Thinking about the sweet fragrance of pudding, my eyes sparkle at the sight of a pile of boxes at a particular stall.

Victor: Boss, I’ll have two boxes of flour pastries.

[Note] The actual cake is called 步步糕 (“bu bu gao”), but there isn’t an English name for it.

MC: I didn’t really expect you to buy such traditional flour pastries.

Victor: Aunt Grace likes them, so there used to be some at home every year during the festival. Why? Is it very strange?

MC: Not really... I just didn’t think you’d pick it unhesitatingly despite the variety of snacks here.

Victor: Weren’t you staring at it earlier?

After being stunned for a moment, I grin while opening the cover, stuffing a piece into Victor’s mouth.

This Spring Festival is fragrant and sweet. It tastes like clouds.

-

🌹 Location: Firecrackers Stall 🌹

Setting off firecrackers is pretty dangerous. If you’re a minor, do light them up only when supervised!

Victor looks at me, and I return his stare confidently.

MC: I. Do. Not. Need. Guidance.

Purchasing the spiral firecracker I eyed earlier, I head to an empty spot. Setting the rope alight, I toss it out.

Crackle--

Sparks burst along with the spinning fireworks. I tug on Victor’s sleeve, pulling his dazed self a little further away.

MC: Isn’t it really interesting? Want to try it for yourself?

Victor: ...I'm not interested.

Despite what he says, Victor takes another look at the spiral firecracker.

MC: Didn’t you play with these mini firecrackers when you were young?

Victor: When I was young... I didn’t really understand them.

Come to think of it, Victor had a strict upbringing, and it was probably very difficult for him to come into contact with such things.

MC: It’s okay. Let’s make up for it with these little amusements today.

-

🌹 Location: Auspicious Stall 🌹

A little different from the usual traditional fortune sticks, the “Auspicious Booth” involves slips of paper tied onto red strings. There are ladders provided, allowing visitors to step onto them to retrieve the slips.

But with Victor’s height, he just needs to stretch his arm.

He retrieves a slip of paper that I have my eye on.

MC: It’s reads “Great Blessing”!

Victor: Don’t celebrate too early.

The moment he finishes speaking, the people who step down from ladders behind us raise their slips in excitement.

Passer-by A: Amazing! “Great Blessing”!

Passer-by B: I also picked “Great Blessing”!

Victor: Mm, not bad. There’s quite a high probability.

MC: ...wait! I’ll look at the words again! Look, it says “Luck will follow in the coming year, and you’ll become the support of people close to you.” Victor, I might become an important person to you this year.

Victor gives me a deep look, then chuckles.

Victor: In that case, I wish that your accomplishments this year can match this “importance”.

-

🌹 Location: Game Stall 🌹

Victor and I wait in the queue at the pitch-pot game area. 

[Note] Pitch-pot is a traditional East Asian game that requires players to throw sticks from a distance into a large canister!

Approximately half an hour later, eight arrows are finally handed to us.

Victor lifts one, subconsciously tugging on the plume. 

Before I can react, he tosses it.

The tip of the arrow successfully strikes the ear of the canister, falling onto the ground.

MC: ...

Victor: ...

MC: Victor, successful people not only have to invest. They also have to throw the arrow into the canister.

Victor doesn’t look at me. Pursing his lips, the second arrow responds with a thud.

Clatter-- it falls straight into the canister.

The surrounding crowd releases a series of fervent applause.

Meanwhile, I don’t have such luck, and fail to get even one in.

MC: My profits were supposed to pour in from all sides...

With a half-smile, Victor places the prize into my hand - it’s an antique coin.

Victor: Here it is.

-

🌹 Location: New Year Handmade Items Stall 🌹

Taking the paper and pen from the stall owner, I lean towards Victor in an ingratiating manner.

MC: In this new year, my wish can be summarised in three words: “A Sudden Windfall!” If you draw the Spring Festival picture, it’d be more effective.

Giving in to my repeated requests, Victor ponders for a moment before very quickly drawing a long-haired figure on the red sheet.

The little figure is carrying an ingot in her right hand, and a proposal in her left, her eyes crinkled into crescents..

Victor: Satisfied?

MC: One thing’s missing.

Taking the pen from his hand, I mimic what he did earlier, drawing a short-haired figure which looks dead serious, next to “me”.

MC: Since the stall owner said that the Spring Festival picture symbolises the wonderful expectations for the new year, it definitely can’t do without you.

Victor: So why is this “Victor” carrying a pig?

MC: ...it’s obviously a pudding! Oh yes, want me to draw you a picture? I think you could hang it in the office.

Victor: No need. Looking at you is sufficient.

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My Name

Chapter One Title: All I Know

Characters: Negan x Plus Size Reader, The Saviors, The Wives, Eugene

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Gore & Violence.

Word Count: 2,930

Careful to avoid making any noise, you pressed down on the stainless steel lever.As discreetly as you could manage, you peered into the communal living space.Sherri and a few of the other wives sat together on the large sectional speaking in hushed tones. Your prison guard however, was absent. You grinned. Dropping all pretense, you stood up straight and let the door swing shut behind you.

“Good Morning.” You called out cordially.

Her eyes gave you an appraising once over. They paused at the sight of the old flannel you had on over your dress.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Negan’s first wife asked sternly.

“Where ever the wind takes me on this fine day, Miss Sherri.”

The remnants of a southern upbringing scolded you for being rude.You knew well that all of these girls had to put up with the boss man same as you,but you couldn’t risk getting caught just to be polite.

“He’ll be angry.” You heard her call after you, but Negan was always angry. So you didn’t let that stop you.

There was no way of knowing how long you had, but you intended to explore as much of the sanctuary as possible. You had been out of the room before, sure, but you had only seen flashes of the place as you ran past.Then there was the mini-mission you went on two months ago to find out what was making Joey late. Once you figured out what day of the week Pastry day was, it was simple.Third day of every week, Joey headed straight for the bakers and stood in line for a good half hour. You left when they handed him the sweet bread and found you could beat him back to the room.That was the most you had seen of the sanctuary since your arrival and was not the best way, you were convinced, to get to know and appreciate the beauty this place might hold.

The Sunlight felt nice for the first few seconds after you stepped out of your building, but soon enough the humidity ruined the moment.

You stayed on the greenery beside the road to avoid burning your feet, following the gravel path to the market place.Careful to avoid the baker’s side of the warehouse, you walked idly passed stall after stall of goods and services.

Your eyes caught on a table of battered shoes. You recognized the pasty ex-alexandrian running the table.Eugene, he was called.You knew this from the stories Tanya told you at dinner time.He was nothing but a blubbering wuss from the sound of it, so you figured you could handle him.You strode confidently to the front of the line and smiled.

“Excuse me?” You found yourself demanding not two minutes later.You glared at Eugene until he looked away.

“You don’t have credit.”

“The hell I don’t!”

“How many more times do you need me to say it?”Eugene repeated a smirk on his lips.

He leaned back in his chair looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“How fucking dare -” You started to shout, your voice ringing out through the warehouse.

Calling attention to yourself was the last thing you wanted to be doing you reminded yourself anxiously. You scrambled to come up with a different tactic.The corners of your mouth pulled up into a practiced grin that you never thought you would have cause to use again.

“My my,” Injecting sugar into your voice, you leaned across the table until you were nearly close enough to touch him.“Look at you! You’ve been runnin’ with the big dogs long enough to do a halfway decent impression, Eugene.”

Eugene’s shifty eyes widened. “You know my name?”

“Negan only ever talks about one genius with a mullet.”You lowered the volume of your voice conspiratorially, “How fortunate you are that my darling husband hasn’t seen through you yet.” You postured, taking a risk. “Maybe, I ought to help him see you for what you really are?”

“He will never believe you.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t make any sense for me to lie about a man I have never met. All i have to do is call into question your history with the people of Alexandria and make it seem like I feel concerned for his safety.”

Metal chair legs scraped against cement as Eugene pushed his seat back and stood.

“I’m g-going out for a smoke.Them shoes better be the only thing missin’ when I get back.” His trembling lower lip killed any affect his wrathful tone might have had on you.

You snickered at his retreat.

Your white dress fanned out behind you as you hurried away brown leather contraband on your feet, eager to begin your self guided tour.

Building after building of industrial rot, a few rusty tin shacks, and a sad row of herbs and spices later, you found yourself in front of the main building itself.

The Sanctuary’s weather beaten concrete face was made of cruel sharp angles. Her broken windows were yellowing jagged teeth.She stared brutally down at you until you couldn’t bare to meet her eyes anymore and turned, walking brusquely away from her frightening visage.

You turned the next corner only to freeze in your tracks.The wet raspy growling filled your ears before the smell hit you.

Walkers

Your eyes swept from left to right a few times trying to count, to keep track and then you realized, that they weren’t coming for you. There was a chain link fence separating them from you.Your brow knitted.They were tied down.They were, for the most part, stationary.Some chained up, some tied up, some stuck through with pipes. It took a twisted mind to come up with such a gruesome thing.

You wondered if Negan had come up with the idea himself.You shook the thought away. You didn't want to know. You made for the only corner of the god forsaken place you hadn’t yet visited.

The stolen too-big boots kicked up loose bits of gravel behind you as you headed for the backlot. Little did you know that you had an audience.Eyes followed your trek down the road from the loading dock behind you.

The field was inhabitted by broken wood pallets, a rusted up old mercury with bullet holes along the side, some old crates, a busted up head board, ruined tires, and tin sheeting. They lay rotting in the grass.Nearer the chain link fence, lay the final resting place for the few men who managed to stay on good terms with Negan until their last moments. Crude wooden headstones marked with paint stuck out in a bad attempt of making a row.

You slowed down as you reached the end of the pavement and waded into the living green sea of grass hoping not to encounter any snakes.The damp blades were staining the skirt of your dress, but it’d be worth the scolding. A long jagged claw snagged at your dress.You cursed. As you pulled it loose, you realized it was a foot and a half of wood that likely came off of one of the pallets.You tossed it aside and smirked.Now that you’d gone and torn the thing, he would be extra pissed. Hell if you were going to get him good and mad you had better do it well you thought, untieing the bright orange ribbon from around your wrist. Negan's latest gift to you. Each time you saw it, it reminded you of who you belonged to. You frowned as you let it flutter to the ground. It may as well have been a dog collar.

Negan was following you, keeping far enough away not to draw attention.He cursed Fat Joey for letting you out.That idiot was going to pay.He grit his teeth as he watched you wade into the tall grass.Flannel shirt or not you were ruining your dress.Where the fuck was he supposed to find you another dress as nice as the one you had on? The sight of you tugging on your skirt brought his eyes to your wrist. He saw you take off your bracelet and let it fall. Did you have any idea how hard it was to come by anything in bright colors these days?Of fucking course not!You were a spoiled selfish ungrateful untamable thing.He was not going to be taking it easy on you this time.He spotted you staring at the barbed wire topped fence and froze.

He didn’t have to imagine you attempting to clamber over the high fence, face full of determination fueled by spite.He would never forget it.Your last attempt to leave made it clear that you didn’t give a shit about your own well-being anymore.Negan cursed under his breath. God help you if you were stupid enough to pull another stunt like that.Yet he knew way down deep inside, somewhere primal, that you belonged to him.After three years and fifteen failed attempts to leave him, Negan had come to the conclusion that he had to do everything in his power to make you want to stay.

Despite the show and the accusations he had made, alternately burning and bashing some person or another, every time you fucked up Negan went easy on you.The second he’d laid eyes on you, he’d chucked his personal rule book out the window. He was afraid that this made him look soft and that burned his pride like nothing else could.

However, women with your body type had always been his preference and He knew, a figure like yours was a rare find these days. He wanted you. Negan wanted you badly. More than anything, he wanted you to want him to fuck you.It was a frustrating blue balls inducing shit show of a situation.Charming women had always come easy to him. It was his shit luck that you weren’t easily charmed. He followed you into the field. His eye caught the shine of the ribbon easily. As He pocketed the scrap of orange cloth, the memory of your first meeting came to mind.

Your hair pulled back into a braid, a lovely face, enough cleavage showing to catch his eye. Your faded jeans had holes in the thighs and your breathing was heavy from your attempt to out run The Saviors.

You looked so darn pretty kneeling before him.You’d had the audacity to meet his gaze. It pissed him off and turned him on in equal measure.Your eyes captivated him.They were burning with resentment, but no tears.Not his Y/n. You didn’t cry, didn’t beg, and didn’t flinch at the sight of Lucille.Not even after he’d dirtied her up a bit.Near the end of his speech,some traitorous switch inside him had flipped.

“Darlin’, You have got a look in your eyes that says you haven’t been fucked right in years.” He drawled smiling his slick easy smile.”Why don’t you come on home with me, I’ll show you how good it can be with a real man.”

“You expect me to believe that a bean pole like you can handle curves like mine? Honey, I would eat you alive.”

He laughed low and long.The genuine mirth startled everyone, but you.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.I just wanna love you right.”

“Well, I am sorry, Mister Real Man, but your pick up lines are bad jokes at best and that mouth of yours...” You shook your head in disapproval. “So dirty.”

You were meant to be his. No doubt about it.

“Mmm, there are plenty of good things I can do with this dirty mouth and you are curious to find out, I can tell.”

Negan’s big strong hand had fisted into the collar of your flannel pulling you toward him. You stumbled onto your feet to keep from being dragged. Before you could catch your balance, his lips were on yours.

Unbeknownst to Negan, unlike his bat and savior show, the heated kiss he gave you impressed you.

He nipped at your lower lip and turned back to what was left of your group.

“We are gonna do just fine, Dollface. As for the rest of you sorry shits, You are going to bring me my stuff and then go out and get me something nice.”

His hazel eyes gleamed down at you. “We’ll consider it a wedding present.”

Your exclamation was drowned out by the saviors’ hearty laughter as you were forcefully led to his truck.

From the moment Negan made you a wife, you vowed that you would get away from him even if you died trying. After three years and fifteen failed escape attempts, you had come to the conclusion that making him hate you was the only way out of the wives club.

You rummaged through the crates and found quite a few empty glass bottles. They would do. You put them all in the same crate and carried it with you as you counted your steps. You waited until you were at least two yards away to throw the first one.

Thunk

Wading further into the tall weeds and grass he frowned at the unfamiliar sound.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You murmured to yourself as you bent to pick up another bottle.

You glared at the Mercury, closed your fist around the neck of the bottle, and swung. It grazed the roof, but landed on the other side of the car.

“Have you lost your freaking mind?”

Your shoulders tensed at the familiar deep baritone of your husband’s voice. You stood there clenching your teeth, frustrated with the intrusion.You schooled your features before turning to face him.

“Hey there, Sugar. What are you doin’ out here?”

Negan came to stand before you, but he didn’t ask the questions you had expected him to ask.Perhaps, Where in the hell did you get shoes? or How in the hell did you manage to escape a locked room with a savior standing watch?Instead, Negan swallowed his anger and made himself the very picture of patience.

“I could ask you the same question, Darlin’.” He replied.

You stared at him, curiosity battling the wrath within you.

“Well?” Negan prompted after a minute or two of your silence.

Your thoughts raced.

What the fuck?!Why was he being nice?!He should be letting you have it right now! He should be cussing up a storm!

“Just... keepin’ busy.”You said lamely.

“In the junkyard? Playing with glass? That’s a hell of a thing for a Queen to do.” He murmured.”You could have hurt yourself.”

You were disgusted by how genuinely concerned he sounded and cringed at him calling you “Queen”.For weeks now, you had been working on him, from picking fights, to ruining belongings, to giving him the cold shoulder.Until finally you’d been able to break out again.You wanted him good and mad and Negan was not cooperating.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Actually, I haven’t been here long.I walked the whole Sanctuary first then ended up here.”You shrugged and made to pick up another bottle.”It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Who do you think you are?”

You should have known his anger couldn’t stay contained for long.

“Beg your pardon?” You snapped.

“I said,” Negan growled pulling you toward him by your shirt collar, “Just who, in the fuck, do you think you are?” His eyes glowered down at you.

“Y/F/N Fucking Y/L/N.” You declared and kicked him.

The shock on his face turned to fury. Familiar though the expression was, Negan had never turned it on you.Adrenaline spurred you into action.You yanked out of his grasp and tore through the field.

“Y/n!” He bellowed.

You didn’t dare look behind you as you pushed yourself to run.

[shrimpanalysis]

SIMON LAURENT ANALYSIS

Simon is mostly known infamously as the Villain of this season and a murderer to boot. He seems to be very insistent about his own opinions and beliefs. Going so far as to outright deny other peoples attempts at correcting him.

Due to this he is seen as narrowed-minded and egotistical, outwardly hating being wrong and giving people this intellectual leverage over him but internally rethinking all of his views. His inferiority complex I mean pride- is what I think to be one of the major factors that causes his character regression.

His pride (No, not the group of lions) is shown throughout the season by holding his ground. Most people interpret it as him being close minded at adamant to his own beliefs but I feel like the beliefs are only the basis to his inferiority.

An example, his own hatred towards Nulls. This can be quite a weak link to bring up as everyone in the Apex has this belief. However, the way he continuously reacts to them despite them showing humanity to him as compared to Grace who has gradually seen the other side of them and starts to understand and develop meaningful relationships with them-

Simon reacts negatively the nicer the nulls are to him.(Tuba’s death)

I interpret this as his own damaged pride, he hates being wrong and the more he is proven wrong the more angry he would get. This fear of being wrong could stem from past experiences of being the butt of arguments and made a fool out of it.

Him experiencing these feelings brings himself to adopt this mentality that other people are perceiving him as an idiot or a fool, causing him to try to justify his beliefs as much as he can in order to victimize himself into thinking that everyone is against him and he is the only one that is right to boost his self-esteem which causes him to adopt this narcissistic and manipulative persona to hide his own weaknesses.

(Simon looks away from Grace displaying emotion, he would be more susceptible to mirroring the reactions of his closest friend and he does not want to show weakness.)

Due to his narcissism, he also displays what the viewers might perceive to be a lack of empathy. He does not display much compassion and can be outright apathetic to other people's circumstances, Such as his dismissal to Hazel bringing along Tuba despite her looking clearly distressed when they said she couldn't bring her and completely ignores her feelings about the subject.

He perhaps reacts this way due to his own internalized hatred of himself and displaying compassion would be showing a less hardened in his eyes as he is perhaps taught from a young age that being sensitive or vulnerable is showing weakness and he does not want people to think less of him.

Him being unempathetic also stems from his ego and beliefs as he usually displays this attribute towards Nulls specifically throughout the show which is because if he was indeed wrong about Nulls, it could cause him to start questioning his own feelings about them which is something he does not want to think about as it conflicts with his own victim complex.

Due to him not wanting to be more exposed emotionally, he lashes out in anger. Anger at himself that he projects onto his relationships with others as he is unable to understand and handle his emotions effectively, this can be caused by not having a stable guardian like figure to help him through such issues.

Simon is also shown to outwardly control his anger by kicking and punching objects.

This is shown to be counter productive as it does not allow the person to understand where their anger is coming from and only prides a temporary outlet for his aggression.

His aggressive personality can also be shown in his interest with making war replicas/models.

This can be taken as him being someone who likes being in control and feels like conflict is the only way to progress which can be found in his own toxic relationship with grace where he tries to control her, not knowing that she is her own person which ties into his lack of empathy. This trait is especially shown almost at the end of the series where he commands the Apex like a leader and donning a military general like coat.

His inability to cope with his own emotions and expressing them outwardly to others is the main reason for his attachment issues.

His own paranoia and lack of trust in Grace by invading her memories when she doesn't tell him that Hazel is a Null which shows us how Grace knows his aggressiveness and acts very secretive around him as she predicts he is going to blow up when he finds out.

Him finding this out himself causes even more hurt as he is hit with the realization the only person that he thinks that ever cares about him has betrayed him. He is alone now, a reminder of the time when Samantha left him behind.

And it angers him and forces him to project his sadness as vengeance against others such as manipulating grace and using her memories against her, causing her to be stuck in her own memories as Simon just walks away.

Put yourself in Simon's shoes, you are stuck in an unfamiliar environment,

no idea where to go and the only parental figure you trusted in this whole place was just using you for her own self interest and

your closest friend seems to be tip toeing around you.

You also feel like everyone is out to get you and that your flawed beliefs are wrong but it was the basis of keeping you sane throughout.

Not wanting to believe that any of these things happened to you, you disregard all emotion and lash out at others because you don't want to feel that any of these things are real.

It sounds like a fever dream doesn't it?

Congratulations, you are basically in denial.

I would say the beauty of Simon's portrayal in season three would definitely be the lack of context behind his actions. He is very easy to dismiss as a one sided evil character. (I don't deny it, he is one.) Due to this we don't really see him as a fleshed out individual and he feels like the Tom Riddle of the season.(slowly devolving into a villain.) His own deterioration into this ultimate descent to becoming a murderer and attempting to murder his childhood friend; the instances to solidify his own inferiority complex (the mentality of "Grace already perceives me as an evil character, what use is there to better myself when it's already too late?") Which is what I think to be the cause of his inevitable demise.

I doubt it is going to happen but I do wish that the next book will cover some parts of Simon's past. He isn't a redeemable character, and never has been. He is someone molded by his own upbringing that we do not see, the most integral parts of his development. Many people have made the comparison that Simon had just as many chances as Grace, if not more to redeem himself.

I feel like he does not need chances, he needs to build himself from the ground up and truly look deep into himself and figure out why is he acting this way. None of these chances provide him with that opportunity and this is where him and Grace deviate.

The train has improved Grace and supported much of her character development as shown in the series where he becomes more empathetic, more trusting and open to others such as Hazel and confronting her own demons in her own mind.

She also finally manages to stick up for herself after the emotional roller coaster Simon put her through.

Simon on the other hand, uses this opportunity on the train to cause much destruction and chaos. He has a disconnect with the plane of reality inside the train as opposed to real life and this stunts his development. In my opinion this would be due to the faults of the train and the limitations of the amount of people that it can help. Yes, some people get off the train and become better. People like Tulip, Jessie and Lake. But we don't really see the people that the system has failed. This is where Simon comes in, he is the very person that the train has failed and it shows how counter intuitive it is with the limited opportunities and the disregard for the different circumstances of the people in it, bundling them together.

I doubt Simon will be the first, or the last passenger to be ruined by the whole system. I do like how his character gives us an insight into something not many of us have thought of before that is; how can a train be designed to be so perfect that it can help every single person on board? It is impossible. Even Artificial Super Intelligence like One-One would have trouble doing so. Which can represent how people can only change if they want to, and if they genuinely don't they have to be stuck the feedback loop of hell.

_____________________________________________________________

Big thanks to my homeboy @useful-crew-too​ for supplying all of the screenshots for this analysis

[kpopnlockit]

Tethered

This is a very sad and personal piece to me but I wanted to share because it has been some of my best writing lately. It may be triggering to some so those who do not do well mentions with angst, depression, co-dependent relationships or eating disorder may want to steer clear. - Admin O

Your heart hurt. In both the physical and figurative sense. Your eyes burned and you knew they were bloodshot from the crying you had been doing. You were emotionally exhausted to the point of numbness. You could feel the way your facial features sat neutral. Your mouth was dry from dehydration and your stomach ached from hunger. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat or drink. You hated everything at the moment, including yourself.

It was how you coped. Self-destruction. You knew it wasn’t your fault. But it felt like it was. So you punished yourself. You knew it was a remnant from the unloving upbringing you had. Internalizing the blame that had been shifted to you and letting it consume you whole until there was nothing left but a shell, or rather a puppet, that went along with the motions. You were never taught how to handle things like this. You were only taught that everyone else’s misery was your fault.

Age didn’t change anything. At times like these, you were still that teen that didn’t eat and sat alone in their room with a pen and paper and lived in made up fantasies where you weren’t even a character. It wasn’t for a lack of knowing better though. You knew you were doing it and you knew that you were blameless, but that didn’t change the pain. So you did what you always did to alleviate it.

Even as anxiety sat heavy on your chest like a boulder crushing your rib cage, you let your glazed over eyes not focus on any one thing and retreated into your mind. The safest and most dangerous place on Earth. It was such a shame to waste such a beautiful day wallowing in feelings that you tried to ignore and lock away. They always slammed into you like an eighteen wheeler on the highway when you could have been making better use of your time. You could have been out on a shopping trip with a friend or taking a walk alone through the neighborhood basking in the summer breeze on your skin. Instead you sat wretched, under a blanket on the couch in your apartment.

You wanted to laugh at yourself, at your foolishness. How could you stay the same while everyone grew, changed, was happy? You felt a headache building in your forehead as you thought about how you always let it get to this point. You took everyone’s shit until you imploded, hurting yourself and never those that deserved it. That was the type of person you were. Rather, that was the type of person you were molded to be. A scapegoat. A pathetic thing that was always smiling until one day it became too much and all you could do was sit in one place and sob into a towel. Because if anyone heard you, it would be an inconvenience to them. It would be a nuisance to let them feel the guilt for what they had done to you.

It was always engrossing when you let yourself feel. It ate up your time and energy. It ate you up. That’s why you hated it. But you couldn’t avoid it. You would let it pile up, adding more and more to the finite box you kept your emotions in until they burst forth, spilling all over to the point where you couldn’t shove them back in. You had to let them sit with you, you had to feel them, when it got that bad. And without fail, it was too much.

Feeling was never something you were good at. It didn’t seem like anyone around you was good at it either. More often than not, for them it came out as anger, doors being slammed, cars being revved, shouting matches that the neighbors could hear. Encompassing bouts of rage put on display for others. Maybe that was the healthier way to sort it out. Explode like a firework and let others deal with the ashes. You wondered why you couldn’t be like that, why you suffered alone? You knew why though. You didn’t want others to deal with your problems like you had to deal with theirs. Actually, what you dealt with was them not dealing with their problems. That was what was the most painful. It had nothing to do with you.

As your emotions had nothing to do with others, you let them devour you in solitude. There would be no catharsis after though. This you knew. It would just be nothingness. An empty box that would get filled to the brim again and repeat the whole cycle. You would try to fill the void with junk food and burn away the anxiety with boiling tea. It would be a temporary fix, as always. Momentary, makeshift solace.

When would you deserve real happiness? When would you think you deserved it?

You wanted it to have been raining. Maybe it would have been more endurable if it was raining. Instead it felt like the sun was mocking you, reminding you that you could not enjoy the beauty of that day. That you wallowed and regretted and the world went on. You’d see pictures of people out at the restaurant you had put on makeup that morning to go to. They’d be eating funnel cakes at the fair you’d been talking about all week. Jealousy caused a dull ache in your belly.

Why couldn’t you get over it? Why were you stuck for hours, unable to fake a smile or savor anything? Everything was so easy when it fit in the box. Food didn’t taste like soot and you could actually cherish the memories you made.

You could hear him rattling around in the bedroom, trying to sleep but failing. Each creak of the bed, every movement of his limbs, irked you. His ridiculousness was the cause of all of this and he wasn’t even sorry. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember why you argued. He couldn’t even make sense when you were exchanging verbal blows. He was too delirious from his depression fog. He couldn’t be reasoned with. That left you, rational and frustrated, to deal with each feeling, each articulated assault that ricocheted off of him and back into your face. It was talking to a brick wall. You had known that when you fought back and that was what brought on the tears. Hot wet pellets of raw anger.

In moments of clarity, he promised dates and travel. Then within minutes he was unable to speak or function and your hopes were trampled. That’s likely what bruised the most. Him letting you anticipate only to be left there with shaky hands and a broken heart. You wanted to live. You wanted to experience everything he talked about. You wanted to be outside, in the good weather, doing something, anything. But he could never deliver. And you knew it wasn’t him. It was his depression. It weighed him down and shrouded him in an air of darkness. You could barely make out the man you fell in love with through it.

It was painful now though and you couldn’t see when it wouldn’t be any longer. Could you keep enduring? It felt like you had been enduring forever. Would he feel abandoned? But you too, were broken. You suffered alongside him. Could he see that? Did he know how you struggled to stuff everything into that box day in and day out? Did he know that you sat grieving the loss of him meters away from him?

Fresh tears fell. Your nose ran. Your stomach grumbled. You had started as half and were made whole by him, or so you thought. Now it felt like you were both a quarter, coming together to barely make a half. How had it come to this? When had it? Had he whittled you down or had he been three-quarters and was now not?

He hadn’t showered in over a week. When he asked if you wanted to go out to eat that day as you lay cuddled in his arms, you asked if he would wash his hair. He said yes. Then as you put on eyeliner an hour later, he said he was waiting to leave, you could drive. You asked if he was going to shower. He didn’t answer. He was ready to go to the restaurant. You could tell he was in a fog. You finished your face anyways, hope still present. Then he asked if he looked bad, feeling that was what you were insinuating. You said no. He asked why then did he need to bathe? Not thinking, you said you could see his dandruff and it would be nice to go to eat without that. Then it evolved into a fight, raised voices and you trying to talk sense into a senseless being.

When he flip-flopped, so did your heart. You felt like you were drowning with a weight tied to your ankle only pulling you down further. You didn’t have the strength to pull both of you up. You remembered the picture of your friend, with her husband and children eating at a diner that morning. Why could you not have a simple existence like that? You didn’t want too much, you thought. Just...to live. To not feel tethered. To be happy together, in each other’s presence. Like what had been.

You were living in the past. Perhaps the man from back then was still somewhere near but you couldn’t see him. Holding on blindly was stupid. There was no future guaranteed. It didn’t seem like rolling the dice on it was worth it either. Yet, here you were. Listening to him tossing and turning while you cried, wishing things were different, wishing he were different. You waited, and would most likely keep waiting.

[fictionplumis]

Fuck it, I’m writing more headcanons I have about Aiden and the Cat School witchers because fuck you, that’s why. 

It goes hand-in-hand with this post here where I first talked about how I see the mutagens affecting them, and I still stand by that but I’ve added more to my thoughts and made things a bit more complex. 

To start with, if I relate anything to a mental illness in a wrong way, please correct me. I am not neurotypical, neither is anyone I know, and I’ve taken a few psych classes, but I’m by no means an expert and the last thing I want to do is contribute to damaging stereotypes and spread misinformation. I also want to say that I’m not necessarily saying it’s any mental illness-like thing that makes Cat witchers the way that they are, but more the lack of knowledge/support/treatment/coping methods combined with the typical shit upbringing of a witcher that makes things so difficult for them. 

So there’s not much we actually do know about this school, not concretely anyway, and we’re also not sure how reliable the narrator is per se, because it’s very possible the stuff we do know about them is just rumors. My headcanon is that yes, most Cats are legitimately dangerous. Given that they act as assassins sometimes, I think their school teaches them to prioritize survival and money over all else, whereas I think School of the Wolf teaches their witchers that their duty is to protect. 

I was RPing with someone once who had this brilliant idea of Cats being taught to take contracts for monster nests, and then killing the monsters but leaving the nests so that when they passed through the next year, they would have another contract. In my version of the Cat School, that would absolutely be in line with their philosophy. In a lot of ways, they’re taught that humans are just another type of monster sometimes. They’re good when they’re paying you, but if they start doing the same shit monsters do, what’s the difference? With their heightened emotions, it means they’re capable of really deep empathy and connection to others, but their school teaches them to use that to manipulate people. Find out what motivates them, what words and phrasing you can use to convince an Alderman out of more coin, what emotions you need to appeal to in order to get a free room for the night, stuff like that. 

So let’s take a look at Karadin real quick. If we’re believing that Aiden is who Lambert says he is, then Karadin is obviously lying about why Aiden died. So what else is he lying about? 

Here’s a guy who was taught to survive above all else, to use his emotions and the emotions of others to manipulate them, who is good at gathering information. Him and his rag-tag group of assassins just took out this guy--reason doesn’t matter, it happened--and now they have a renegade Wolf after them. I doubt Lambert keeps quiet, you know? He wants information on what happened to Aiden, he’s going around pounding on doors and taking names, he’s making a scene. Karadin hears about it, we know that because he expected Lambert to show up. So how can he best protect himself? 

Firstly, cut all ties with his crew. Disband them. Become the guy who was into some bad shit but is now trying to clean up his life. Second, find out about the Wolf hunting them. Again, Lambert’s not exactly quiet. At the very least it wouldn’t be hard to find out that Lambert’s bitter about his life being a witcher, that he feels like his humanity was stolen was from. Why he feels that way doesn’t matter, it’s something Karadin can appeal to. Now he can become something that Lambert can sympathize with. Become the witcher that’s trying to leave the Path, start a family, and find his humanity again. You know about being a slaver, assassin, and wealthy merchant on the side, he has bank. So he pays a widowed mother to live with him, provides her and her kids food and shelter and safety, and all she has to do is pretend to be his lover for a little bit. After the heat cools down and he no longer has a Wolf looming over his shoulder, he can go back to his old life. What’s a couple years of laying low to a witcher, right?  Karadin’s mistake is not realizing that Lambert valued Aiden over any half-assed attempt to get his “humanity” back, and that he trusted and knew Aiden well enough to see through the lie. 

Anyway, that right there is the kind of shit the Cat school teaches. 

This, of course, makes Cats very hard to trust. And in turn, it makes Cats very suspicious of everyone else. If they can lie and manipulate like that, what’s stopping everyone else from doing it? It’s always possible. They don’t trust humans because humans have the tendency to be pretty shit (re: the attack on Stygga), they don’t trust the people in their school because all of those people know how to lie and manipulate just as easily as they do, and they don’t trust other schools look down on them. The one school they reluctantly get along with are the Vipers, because Vipers don’t look down on them. The others, especially the Wolves up in their mountain home? Oh, they’re up on their high horse, believing their way is the only moral way, banning anyone who doesn’t agree with them from the only safe place witchers have left, so fuck them. 

Then you pair this with the emotional instability. They have a hard time keeping their feelings consistent, which means they have a hard time keeping their opinions consistent. So maybe they set up camp somewhere they feel safe and an hour later they’re on edge and uncomfortable, and they can’t imagine how they ever felt safe there, and did they even feel safe there? They can remember they did, but they can’t emotionally connect to that memory now, maybe what they remember was back when they felt safe in a very similar camp, and not this one, they just mistook that memory to be this one. Or they take a contract and they decide, yeah, that’s a fair amount for this, this will be easy, even fun!. And then they do the contract and halfway through they’re like no, this is not fun, how the fuck did I think this would be fun, of course it’s not fun, and by the time they get to collect they’re reward, they’re demanding more but that was not worth the price they originally agreed on, I would never agree to do that for such a low amount. 

So essentially, the emotionally instability makes it very easy for them to gaslight themselves. 

Can’t trust others. Can’t trust themselves. Can’t trust their memories, or their feelings, or the decisions they make because they never know when all those things might change. 

Now let’s throw in paranoia, because the lack of trust is definitely a breeding ground for paranoia. It doesn’t help that people already whisper about and spit at witchers that pass by, but for a Cat on edge, everyone is doing that. That person laughing? Laughing at them. Those people talking? Plotting against them. Make eye contact with someone? What do they want? Is that a weapon? Are they planning something? 

And that right there is why so many Cats snap and go insane. It’s not just them lashing out because their emotions got the best of them, that’s would actually be a very small issue compared to this. This is why the rumor is a Cat that’s gone “feral” as to be killed. They work themselves into psychosis and even if you calm them down from the one instance, it’s nearly impossible to fix the way they now view the world. 

So enter Aiden. 

My headcanon is that he started out like any other Cat from his school. He did a lot of fucked up things because that’s what he was taught and he didn’t realize there was really anything wrong with it. He had no reason to question it, no reason to think his elders had taught him wrong, no reason to focus on anything but making money and staying alive. And then that changed. 

Why that changed is flexible, it could be anything, from something small that his ever-changing emotions conflated into something important that he fixated on, to something that is legitimately pretty life changing. I firmly believe that this thing doesn’t have anything to do with Lambert, though. This is before Lambert. Because the important part about Aiden being a good man, is that it’s something he decided to do on his own first. Then later, when he meets Lambert, Lambert helps him, helps him a lot, but the stuff that Aiden had already taught himself is the stuff that Lambert still needs to learn too, so they help each other. 

In my headcanon, the thing that sparked this for Aiden was the whole “leave the nest so you can come back next year” thing. He didn’t think much of doing it besides job security of sorts, and there was one town with a nekker problem that he popped through a few years straight to rid them of the nests that kept popping up. The people liked him because he was friendly and he took care of their problem every year. Aiden figured he could milk it until another witcher came along and destroyed the nests completely, but until then, their gratitude earned him a bit more coin than a monster nest usually would. And there was the carpenter’s son, who really liked him. Just a this spunky little kid who wasn’t afraid of a witcher, and who babbled to Aiden about being just like his dad when he got older, and who carved Aiden a little wooden sword one year as a thank you. And then Aiden came back through one year and the kid was gone. One of the first victims of the hatched nekkers that year. 

All at once it hit Aiden that his actions and nonactions had consequences. He had no kid babbling at him. The carpenter gave him a smile and a nod, but there was an emptiness to it. He had a mother sobbing into her hands thanking him for getting rid of the monsters that killed her son, unaware that it was his fault for leaving the nest in the first place. 

That gets Aiden to not only look at his own actions, but the actions of his school. At what motivates his brothers and sisters. How accountable they are for their actions. How aware they are of the damage it sometimes does. Whether or not they even care. And by looking at that, he sees the downward spiral that so many other Cats take, and he uses his high emotional intelligence and empathy to figure out why that happens, because he doesn’t want it to happen to him. So he has these coping mechanisms. Some are for the strong flashes of emotions that spark up and overwhelm him, but others are things for every day maintenance. He journals a lot. Writes down his circumstances, his feelings towards his circumstances, why he feels that way, the things he’s noticing, he writes down as much as he can so that if his feelings change and he has a hard time grasping how he felt differently before, he can go back and read it. It’s physical proof, right there, that his memories aren’t wrong. He did feel that way. Doesn’t now, but he did, and he can trust that he did because it’s right there. Then he can write down how his feelings have changed, and why they changed, and everything he can think of so he has another record of the situation if he needs to reference it. 

It helps a lot, especially when he reads back over everything from months ago. It helps him become more comfortable with just letting himself feel his emotions without getting as frustrated by all the changes, or stressed out at the idea that they will change. Because they always do, and it’s not always bad, he’s been through it before and he’s gotten on pretty well despite it. The fear he’s feeling at that time will change too, the frustration will change, he won’t always feel bad and yes, he’ll eventually stop feeling good but he’ll also always return to feeling good again eventually. 

Lambert helps him find some consistency, because out of everything, Lambert’s the one thing Aiden has never changed his mind about. Even when he’s angry and frustrated at Lambert, he still cares so fucking much. And the Wolf is always worth it. It’s this one point of consistency that Aiden doesn’t really need to function but holy fuck does it help. 

Meanwhile Lambert will start in about something, be keyed up and ranting while Aiden just calmly hums and watches him pace until Lambert tosses up his hands like, “I don’t even know why this pisses me off so much!” 

And Aiden blinks and goes, “Maybe it’s not just this issue that’s pissing you off. Maybe you’re also upset about other things. Does this remind you something similar that upset you, or has anything happened recently that this is adding to?” 

And Lambert doesn’t fucking know. How is he supposed to know what else he might be upset about? Lots of things upset him! And this is just like a million other situations, how is he supposed to know if one of those is similar enough to also be upsetting him right now?  “Well... Have you tried writing it down?”  “Have I tried what now?”  “Writing it down. You know. With a quill, in a book. A record of sorts, if you will. Of times you feel upset. So you can go back and read it to help you figure out what might be contributing to how upset you are currently.” 

The fact that Aiden says it with all the patience of someone talking to a child makes Lambert immediately dismiss the idea until the next time he gets pissed and he’s like fuck it, whatever, I’m buying a damn journal or whatever. And he does. And he writes down what he’s feeling, and is reluctant to admit that it makes him feel a little bit better, so maybe he does it a few more times, and then something else pisses him off and he writes that down too and then decides to flick back to the other pages and what do you fucking know, it’s kind of like that other time he was pissed. Not exactly, but he reads this one little detail that matches with his current situation that just agitates him to even read it and he’s like huh. I guess I really don’t like it when people say that. Yeah, you know what? I absolutely fucking hate it when people say that. The entire situation pisses me off, sure, but I wouldn’t be nearly as pissed if that guy didn’t say what he did!

Anyway. 

I don’t know a good way to end this but yeah there’s more of my thoughts on Aiden and the Cat School. Maybe I’ll write about headcanons regarding how I see school traits matching with the animal the school is based off of, because I see those headcanons often and while I agree with some, I’m picky and I do it differently.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                             Lee Minho, who is also known as Min;                                        a 22 year old son of Akbul.                                  He is a security guard at Babylon.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Minho (Lee Know), Stray Kids CHARACTER NAME: Lee Minho, goes by simply “Min” AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22 | October 25, 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Gimpo, South Korea OCCUPATION: Security Guard at Babylon HEIGHT: 5’8” WEIGHT: 120 lbs DEFINING FEATURES: Round scar on the front and back of his left upper arm from a through-and-through bullet wound.

PERSONALITY: To strangers, Min seems cold and untouchable; a quiet figure who sticks to the shadows. He almost seems like a shadow himself, the way he sticks close to the few friends he has. He isn’t one for small talk and is rather snarky by nature, so he can come off as a jerk at times.

However, once you get to know him, he is more sassy and funny than you would have expected. He has a strange sense of humour, often employing self-deprecating or threatening jokes that he can deliver with a very straight face.

HISTORY: [ TW: death, gun violence, blood ]

Lee Minho was born to a struggling single mother. The first ten years of his life were happy, but not exactly easy- marked by tattered hand-me-downs from his slightly older cousins, meager school lunches and a shabby apartment that always seemed to have something wrong with it. But it wasn't so bad. He was very close with his mom, and he would later credit his upbringing for teaching him to be scrappy and resourceful and clever.
 Then, his mother met Kwon Wonyoung. They had a whirlwind romance, which essentially meant that one day ten-year-old Min was being introduced to this man who seemed very successful and kind and fun; and within five months, he was the ring bearer at their wedding.
 From then on, life was a lot different. They moved into a nice suburban house. Min was enrolled in a private school where he thrived. His mom started working with Wonyoung at his company. For the first time in his life, they were living carefree and comfortably. Min was able to focus on his studies, proudly proclaiming that he wanted to go to business school like his step-dad had.
 However, Min did begin to become suspicious as he grew older. Wonyoung's vague company seemed to do business at odd hours, and worked with a lot of cash. Sometimes, people who made his skin crawl came to the house to have hushed conversations with his parents. His mother, who had once been like his best friend, had withdrawn from him- still loving, but distant and distracted. It all seemed very fishy, but he was not sure what to think about it. He did not want to jump to drastic conclusions.

then, one chilly autumn day when he was sixteen, Min came home from a study group to find the front door ajar. He did not even have time to take a step closer before something hard collided with the back of his head and everything went black. When he woke up, he and his parents were tied to their kitchen chairs. Something cold and hard was pressed to his temple. He stayed quiet as his parents and the strangers in their home exchanged words.

“Tell us where the money is, or I’ll blow your son’s head off!”

“We don’t have it! It was… stolen!” Even to him, his father did not sound genuine.

“Awfully nice home for someone who lost everything. Isn’t this kitchen new?”

He saw his parents’ faces blanch, tears streaming down his mother’s face, as the man holding the gun to his head switched the safety off. He grit his teeth, hands gripping the arms of the chair so tight that his knuckles were white. His heart was hammering in his chest, the rush of his blood so loud in his ears that everything else seemed muted.

“Did you really think that you could double-cross the Bang Family and live to tell the tale? You’re not that stupid.”

“P-Please… Please don’t hurt my s-son!” His mother screamed, struggling fruitlessly against her restraints.

He saw a small movement from his periphery. The man’s trigger finger flexing. He clenched his eyes shut— but whatever he had been expecting didn’t come. Just a small, hollow click. The gun was empty. He did not know whether he wanted to laugh or scream.

“I know where the money is.” He heard himself say. It was a lie. He hadn’t even known that there was money— drug money or whatever the hell it was. But he had to do something, and he had always been a good bluff.

Maybe too good.

“That’s a good boy.” The gun lowered, and a rough hand came up to pat his head. And then the other two men in the room raised their weapons and shot his parents in the head.

Min let out a small, strangled cry just as all the lights in the house went out, leaving it pitch black. Even the glow of the moon and streetlights didn’t seem to filter in through the windows. He went to pull against his restraints, but they were suddenly undone, falling away from his limbs easily. He ran in the direction of the front door, his movements somehow soundless. When he reached for the handle, it was right where he thought it was. And then he was out in the yard, scrambling toward the road.

That was when a small group of people came out of no where, rushing past him and shooting at the men who had killed his parents as they stumbled out of the dark house. He stopped in his tracks, turning to watch the men fall dead on the porch. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell to his knees, tears streaking his cheeks. Through blurred vision, he watched a few people go into his house while another approached him and crouched at his side. A warm hand touched his shoulder, a reassuring voice saying something he couldn’t quite process. He just nodded numbly, his eyes still on the front door.

He had been by Vincent’s side ever since. Fiercely loyal to the man who had saved his life, he committed himself to helping take down the people who had ordered the deaths of his family, driven equally by a desire for revenge and a need for justice. He was basically living on borrowed time, so why not become a Dark Angel and make sure that no other families were torn apart like his was?

It took years, but eventually he got to face the people who had had his parents killed. Now an adult with some handle on his strange power over the dark, he felt confident and strong and ready. But things went wrong. One of their own was killed, a girl who had been like a big sister to him. Knelt beside her body, trying to stop the blood flowing from her wounds, he hardly even noticed when Vincent dispatched his parents. Suddenly, seeing them dead didn’t matter to him anymore.

The group drifted apart after that. Min was directionless, listless. He returned home to Gimpo and worked to dismantle another petty drug ring, but it did not feel the same as when he had been part of a group. He felt like he did not have a purpose anymore.

And then Vincent mentioned Mount Phoenix while they were chatting on the phone, an island not far from Incheon that Min had never even heard of. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so useless with Vincent around again- and besides, he still owed the man a life debt.

“Where’s this place? You mind if I crash on your couch for a bit? I’m bored out of my fucking skull.”

PANTHEON: Mayan CHILD OF: Akbul POWERS: Min has the ability to manipulate darkness- summoning it and bend it to his will. Additionally, he can move completely undetected within darkness/shadows. STRENGTHS: Street-smart, sassy, observant, stealthy, loyal. WEAKNESSES: Can come off as rude or aloof, tends to punch first and ask questions later, easily bored, lacks purpose.

[peachy-inserts]

HCs for Todoroki, Deku, and Bakugou on their reactions when their (s/o) is ill, but trudges through their ailment to support these guys (despite the boys’ protests not to) in the Sports Festival and passes out in the audience due to the illness and fatigue, resulting in quarantine, please?

Sorry for the wait! God… you can really tell I don’t write for Bakugou enough by how off topic I am. I just have so much to say about this lovable dick that I don’t typically have the opportunity to 

Warnings: Cursing

Midoriya:

When you first began to show symptoms of sickness, Deku became a worrying mess and found himself slacking off on training despite the sports festival being so soon

Not that he really needed it, but it’s Deku

Like I said before, he’s a total worrywart. We know this about him! No matter what it is, he is an absolute anxious mess. You’d better not tell him that you came out to watch him anyways!

He knows how much it means to you, and while you got good seats as a result of being in general studies, you could always watch it from home! It was broadcasted nationally, and it’s not like you would miss anything; they did a pretty good job covering all of the details!

We’re gonna go with the scenario where you don’t tell him you came out to support him, because if you did he simply wouldn’t participate until you caved in. Deku is a chaotic force of good and more importantly, incredibly fucking stubborn. I know he’s a sweet boy, but good God he does NOT take no for an answer. Kid doesn’t listen for absolute shit!

In the middle of the festival, he notices a little bit of a commotion in the crowd but shrugs it off; he’s gotta make sure he impresses you, since you’re supposedly watching him on the television!

It’s not until afterwards that he hears about it, being informed that you’ve been put on quarantine as well

Let’s just say he is heartbroken. More than anything, he was looking forward to coming back to the dorms to pay you a visit and relax after a long, tiring day. With the sports festival off of his chest, he can take care of you without being so stressed about it… Except, that’s not the case

Since you’re contagious, you’ve been sent to your own house. That way the sickness doesn’t spread, and you can be properly taken care of

As soon as he gets permission to, he is on his way! ...Only to be greeted at the door by a family member who shoos him away, since you are quarantined after all

Deku would (impatiently) wait it out with you, trying to make it as easy as possible. He’ll run to all of your teachers collecting work, and even try to do some of it for you. He does spend a lot of time studying, after all, so you don’t have much to worry about

He had the next two days off after the tournament to recuperate and rest, which was spent almost entirely on FaceTime with you, showing you his new injuries (we all know it happened, the boy has no rationality), trying to help you with your makeup work by the tutoring the best way he can, and fawning over your tired but loving expression. Actually, mostly just that last part

Delivery man Deku! He’d pick up all of your favorite snacks, candies, and bottled drinks, then deliver them personally to your house. Being shooed away the last time though, he opts to leave them in a woven basket with a poorly tied bow and a note in the bottom, which is just for you

Todoroki:

While he would be worried about you, he ultimately believes that it’s your decision on what you do. If you wanna come to the sports festival and watch him he won’t stop you, but he can at least try and persuade you by telling you just how he feels about it

That’s not to say he isn’t disappointed, though. Like Deku, he wouldn’t know that you had passed out until after the festival; either because he’s so focused or even because he’s just too dense. It could even be a combination of both, knowing him

Shouto would be quick to chastise you, almost akin to Bakugou in the way he wastes no time in telling you just how you fucked up. However, he’s still timid and suffers from commitment issues stemming from insecurity and his upbringing. He’s just as quick to apologize, sighing and wishing you get wells from the bottom of his heart

The sports festival is long off of his mind by now; to be honest, he didn’t really care about it in the first place. Whether or not you saw it is beyond him, although he appreciates the thought

He knows better than to try and come see you while you’re quarantined, but he doesn’t really give two shits. If he gets sick that’s his own problem, so he won’t stand for being denied time with you; he’ll at least take precautions and wear a mask, though. 

Besides, you’re in this situation because of him. Even though he stands by his stance on this being your choice, he still feels deep down like it’s his fault

Shouto is sort of the awkward type in this stage of your relationship, so he won’t necessarily go out of his way for you. He’d gather your work for you since he’s still at the school, but if he’s unwelcome in your home due to the sickness he won’t fight it or show up again. 

Still yet though, he misses you and is worried more than he would like to admit. Lots of random calls and texts from him

He would spend all day looking for those cutesy heart edits and sending them to you, or finding shitty memes and teasing you over them, saying it reminded him of you

ONE MORE THING: He’s sappy as shit, and being inexperienced and sort of isolated from society in a way (he didn’t even know what a concert was) he’d try and stick to cheesy romantic ideals. This man would write you a whole ass poem to give to you with some chocolates whenever you returned to the dorms, waiting on your bed

Bakugou:

The most assertive in telling you to stay home. He’s hyper aware of your sickness and how it spread, but most importantly aware of how badly it’s going to affect you. Let him catch you coming anyways and he’ll kill you

Because he’s so knowledgeable on the topic, he’s easily the most worried by far. It’s not that he’s scared for your safety so much, but more so your general wellbeing. Katsuki is miserable whenever he’s sick, so the thought of you going through the same thing is almost agonizing for him

He acts like a total mom and you can’t change my mind on this. Also, I don’t agree with fanon Bakugou being arrogant and hateful towards his s/o. This man is putty in your hands, and although he acts annoyed at times he prioritizes making sure that you’re comfortable and know how he truly feels. He’s always had trouble communicating his feelings because of his relationship with his mother (we all love her but I will die on this hill) and as a result of it, is honestly terrified of fucking up and losing you by being too closed off

Anyways though, back to the point: he would be a total mom when you’re sick! Bossing you around, don’t do this, eat this, breathe some of this in, here, have some tea- It’s honestly exhausting having to listen to whatever miracle cure he’s concocted for you next, but you know he at least means well. He really does go above and beyond for his s/o, especially when they’re unwell. The most important part in a relationship to him is being able to lean on each other when you can’t stand up on your own, and by God he’ll carry you for as long as you need him to. Literally and figuratively 

I know I’m going off on a tangent but I just have so much to say about my interpretation of Bakugou: he’s the boyfriend who insists on trying to fix all of your problems instead of just listening to them, and it’s one of the most frustrating things

ALSO BAKUGOU DOES NOT, CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, CALL HIS S/O NAMES LIKE ‘IDIOT’ AND ‘BASTARD’. HE DRINKS HIS RESPECT (WOMEN) JUICE

Katsuki is very intuitive; even though you most likely lied about staying home to get him off your ass, it doesn’t take long for him to know that you’ve come anyways, and HOOOO BOY is he pissed (not that he’d ever take that aggression out on you, though. He’ll save that for the finals)

His head is swirling throughout nearly the entire tournament, and he’s thrown completely off of his game. On a typical day, he’d be trying to show off for you and flexing whenever he can while flawlessly demolishing his opponents, but this time he only makes it into the top ten

He can’t stop stealing glances into the stands, his mind wandering into the empty seat beside you and dying to know whether or not you’re okay, all while absolutely fuming. More than anything, he’s mad at himself. It’s been proven to us time and time again that he tends to blame himself for things, and takes it way too personally, to the point of being self destructive as a result of a sweltering, nasty inferiority complex

Immediately after the tournament, when he’s released and free to head back to the dorms and rest, he sits down in the locker room and calls your cell. Two times, three times, and finally four times with no response. Ok, now his heart rate is shot

By the time he finally comes into contact with you he’s in a cold sweat, brow furrowed in aggravation and concern; a strange mixture. Calm him down, let him know you’re alright, and assure him that you’re perfectly safe and comfortable at home, well taken care if

Once that’s over with, expect a lengthy lecture about the dangers of exposing yourself while you know you’re sick, thoroughly chastising you and expressing just how worried about you he truly is (Seriously guys, if you’re sick even in the slightest STAY HOME)

Like Deku, he would want to spend as much time with you as possible, even if it’s over FaceTime. He tends to be a little paranoid over germs, though, so since it’s not like you live together he won’t pay any visits to your house. Quarantine means business! 

However, though, he will prepare a nice little surprise in your dorm room for when you come back. A carefully decorated array of dried flowers, candies, and small snacks. Katsuki prides himself in all that he does and strives for perfection in every aspect of life; this is no exception. He lives to impress you!

Once you’ve beaten the worst of the sickness, he cracks down on you and will begin to act like he’s a professor on Zoom; man schedules FaceTime meetings between the two of you for him to catch you up on everything that you’ve missed. Let’s not forget, he’s at the head of his class and devotes a large portion of time and dedication into his academic studies

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Goodbye Blue Sky

Part 10

Extra long, late Christmas gift. Warnings are always in effect. I'll leave it at that.

CLOSED list of friendly people: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

The moment the door creaked open, Marinette woke up, shifting towards the source upon recognizing its pattern. Damian stopped misstep as their eyes met, then proceeded to edge closer until he could sit upon the edge. They sat silently watching one another, Marinette's tired mind not fully functioning in her sleepy state now that the intruder was blatantly not a threat to keep track of. 

The boy faced away from her, muscles tense and trembling ever so slightly. He twitched as though he wanted to turn around but aborted the attempt before it could even begin. His fists twisted up in the sheets at his side and he seemed to brace himself for something. Haze lifting a touch, she realizes she needs to bridge the gap herself this time. Normally he came to her in his own time, but just showing up in her room in the middle of the night told her how much he was already meeting her halfway; even if he needed something from her and not the other way round.

Reaching out, shuffling the sheets in warning, she rested a calloused hand on his wrist. His attention snapped over to her, head whipping over his shoulder and eyes locking once more. Only this time, he stayed close enough for her to see the shine to his eyes, fear hiddened in the depths. 

"Damian?"

He huffed a breath through his nose, staying silent otherwise, not moving closer nor creating distance between them. Deciding he probably wouldn't speak on the issue in this mental state, she tugged softly at his wrist, shifting to the other side of the bed and lifting the bedding on the now opened side, keeping her grip on his wrist gentle enough to ensure he knew he could escape at a moment's notice with no resistance.

"Come here, little one. Sleep."

His face pinched up as though to protest only to soften into a confused little pout, "No questions?"

"None."

He eased up, padding further onto the bed and settling beside her, relaxing as time passes. Marinette maintained a foot and a half of distance between them, refusing to crowd the boy or make him uncomfortable after he came to her. She knew he craved attention and affection, likely touch starved throughout the last seven years, but knew Damian needed to decide for himself if that was something he wanted from her. Despite calling her family, Marinette knew she would need to tread carefully to not break that fragile trust, letting him decide if he wanted her as an older sibling, parental figure, or distant cousin. So instead of cuddling the distressed boy as her instincts screamed for, she turned away and listened until his breathing settled before slipping back to sleep herself.

...

Their plans started to take a new depth, Talia starting to speak more in places and times instead of abstracts, referring to several upcoming missions or events in which opportunities might present themselves and how to take full advantage and slip away.

She stressed the importance of not informing her when they decide to leave and where they'll end up. 

The decisions laid out before her, Marinette mapped out every instance and possible outcome, taking the easiest routes and simplest plans and immediately scrapping them. Too easy to track. She also scraped any idea that seemed overly complex. Overactive imaginations such as Ras' would immediately think of the most intricate and convoluted plans and follow their leads. The distraction or escape itself mattered less than the journey afterwards, when the league would attempt to hunt them down to reclaim their heir. She wanted a middle ground. Something complex enough to throw them off of any path, but easy enough to not hit their radar. 

The thought hit her in the middle of the night, Damian snug on the other half, having entered some time ago. Looking down at the child, she knew where they would go and how. 

The next day, she waited for Talia in her rooms. When the woman entered, she waited until the door locked to speak.

"I've figured it out."

"Jason, what did I-"

"I'm not here to tell you any details. I'm just informing you that our departure is prepared for. And to say goodbye. You can't know when we'll disappear, meaning the loss of your son will blindside you as well. So I'm telling you now. His ties are broken, he won't come back, he will never feel the need to return. I'll keep him safe though. I'll remember your love and sacrifice. It's going to be okay Talia. You're doing what's best for him."

"I know," she gave a small smile, broken in the corner. With that, Marinette left her alone, knowing there was nothing left for them to say. The woman knew how grateful she was for this second chance at life. For the training and education. The trust and care. The connection to the world through her child.

The next morning she found a bag hidden in her rooms, filled with supplies and multiple currencies of cash, along with access keys to multiple unattached drop boxes across the world. Child support, she thought to herself with a huff of laughter.

…

The two had just returned from a particularly terrible mission, where Damian had made his second kill and she had taken some gruelling measures to protect the kid and prevent his needing to step in further.

When Damian entered her room that night, it seemed less for his own comfort and more for hers. As though he sensed how distraught his killing made her. He was too young and raised too harshly to understand why, but knew that it upset her and wished to soothe the gloom looming over them. If she had to guess, that probably contributed to why he avoided the act when out on the field. She took matters into her own hands, killed when the situation called for it and sometimes when the madness echoed a touch too loud, but she couldn't stand the thought of the little one becoming a killer.

Huddling amongst the sheets and feeling his tiny hand press between her shoulder blades, she decided the time to inform Damian had come at last.

"If I said we could escape this. The trainers who hurt and demean you, the woman who disowned you, the man who cares only about an heir and not the boy behind the title, would you want that?"

His breathing pattern threw itself off just a touch, a sign of his surprise, "What do you mean?"

"The League. Talia, Ras, everything. Would you want to escape. See the outside world, decide for yourself who you ought to be, instead of just becoming what they want. Stop being used."

"That's not an option though," he countered, tone cautious.

"Why not?"

"Where would I go? How? Nobody escapes."

"We could. I've spent enough time as Talia's pet to know how to evade anyone here. Watched and listened in to enough to know how Ras thinks. And you? You grew up here, you must have this place memorized like the back of your hand. Know the patterns and inner workings of its people. We could escape, together."

He stayed silent, hand wrapping into the back of her shirt subconsciously where it lay.

"And once we're out?"

"I grew up in the outside world, I know where to go, how to survive."

"You're saying I'd have to trust you with my life."

"I'd be trusting you as well. I'm trusting you now to even ask this," she mentioned, drawing attention to how risky bring up an escape plan to the heir of the Demon's Head truly was. Showing her trust in him to ease the fear of putting his life in her hands.

"And if we were to escape successfully, I'd be free then? To make my own decisions like you said?"

"With some moderate supervision," her voice betrayed her amusement at his prodding, "I'm not going to distance myself from your upbringing like they did, but I'm also not planning to micromanage your life. Just enough to keep you safe and guide you through the outside world. Does that sound agreeable?"

"I could live with that," he surprisingly sounded pleased by the notion instead of putoff as she had originally expected. She hummed in contemplation and fell silent for some time before feeling a tug from the hand still at her back.

"Jason?"

"Have a bag ready at all times. We'll need to leave at a moment's notice."

Damian fell silent, but she felt the way his hand relaxed it's grip at her, his quiet sigh all she needed. He would be ready.

…

Only a week after their conversation, an opportunity presented itself. Whether Talia played a hand in it, she didn't know, but either way, Marinette was not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. 

The two woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of chaos. Screaming came from outside, the crackling of fire and clang of metal hitting metal in the distance. The city was under attack.

Marinette pushed Damian to the edge of the bed, urging him up and grabbing their bags from hidden compartments around the room, throwing a change of clothes to the boy and grabbing her own, shoving armor and her mission clothes on, knowing the boy was doing the same somewhere out of sight. Soon, they were back in front of each other, Marinette adjusting his one small bag onto his back and carefully strapping the rest to her own before handing his katana over, bending down to look him in the eye.

"If it comes to it, don't hesitate. Your life is way more important to me than theirs. They will aim to kill you. I won't let them. But if someone gets past me, protect yourself."

"I know."

"Promise me. I don't care how much you think it upsets me. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to make it out of here."

He looked down, lips twisting and brow furrowing before he met her eyes and nodded, "Promise."

Nodding, she led the way out, bladed staff at her back, knives in hand. By some stroke of luck, most of the fighting stayed some distance away. Happening upon a small crisped body, unrecognizable, she pushed Damian forward, grabbing a small blade off him as he passed and pushing it into the crumpled hand of the dead, pushing back fear at her own lack of respect for the dead. Now was not the time for a crisis. Looking up, she met his confused eyes, gesturing to the body size and pointedly looking him up and down. Realization struck and he nodded back. She wanted them to assume he died in the attack. As she headed towards a tunnel up ahead, he tugged on her wrist, leading her another direction. She gave a questioning look, but followed upon his insistence. As they turned another sharp corner, a body hit hers. She rolled with it, seeing another approach Damian and throwing a knife with perfect precision into the would be attackers neck as she hit the floor, her own now straddling her stomach. Before she could even start to fight back, a flash of silver crossed above her and blood rained down, covering her as the body dropped heavy on top of her. Shoving it off, she rolled onto her stomach and into a crouch, dragging her arm across her face and looking up into Damian's wide eyes, katana dripping blood in his hands. Clearing what she could from her face, she stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the scene and internalizing the moment to panic on later. She yanked her knife from the neck of the other and picked up their pace down the hall once more, urging him to take over directions again, not knowing his escape path and glad for the distraction it offered him. Turning down another path, Marinette caught sight of the carnage down a separate hallway and rushed them along faster. Damian pulled off the path into an alcove and shoved at the wall until it gave way to another blocked off path. They took the time to reset the wall to cover the path once more. At this point, she took out a glowstick, snapping it and allowing the acid green to light the way. 

At some point the path turned upwards and continued winding for another mile before letting out into a basement. Deciding not to tempt fate, they changed into civilian clothes and made their way out of the abandoned building. From there, they set off for the next city over before taking one of many sets of airline tickets shoved into the cash bag courtesy of Talia and flying out. Arriving in a new city, they rented a hotel room and burnt the remaining tickets. 

The next week followed the same pattern. Buying bus tickets and airline tickets under different IDs, some stolen from other league members, some falsified and placed in the bag weeks before with no one the wiser. 

By the end of the week, they reached their final destination. Gotham City. The last place anyone would expect Jason to run back to. Renting an apartment was easy enough, Talia and the league having been very thorough in teaching how to falsify documents, the former having taught her personally, the latter having taught Damian.

Around this time, in a dingy, inconspicuous hotel, Marinette broached a rather difficult topic.

"Damian, you need to decide who I am to you before we move forward."

"Put me down as-"

"Hold up, I'm not finished."

He huffed at her interruption, but gestured for her to continue.

"Do you know how Talia came across me?"

"You were a dead boy who came back to life and dropped into a coma. She took you in and healed you in the pit. You were connected to someone she cared about once."

"Have you heard of Batman and Robin?"

"Yes? I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"Jason was Robin. I was killed by the Joker, sat in a grave for something like six months in a dead body. It came back to life and I clawed out of that grave and to a hospital where I was indeed in a coma for a year before coming back and being found by Talia."

A contemplative pinch in his forehead showed up as he thought on her words, "You said Jason was Robin. But you died. What does that mean?"

"This is Jason's body, but I'm not Jason. I'm his soulmate. I died for him and the connection was lost. I've never been Jason, in all the time you've known me."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"You deserve to know exactly who I am before you decide anything. Especially anything pertaining to my guardianship over you."

"But I know who you are. What body you inhabit means nothing."

Marinette felt a tiny smile tilt the corner of her lip, "All the same."

"But… Out of curiosity, what's your real name?"

"Marinette," the name fell heavy off her tongue, foreign and harsh after nearly three years without use.

"On paper, you'll be my older brother, Jason, who gained full custody over me upon the death of our parents."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In reality, you're my big sister though. Alright?"

"Alright. Mind if I take some liberties with the paperwork?"

Narrowed green eyes seemed to assess her for only a moment before he nodded and moved on to the next piece of legal work. The fact he could understand the jarbel on the sheet still caught her off guard at times. Shaking her head, she made a few adjustments on the electronic documentation, saving the work and erasing any trace of proof of her having hacked the system. Having her own laptop was coming in handy.

With their identities secured, she rented their new place and had them moved in within three days. 

While their cash wasn't even near dwindling, she began her hunt for work. Her first instinct was to return to design, but after so many years, the idea of designing clothing with no real purpose no longer held its appeal. Hopefully something would come her way soon.

…

Their first night in their new home, Damian crawled into her bed with nightmares from the night of their escape. She certainly felt the terror of that night in the back of her mind as well. 

"I'm sorry," the seven year old murmured, hunched up as though expecting anger.

"What for?" She whispered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes while turning towards the small voice.

"I didn't listen. When we escaped. You told me only to protect myself."

"You did protect yourself."

"I also protected you. You probably didn't even need my help, yet I killed that man before you could."

"I told you to do what you deemed necessary. Could you think of an alternative option?"

"No… they wouldn't have stopped until one of you were dead. He had to die for us to escape."

"Correct. While I wish that blood wasn't on your hands, his death in that moment was inevitable."

"You are still upset though."

"I would be upset either way. You shouldn't have to witness such things. But I'm glad we're both safe and that's what's important. That you're okay and neither of us will be put into such a position again."

"Do you resent your soulmate? For putting you through all of this?"

"No. Never. I chose to die for him. I chose to take every hit the Joker intended for him. I chose to take his place in the horrific life fate planned for him. He fought me in those last moments, you know? Tried to force his way back into his body. He didn't want this for me either. But I got a second chance. I've learned so much. I got you. And he's safer, wherever he is."

"You love him," he stated.

"I love him," she agreed easily.

Silence fell over the room and Damian shifted closer until he could snuggle right up into her side, holding a tense position until she wrapped an arm around him and whispered a soft goodnight. With that gentle acceptance, he immediately softened in her hold and fell into a restful sleep.

… 

Around eleven in the morning, she woke abruptly to a yanking sensation in the back of her mind. Stumbling out of the room, she pushed over to a bar stool in the open kitchen, collapsing onto it and leaning on the table before promptly blacking out.