#blood unrelated generational trauma

[curseddistinguishedly]

Forever will be thinking about how much mental damage False has inflicted onto Gem and now watching Gem im like „oh god she learned that from that blonde bastard that I hate“

[dentiststoothfairy]

hello! can i ask a norton,Aesop,and naib

with an s/o that got really hurt during a match like it injured the whole right side of there s/o face and also made their s/o loss there right eye? so like at first another survivor told them you got hurt so they went to you thinking you just got a scratch or something but they didn't expect to find there s/o in a puddle of their own blood holding the right side of there face because it got hit with a flare gun which exploded right when it hit the right side of there face,

(it's fine if you don't want to do this or your not comfortable writing it, that's fine but thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my request(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

🟢 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐁 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐑 🟢

Accidents occasionally happen in the manor, which always gets on his nerves. It's just the soldier in him.

No room for mistakes with this one.

So when he found out you were in an accident with a flare gun, he was pretty pissed off.

THIS is why people can't afford to fuck up, anytime, any day. Because people like you get fucking hurt.

Cracking his knuckles for a totally unrelated reason guys don't worry.

Emily was pretty stern with him before letting him into her little nursing room that she made for injuries after matches.

Don't apply extra stress on the wound.

Allow for proper rest.

Don't let them apply for matches until their face is at LEAST 77% healed and that's if we're being generous.

As Emily listed off the rules, Naib just got more agitated.

Had something like. Actually gone wrong?

And once he saw you. Holy fucking shit.

Memories came flooding back.

It was like. Actively sort of triggering him. Looking at you like that.

As Emily applied the final bandages to your face to make sure you wouldn't get infected, he couldn't look at you.

Not that he thought you were ugly, no no. It was. Physically painful to see the one he utterly adored to be in that position.

A position his friends were in so long ago.

He tries to get you to rat out who did it. He just wants to talk.

Once the healing is done and it turns out you've lost an eye. He honestly feel sick, for you. Again, he isn't any less attracted to you. But it's. It's so raw for him. It takes him a while to feel okay.

He has war trauma guys.

🍩𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 🍩

He's a little more careless than Naib, so when he heard about an accident in a duos match.. He didn't really bat an eye.

You were tough, he trusted you. Although, he'd still pretty fucking upset. Like. Come on. How the hell did that even happen in the first place? In fact, the news that an "accident" occurred kind of unnerved him.

And like Naib, Emily gave him a run down on how to treat the wound. Which he could only scoff at.

He knew how to treat a wound like that. Especially a facial wound.

*vaguely gestures to his face*

And. GOD. his reaction to your face.

FUCK DUDE.

It hurts him knowing that you've gone through the EXACT same thing that he has.

Unlike Naib, he doesn't struggle to look at you from guilt. No. He doubles down.

He's extra attentive to you, although he basically discards Emily's advice, he handles it in his own... Mr Mole sort of way.

⚰️ 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐏 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋 ⚰️

He's pretty expressionless on the daily. It's hard to read his eyes especially with the mask, so when someone br𝐪oke the news that something happened to you during a match.. It was hard to gauge his reaction.

Internally, he was pretty conflicted actually.

One half - was he finally allowed to preserve you for your beauty? No scar or scratch or anything could ever doubt your luminescence to him.

On the other half -

If you weren't already dead...

ARE YOU OKAY?

He was stressed, very stressed.

Anyways. He's actually not a germaphobe as one would expect from the gloves and the mask. So when Emily advised him to watch after you carefully, he listened cautiously.

Once he saw your face

He didn't flinch.

"Oh dear,... Poor [Y/N]...are you feeling alright?"

Probably the only time Emily saw him actually interact with someone like.. A normal human ngl.

Aesop doesn't blink twice.

When I say nothing could tear his eyes from you, I mean nothing.

Lost eye, half scarred face, burnt skin smelling like a chicken dinner.

He truly believes you are the most beautiful th. FINE. FINE. HE'LL PUT DOWN THE SYRINGE :((

U don't love him anymore.... And u hate him 😔 u want him dead /j

[thenightshadowqueen]

The best character from each longform

(in my biased opinion)

This is (obviously) a long one, so if you do want to read it, more below.

(Also I left out the Patreon plays. I might do a separate post for them later; we’ll see.)

Jimmy (Tom, Toby’s Secret Pocket)

Look, Jimmy is the best. He’s adorable. He’s the representation we as the autistic community needed. He has happy flappy stimmy hands. He can’t walk through doors. We love him. (STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAW!!!!!)

André Beetroot (AJ, Burglary and Bobsledding)

André Beetroot (André Beetroot) was iconic the first time around, but his return as the first recurring SFTH character obviously had to be memorialised.

The boy witch (Sam, Moist and Magical)

I was tempted by the witchfinder general, but the boy witch won out with “Henry Cavill with a wasting disease” and his thick accent. Also the cheeky little look he gives his grandma (Luke) when he flips her off wins him a lot of points.

Hugh’s mum (Tom, Marigolds Bluebells and Hugh)

She’s, like, a fair bit unhinged, but she has good intentions. She’s got amazing quotes, too; “why couldn’t you have just stayed in my womb forever” and “if you love something, lock it up” are both deeply concerning, but I love them.

The wife (Tom, Murders in Space)

This one is kind of an obvious choice. I mean, her quotes are glorious, and honestly “have you ever heard of feminism, James?” gets her top spot automatically.

Mario the sheep (Sam, the Lighthouse)

Was this even a question? I love Mario intending to be a one-scene character and then being forced to star in the whole play. I love the human bits. I love “🐑fuck you🐑”. I love the sheep (aka Sam) having a fucking breakdown at the end. 10/10 all around.

Titch (Luke, the Unrelenting Aubergine)

Listen, I was very tempted by Old Lady Margery (and by Derek), but in the end, canon queer guy with commitment issues and insane amounts of blindness around his own feelings won out. What can I say, I have a type in fictional characters.

Troll Son (Luke, Wine Under the Bridge)

Everything about this character is perfect. Screaming as hello? Colourful troll as a metaphor for being queer? Correcting a geography fact? It’s got it all. It’s perfect. I love Troll Son and his wine bar in Ipswich.

Juliet (AJ, Caesar and Juliet)

Is anyone surprised? She’s a murderous girlboss. “[My mother] said you have to be careful about men; they can be corrupted with power. But what she didn’t know is that so can woman.” They can, and I’m here for it. She’s bathing in blood and her skin is glowing. I love insane women.

Watson (Sam, the Mystery of the Midnight Circus)

Watson, driven mad with grief over his divorce and his one-sided love for Sherlock, becomes a murderous clown. Am I supposed to not love this? Is there even another choice in this play? And his breakdown at the end was gorgeous.

Priscilla (AJ, Pricilla’s Final Petal)

I was very tempted by both of her mums, and also a bit by the groundsman, but ultimately, Priscilla won out. She’s the title character. She’s confused, but she’s got the spirit, and she’s working through her trauma with a buttercup and a piano lesson. Good for her.

Marty (Sam, the Evil Make-a-Wish Kid)

I considered the seven-year-old detective, but in the end, Marty won. He’s evil. He’s a make-a-wish kid. What more can I say? He’s got an iconic smirk. He burns down all the petting zoos on the entire planet (and his mum). He dies at the end. He’s brilliant.

Derek (Tom, Susan’s Holiday)

There were a lot of great options in this one, but “I like looking at the back of another man’s head” was too good to pass up. Also, I adore the whole monologue he has while he’s waiting to be buzzed in.

The gasoline salesman (Luke, Beetroots and Murder)

Okay, I know he’s only in, like, a quarter of a scene. I know that. And I can’t tell you why I love him so much but I do. He’s just. I just love him. I can’t explain it. There are so many great characters in this play, but the way he says “could be, could be” has captivated me. If you understand the way my brain works, please contact me, because I don’t.

Peter Steven (Tom, the Milkman)

I love so many characters in this play. I love Gareth, and I love the Texan bartender, and I love David the milkman. But Peter Steven is the sweetest, most traumatised little boy and I want to protect him. I will adopt him and I will never make him walk on his knees again. I will throw away the PS5 and I will let him dig up the back garden as many times as he wants.

Johnny and Janae (Luke and Tom, the Neighbour’s Under the Bed)

I know they’re two separate characters, okay, but they’re a set. I want to keep them together. And I just can’t choose, okay? They’re two autistic children whose neurodivergence presents in opposite ways, and their parents don’t know what to do with them, and oh look, I’m back to wanting to adopt traumatised children.

Captain Egbert (Luke, the Leftenmost Window)

Shoutout to the mum, but Egbert won this one. He’s, like, kind of an idiot. I’m here for it, though. He’s got the iconic “diluileayilybilyeilysilym” speech. He wants to go to the ~astral plane~ but he’s waiting for his birthday. He lets his wife dip him into a kiss even though it’s 1940. I love him.

The king (Sam, the Prime Minister’s First Day)

Listen, I love several characters from this one, but I’m going with this one. He’s unapologetically a dick. He wears impenetrable armour made from diamonds stolen from Indian subculture. He’s impossible to beat. He’s brilliant. (Also did anyone else kind of find Sam hot as the king or is that just me?)

Franz Haberburg (Sam, the Excited Chinchilla)

Obviously fuck Nazis (god I hope that’s obvious). That being said, some of SFTH’s best characters are Nazis, and this is one of them. He’s glorious. I have never seen such a brilliant rendition of a Nazi chinchilla.

The Italian detective (Tom, the Ingredients)

He can’t pronounce paella. Do I need another reason?

Chip (Sam/AJ, the Cardboard Stegosaurus)

Oh look, another traumatised child! I want it. (No, but seriously, I love Chip and his English/French seizures.) Also he’s one of the few characters who switches actors mid-play, and I love that.

Persephone (Tom, Wild Wet and Worrisome)

She’s amazing. “HEY!” is a gorgeous siren call and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. She deserved a happy ending and I’m still sad we didn’t get one. I like to think she swam to the shore and found Geoff again, and they lived happily ever after on a boat at sea, singing and not having to kill anyone.

Full Set O’Hands and his love/bother (Luke and Tom, No! I Always Loved that Caravan)

I know, I know, another set of characters, but you really can’t separate these two. They’re insane. I adore them. They’re just… Honestly, these two are comedy gold. Good for them because they are fucking timeless.

Andrew (Luke, All Eyes on Nigel)

Listen, Andrew is a naive little thing, and he must be protected at all costs. He goes through so much shit in this one, and I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and send him to rehab.

Magnus O. Puss (Tom, BUS)

Okay, this was a VERY close one between them and Arthur B. D., but Magnus is a genderqueer icon and we love them for it. Also, I feel like this is some of the most unhinged Tom content we have and I live for that.

Jeremiah (Luke, Inside the Mysterious Cube)

I was so torn because I love Bubba, too, but I’m trying to avoid putting sets of characters where possible, and Jeremiah just edged past Bubba because his death scene was gorgeous. (That is a mildly concerning reason to have a favourite, I will admit.)

Lord Lafayette (Tom, the Midnight Mystery)

You may be noticing a pattern; I adore Tom’s insane characters. We just don’t get to see that often enough. I love his very sexual flirting with Lady Lafayette (Sam). I love him making fun of the detective’s (Luke’s) shirt. I love “what does any self-respecting rich man do when he has a little boy in tights” followed by “captured—and only captured” as a save. I love him.

Dangerfield (AJ/Tom/AJ again, Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum)

I love the confusion when Tom briefly takes over as Dangerfield; it’s not often we get to see AJ understanding something that Sam doesn’t (I say this with all the love in the world). Dangerfield is so fascinating to me. He’s a “cleaner” for a crime lord, but he has mixed feelings about the things he does. I want to know how he got into it in the first place. How did he come into this life? I want to know.

Barry’s wife (AJ, the Hare who Wore a Sweater)

I don’t remember her having a name, but I could be wrong about that. She’s so sweet; she just wants to knit sweaters for the hares in peace. And then Jimmy the hare gets shot, and she and her husband go on a revenge plot. I’m here for it. I love her.

The king/tank commander (AJ, the Oopsie Daisy Bulge)

He’s obsessed with tanks. He used to have gay sex with his fellow tank commanders, but only as a joke. He sailed all the way around, through the other landlocked counties, into the east of France, and they never saw it coming. He drove tanks into the ocean. He’s so stupid he’s almost smart. I love him.

The landowner/farmer (Luke, Too Big to Be a Jockey)

He farms peasants (Luke, you genius). He’s such a dick, with his classist remarks about Johnny Jones, but somehow I love him anyway. His interview process is looking at a photo of someone and then hiring them, and he’s honestly wonderful. I love him.

Larry (Tom, Long Johns—Strike!)

Literally the only thing he does on screen is die. That’s it. That’s his whole purpose. And he does it beautifully.

Wizard Asceroth (Sam, the Dark Moons of Slough)

ASCEROOOOTTTHHHH!!! (I don’t have another reason. I don’t need another reason.)

The French waiter (Luke, Lost in Your Eyes)

I don’t know. I really don’t. But something about this character has stuck with me since the first time I watched it. Gorgeous accent. He kisses Amanda (Sam) for no reason at all. He gets stabbed by a gun. I love him.

The Lady of a Thousand Don Juans (Luke, the Meringue Haberdashery)

She tricked her husband for years. She murdered her own child. She has been a curse on all the Don Juans in this town. She’s one of the only villains who win at the end of a longform, and that’s very impressive. I love her.

Xavier (Tom, Oh my God is This a Joke?)

(Please refer to my previous statement about Nazi characters.) Okay, look. He’s a horrible person. But we as a fandom choose to disregard that because Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. I am not above this. I am, in fact, a part of this. Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. “I will die as I have lived…. Shirtless!” has to be one of the most iconic lines of all time. There was never any competition.

[stargirl-writes]

[chapter one] the secret history of anakin skywalker

captured

pairing : assassin! reader x anakin skywalker

word count : 1.8k

next

series navigation | masterlist

sypnosis

you have only known one truth about this war, the republic and the seperatists are two sides of the same coin. but now, your master count dooku has disposed of you after your consequent failures. his betrayal fueled your thirst for revenge. and in the cruel twist of fate, you have found yourself with an arrangement with the enemy. general anakin skywalker is willing to do what it takes for the republic to win, even if it meant dealing with you, his nemesis.

chapter summary

your mission to secure umbara has failed. your master, count dooku would not have asked of anyone but you to deliver success. but as you stand amongst the pile of bodies of umbaran soldiers, the horror of your failure washes over you. and in the hopelessness of events, a jedi appears amidst the ashes of your city. one that did not hesitate to kill the jedi general krell despite his jedi order's honor.

tags : enemies-to-lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, mystery, espionage.

warnings : mentions of ptsd, mentions of abuse, war, mentions of a panic attack.

notes: centers around the same time of the clone wars season 4 episode 15

also, thank you all lovely people who have supported my first anakin fic here 😭, i'm very grateful for every interaction! so thank you for taking interest in this other thingy i have in the works. so without further ado, i hope you like it ! 🪽

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated !

Your plan has failed.

You stood over the tower overlooking the ashes left in the Umbaran capital city. The Republic has won. Your plan failed.

Your breath becomes uneven, the terror lodging in your throat as the consequence of this failure starts to dawn.

Your master, Count Dooku, will not take this failure lightly. Because he swore that if you provide anything other than success, then you will be dealt with the price for it. And now you stand in horror at the sight: the smoke of what was supposed to be your defense taunted you of your imminent future.

Umbara was a crucial route to supply the Confederacy of Independent Systems. A recent attack by the Republic has made Count Dooku send you, his second. Many systems have been starving from the tight supply lines that the Alliance still held and losing Umbara would send millions into more famine.

Your hand twitches. A reaction that fails to conceal your trauma. Your body, already bracing itself for the phantom pain that was yet to be inflicted.

You blink.

Even from atop this tower, you could make out the scattered Umbaran soldiers that lay lifeless, covered in their own blood. You try to fight the guilt pushing up your heart, remembering that Umbaran people have volunteered to defend their land when you insisted that droids are more expendable than lives.

The mission was simple; to defend. Count Dooku wouldn't have asked anyone but you. You were the only one he trusted to deliver success, his second, his apprentice.

He had taken you in when Republic forces made the sky fall on your home planet of Hapes. Your resentment for the Republic began there: from witnessing your home being burned down. Then, Dooku taught you of the Republic's hypocrisy. How they are so deluded by their righteousness that they can excuse leading with violence and bloodshed in the name of maintaining peace.

He taught you how to defend yourself. He was the one that made you realize that the Republic is caters only to the people above ground. Even the capital planet of Coruscant serves as a cruel reminder of how the Republic treats the undergrounds.

Dooku took you in. And you feel indebted to his teachings. Under his care, you became familiar with his unrelenting methods. Which meant leading with ruthless, sometimes. 'What matters is the intention' He used to say. He told you that only a few can wield a saber and fight with the right intention. It made sense, then. Someone has to fight for those who cannot. And you quickly learnt that all of it would be justified because what you sacrificed yourself for was to serve a bigger purpose.

It didn't really erase the discomfort when your Master, the source of your fire, be so sardonic when winning a fight. And you still find yourself holding your breath, sometimes, when you have to watch him make decisions you wouldn't really find yourself agreeing to.

But, this was a war and he was doing it for the Alliance. You had to adapt. Dooku was once a Jedi, so he had to have known something you didn't. Saw something you didn't understand fully. He told you how the Jedi Council had lost their way when they got involved in politics. Your younger mind was more malleable in believing everything your master said. He told you many things...

Once he recognized your ability to channel the force, He handed you a lightsaber and directed you at the right targets, making you his most effective weapon.

You allowed it all because it was for the cause...

And Dooku was fierce in teaching you the price of failure. 'Many will suffer for your incompetence' he used to say before striking you down with his power, making you writhe in pain that felt like being on the brink of death but never having the release.

It was to teach you a lesson, you once believed...

Your faith has crippled since then.

Your heart was telling you it was wrong. A Master should never have to go to such extreme methods to teach you a lesson. But then again, how else can he express the severity of the consequences of your actions? There are so many people that you have allowed to get hurt. You deserve an equal measure of pain.

You have grown to know so many Allied leaders, like Mina Bonteri, who only ever swore allegiance to the cause in hopes of salvation of their people. They weren't evil. They only ever demanded a change in the Republic, and now they are branded as Seperatists.

That was what kept you from leaving. Because you have learnt that the Republic and the Alliance were two sides of the same coin; just as corrupt, just as cruel. The war will rage on until one succeeds the other. And either side seems to have been in the war enough to realize the blood being spilled. Somebody just have to do something so it all ends. You just aren't sure if you can manage that yet. Because now as you stand over the grave of the people you failed to defend, you realize that you aren't anywhere ready. People, not droids. People that fought to the end, believing in something they were willing to die for. And soon, you will have to face your Master's disappointment.

You didn't know what felt heavier.

A commando droid appears from behind. "A call from Count Dooku, General" It opens up its hand to reveal the holocommunication device. Your blood runs cold. You feel your heart thump and thwack so rapidly, you thought it was impossible it isn't bursting out of your chest. You swallowed your fear, knowing you can't delay this call. You placed the holocommunicator down and pressed it.

Count Dooku appears in front of you and you straightened your back, masking your expression. You can feel his gaze burn on your skin as he takes a moment to apprehend you. You sense his frustration despite the distance. Your fingers twitches involuntarily.

"Have I fallen short to remind you the consequence if you'd lose Umbara, my student?" His voice remained in that unnerving monotonous tone you despised.

"No, Master." You answered, your nails digging through the skin of your palms.

Dooku doesn't blink; you grow horrified. Be angry, be disappointed, show me something, anything. His composed expression was much more terrifying.

"And you thought it more important to leave the task to the Jedi General Krell?" Dooku says through gritted teeth.

"I had to find a way to reduce our losses," You defend your actions. Conspiring with General Krell had been your idea. The rogue Jedi had seemed like the most efficient way to poison the enemy. Having someone crippling the system from the inside had proved itself effective for you then. At the beginning, General Krell had met his end of the deal. You managed to tip the scales of battle, enough to let Umbaran soldiers recuperate before engaging in another battle.

"Krell is dead. Your tactic is comprimised." Dooku announces.

You felt your heart skip a beat.

Somehow, you have always believed the Jedi would never sacrifice their honor in exchange for a win. When Krell went missing, you thought maybe they only had him captured, waiting for a jurisdiction by their holy Republic. Exsanguining him sounded extreme. Perhaps having a member of the Jedi turn against them made the Council make an example out of him.

"You have failed me for the last time."

Your eyes widens at the finality of your Master's words. Before you could protest, you felt the force constrict around your throat, lifting you off the ground and cutting the air from your lungs.

"Kill her." Dooku orders the commando droid. And you felt your heart sink.  The holocommunication dies. And you slump to the floor.

Adrenaline surges through you, you draw up your lightsaber, distraught, shocked, as the betrayal seeps. You swing your weapon through the commando droid and it falls down your feet. Your master... ordered for your death. Once you no longer served purpose to him, he abandoned you.

He wouldn't even do it himself.

You started panting, and you held on to the control board to support your weight— tears were flooding your vision. Your knees buckles and you stumble backwards. Your body, it betrays— it trembles, it becomes paralyzed by the fear. Your mind is no longer in control, no matter how much you will for the hyperventilation to stop.

Then you hear the elevator click. You turn to your heel and find the Jedi, Anakin Skywalker standing with his lightsaber drawn. Krell is dead. Anakin Skywalker was here. You put two and two together. It was not the first time you encountered the General, he always led with his men at the frontlines. And he'd always find a way to you.

You'd meet his agile attacks to stand your ground. Despite the short amount of time, Dooku was rigorous in training you. And it paid off when you'd barely escape Anakin Skywalker. You heard the Jedi think it was dishonorable to flee from a fight, but you knew you'd serve your cause better alive than dead.

He probably ordered Krell's death. Which would be forbidden for his Jedi Code. And before you could wrap around the thought,  he was already stepping forward. Moving as if demanding your attention. If he is able to throw away his honor, then he's here to kill you too.

His eyes bore into yours— he looked like he was sizing you up. "Umbara is under the Republic's protection now, you've no choice but to surrender, Wraith" Anakin calls you by the title conducted to you by your enemies, flicking his chin to move hair away from his sight.

The Wraith. The shadow. Always lurking, but never significant enough to be acknowledged as the actual threat. The corner of his lips curled into a cajoling grin "Or run away, I seem to recall you seem to excel in that"

Your breaths leave vapor as your felt your grief transform into something more ravenous. And without hesitating, you charged forward. Anakin instinctively blocks your offense, his expression of bickering quickly replaced by seriousness. This... this was familiar. You swung relentlessly, and full of weight. Skywalker receives your attacks and finds his way around it.

The initial adrenaline depleted after Skywalker received and received, your muscles atrophy, it was breaking dawn and you haven't had a moment of sleep. Then, in a moment you were recovering from the sloppy emotion-drawn attack, He had deflected, taking offense with forceful strikes and proximity. You struggle to regain footing. The fact that he had been using his size didn't help you. Because you relied on your agility, not endurance.

In a swift movement, Anakin fiends a strike and uses his knuckle to bend your wrist, making you lose your lightsaber to the ground. You look up to the Jedi in disbelief. His torso was pressing on your chest as held up both your wrists over your head with his bionic hand. Fierce and unyielding.

His chest rises and falls, and the ghost of his breath warmed the skin on your forehead.

"It's over." He says, his grip tightening.

You saw the faint glisten of triumph in his eyes before he steps backward and clasps your wrists behind your back and cuffing them.

You had thought your Master's betrayal could be the worst thing you could face. But now, captured by this Jedi, you knew a lifetime rotting in Coruscant is... unimaginable.

Your mind caved in.

Somehow, death seemed like kindness now.

© to @cafekitsune for the borders !

[bassettmemes]

SCREAM VI SENTENCE STARTERS ↳ spoilers will be present and are tagged as such. general horror movie trope trigger warnings apply. death/murder, mentions of blood/gore, etc.

we have to finish the movie.

who gives a fuck about the movie?!

i always wanted to stick something in you, [name]!

this is creepy, right?

he's after me! he's got a knife!

the worst part is: you teach a class about slashers, and you still walked into a dark alley. alone.

[name] wouldn't be caught dead at a frat party.

get me a drink!

we said we wouldn't use the voice modulator on each other.

it was even better than we ever even imagined.

is that why you killed her? because she gave you a c-?

come on, [name]. how long have we known each other?

why are you fucking with me?

you know what? this is stupid.

what i'm really worried about is [name].

every time i push you for specifics, you shut down.

i have trust issues.

my father was a famous serial killer. they made a movie about him.

last year i found out that my boyfriend was also a serial killer.

i stabbed him 22 times and slit his throat, and then shot him in the head. that's not why i'm here.

it felt... right.

i'm not equipped to deal with this kind of thing.

by law, i'm required to report this to the authorities.

who the fuck is [name]?!

she went to the omega kappa beta party.

i cannot speak to how heavily armed [name] is at this fraternity party.

it doesn't bother you? being at a house party after you were almost brutally murdered at a house party?

i guess i should stay close to you, then.

why don't you get your fucking hands off her?

i'm just gonna tase you in the balls real quick.

don't ever lay hands on my sister.

are you fucking kidding me?

you embarrassed me!

if i wanna hook up with an asshole, that's my decision!

you're not dealing with what happened to us!

i'm uninterested in living in the past like you are.

so you're just gonna pretend like it never happened?

i'm just trying to look out for you.

you can't do it for the rest of my life, though. you have to let me go.

i think you're really special.

did i cockblock you?

please stop saying the word cock.

i can't help but notice you're covered in cherry coke.

being famous isn't all it's cracked up to be.

the last two people who fucked with us ended up dead.

do you have alibis for earlier tonight?

i met [name] at that party. where i tased someone. unrelated.

i take a special interest in ghostface attacks...

we share a certain history...

do you think you're the reason the ghostface killer has come to the big apple?

stay away from us.

are you really still mad at me?

i heard you couldn't sell the movie rights.

you called me unstable and a born killer.

maybe you're just afraid that without ghostface in your life, you're gonna fade away.

what's a requel?

you're beautiful, sweetie. hold all questions until the end.

am i gonna die a virgin?

that was a weird overshare...

why am i on the suspect list?

the slutty roommate: a horror movie classic.

never trust the love interest.

what if the trauma you all went through made one, or more, of you snap?

that's pretty messed up.

it's like he's leaving us real-life franchise easter eggs.

it's like he's counting down to something.

forget about the movies; the movies don't matter.

did you just give us a nickname?

you can't just give yourself a nickname, dingus.

we have all been through some really fucked up stuff and we are all coping with it differently.

we're a team.

i've been sleeping with cute boy from across the hall.

i freaking knew it! i knew it, i knew it, i knew it!

yeah, she's my roommate, but you're, like, the police.

she's really freaked out.

oh, fuck, that guy's dead!

say something more positive!

you fuck with my family, you die.

sorry i punched you...

when did they start letting children into the fbi?

you look like a zygote.

i'm just really good at my job. you'll get there.

it's not just a theater, it's a shrine.

how did they get all this? isn't this evidence?

i had a crush on corey feldman...

okay. game recognize game.

when do i get to be a normal person again?

my parents suck to. you can still make your own family.

technically i did die. four minutes.

when i recovered, i got mad. i didn't want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters. i wanted the monsters to be afraid of me.

bitch, last time i saw you, you were in glee club.

did you really think we were gonna steal a police car and not use the sirens?

that's a cop car! you can't steal a cop car!

spoiler alert: it never works out for the dipshit in the mask.

i'm scared.

i'll just give myself up. if this is what i have to do to keep you safe, it's worth it.

none of us would even be alive if it weren't for you.

he's gonna keep coming after us.

we want to lure him to a secure location and lure him inside.

and then we execute him. are you gonna help us?

let's kill the son of a bitch.

god damn it, i got it wrong again. what the fuck?

fuck this franchise.

don't trust anyone, remember?

you're not woodsboro. i'm sorry.

i cleared the whole place before you got here.

we turned it into a kill box.

we're safe here.

grab a weapon and clear this place yourself.

[name] has been on a downward spiral since the woodsboro murders last year.

they fired [name] two months ago for being mentally unstable. they're no longer with the fbi.

it's [name], they're the killer!

smile for the camera, motherfucker!

"dying" was a good way to get off the suspect list.

i got stu macher's mask. he was my favorite.

this is what we've been counting down to, [name].

fuck you!

i didn't commit those murders in woodsboro!

all the best lies are based on the truth.

there's the fucking killer.

we had to kill those two wannabe film students, because, well, we had to kill you first.

he was so pathetic.

looks like you're down another sibling.

always gotta shoot 'em in the head.

what's your favorite scary movie? i'm asking because you're in one now.

you're in my movie.

my father was a murderer. no matter what you think, i'm better than that.

i promise you i'm going to get so much therapy after this.

we're all part of the same fucked up family now.

did i miss the monologue again?!

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 1 Part 1 (5/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

-war criminal -murdered a bunch of toddlers like five seconds after turning to the dark side -exploded his daughters home planet that one time -murdered an entire village bc some of them killed his mom (and not just the men, but the women and the children, too) -choked out his pregnant wife and sent her into early labor -murdered a bunch of jedi -had a really dumb braid at one point -tried to kill obi-wan (his mentor, brother, friend, guardian, and basically the most important person in his life) -failed to kill obi-wan and got his shit fucked up so badly that he became basically a walking iron lung, if iron lungs were an ill-timed sneeze away from killing you -went back for MORE a decade after obi-wan beat his ass just to be a dick. like he dragged the poor fucker's face through fire just to be an asshole -annoying

KROMER

Kromer is one of my FAVORITE villains of all time I love her so much. cult leader who is obsessed with the purity of the human body and thinks that having a flesh and blood body is the best thing ever and that people who willingly turn themselves into cyborgs are heretics, so she goes around slaughtering them. manipulated her friend, killed his family, and was generally just awful to him. she loves flesh so much she turned herself into a human centipede about it (body horror warning if you choose to look her up). she is an awful, awful person for basically no reason (her backstory and motivation is just that she likes flesh. that's it. that's literally all there is to it). I have not seen twitter users being weird about liking her firsthand but I know they do it slightly unrelated but people like to treat her & her cult like they're ableist or a metaphor for ableism- THEY'RE NOT. canto 3 is about religion. religious trauma. religious extremism. prosthetics in the projmoon universe are not the same as prosthetics in our world, it's just a weird choice of words, and nagel und hammer has nothing to do with ableism. if you're gonna hate her for the things she's done at least make sure it's something she's actually done PLEASE im begging you

[maxdibert]

Ngl, we need your analyses and posts on TikTok. The amount of brainless people (Marauders fans) spewing such immense shit on this app is crazy. I need more balance on my fyp and they need to be educated about classism and racism

Honestly, I’m not on TikTok at all; I only use it to watch meme videos and stay updated on political news from my country. But I avoid exploring fandoms because I know it’ll just piss me off. I mean, I already get annoyed watching random videos unrelated to that because of the sheer amount of nonsense people spout, so for my mental health, I’ve completely banned myself from watching opinion videos on any topic. The problem nowadays is that people think that just because they have a microphone and a camera, they’re automatically qualified to share opinions about anything, even if they haven’t got the slightest clue what they’re talking about. You hear so much idiocy that your brain feels like it’s going to explode.

One of the things that irritates me the most about the Marauders fandom and Marauders stans is their blatant double standards. They legitimize themselves by claiming to hate JK Rowling and adopt this false progressive mask that capitalizes on the LGBTQ+ community to justify distorting canon. But in reality, it’s just a cheap pinkwashing tactic to trivialize the actions of characters who were, at best, bullies, and, in some cases, outright psychopaths (like some of the Slytherins, who are forgiven simply because they fit neatly into their Pinterest boards). Then they turn around and claim they can’t extend the same leniency to Severus, using completely fallacious and decontextualized arguments that, to top it off, don’t even align with the story’s foundations.

Take the topic of racism, for example. Equating blood purity with racism is an astronomically absurd socio-cultural leap. Racism is a political system established by colonialism and perpetuated by capitalist dynamics. It literally objectifies a portion of the population, dehumanizing them to the point where they aren’t even considered people, but beasts of burden. It’s rooted in the exploitation and expropriation of entire cultures, leading to the enslavement of their people, who were reduced to being property—mere objects of trade and consumption. Starting from that, even mentioning racism in this story feels like a massive insult. There’s no historical precedent of wizards colonizing Muggles, no record of wizards enslaving Muggles, no apartheid against Muggles. Muggle-borns haven’t been excluded from magical institutions due to segregation, haven’t had to attend separate schools, and haven’t been barred from working in magical government. They’ve always had the same rights as pure-blood or half-blood wizards. They’ve had the same opportunities, the same educational foundations, and the same access to jobs and social resources. Claiming that “blood purity = racism” not only reveals a complete lack of basic knowledge about how systems of oppression work (particularly race), but also a crude and pathetic attempt to use a serious and real societal issue as a frivolous token to prop up an argument based on fallacies. I genuinely hope that those who constantly throw around the term “racism” in this context are just kids who haven’t come out of their shells yet because any adult with some life experience and common sense should feel utterly ashamed. And I say this as someone who isn’t racialized—I don’t think you need to be to have some basic common sense or even a minimum level of general knowledge.

Moreover, the racism angle doesn’t hold water because it wasn’t Rowling’s intention. If anything, her intention was to create an analogy with 20th-century fascism, which is basically the big trauma of any standard white European person. And even then, she did a terrible job of it. While Voldemort might initially seem to parallel Hitler, the social reality of the wizarding world as presented by Rowling diverges significantly from the factors that facilitated the rise of fascism in certain countries during the first half of the last century.

For starters, in this case, pure-blood wizards—or even Voldemort’s non-pure-blood followers—aren’t a majority but a minority. This alone is a fundamental variation in the dynamics of events because in countries where fascist dictatorships were established, or at least attempted, the acceptance rate of radical ideas was majority-based or at least had a substantial popular backing. It’s not Muggles who’ve had to hide for centuries, not Muggles who’ve chosen to create their own communities separate from wizards, not Muggles who’ve opted to remain in the shadows. It’s the wizards. Another key difference.

The anti-Semitic rhetoric that gained traction in Nazi Germany was based on the perception of certain minorities (minorities—and this is crucial) as “the other.” This “other” was dehumanized to the point of creating a narrative that turned them into not just enemies but a threat to the general population. This was achieved through relentless propaganda campaigns, aided by an economic crisis and resentment towards the rest of Europe after the sanctions imposed following World War I.

In the case of blood purity, the minority is pure-blood wizards, and the issue stems from their disdain for the idea of Muggle-borns freely participating in their world. Ironically, they fear this could begin to dismantle the insular world they’ve created for themselves and lead to social advancements and changes in their traditions. Voldemort exploits this and directly appeals to the upper classes and powerful families (unlike traditional fascism, which appeals to the masses, not small elite groups) who have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. He doesn’t need a smear campaign against Muggle-borns because he’s already capitalizing on the prejudices of the elites he’s targeting. Nor does he need to mobilize the entire wizarding population because, as far as we know, the vast majority either oppose him or remain neutral. Voldemort wouldn’t have won an election; he imposes everything through sheer force.

Even with the parallels Rowling attempts to draw, albeit clumsily, they don’t hold up.

What really bothers me is that both racism and fascism are incredibly serious and complex issues that people in this fandom casually throw around as buzzwords to give themselves an air of importance while engaging in hateful discourse. Ironically, they treat these topics with the same frivolity, lack of depth, and ignorance as Rowling herself did when she tried to shoehorn them into her plot. The very same people who pride themselves on hating JK Rowling fall into the same oversimplifications, the same lack of perspective, and the same privileged, narrow view of social issues as she does. It’s pathetic.

What’s even more pathetic is that this behavior reveals that everything about them and their fandom isn’t progressive at all—it’s just empty performativity, built on shaky foundations, reeking of classism and body-shaming.

And I don’t even know why I’ve written this whole essay—I’ve been drafting an official document on the side, and I got carried away lol.

Anyway, you get what I mean—these people are idiots. That’s the summary. xD

[linkito]

HI HELLO HI. dumping these here :3

🎨🌓🌿

THIS IS SO LATE LOL BUT—

🎨 favorite piece of fanart? link it!

Oh god. Oh geez. That’s so hard to judge. I’ll just judge it based on what’s saved on my phone.

Obviously I adore applestruda’s art, it’s always so stunning. This particular piece of Scar from sl has been my phone background since the finale. I absolutely love it.

Next is this piece by skimmeh of stareater au Scar and Grian who I ADORE. I love their Grian he is so creature and pesky. And this specific piece is just so cute. I love the hug under the jacket specifically, the clinginess of it. (it reminds me of how I hug my own bf lol)

And then this particular frame from doody and maruu’s ddvau — I am such a sucker for civilian Grian in this comic. Something about him having a regular, adorable, mundane crush on his coworker Scar amidst a literal superhero chaos au is just… so precious to me?? and this frame of him dreaming of being happy and in love is so— aughhhhh. I use this as my pfp in a few places. I love it.

and then of course general love to some of my other favorite artists like ange whose art always emotionally destroys me and looks so dang soft, plume whose art I just recently found and im obsessed with their expressions, and nox and jas for always spoiling us with desert duo every day and undoubtedly more artists too agdjdhdjfk

🌓 opinions on the watcher lore?

oh I love watcher lore. I specifically love when it’s not overt, when it’s sprinkled in and subtle. but I also love the overt stuff don’t get me wrong.

for personal headcanons, I usually imagine Grian as an escaped watcher-in-training with all of the evo members carrying their own sort of trauma related to watchers. BIG fan of everything Martyn does in the life series too. I literally cheer when the dramatic voice starts playing hehe

🌿 any favorite interpretations?

hmmm this is vague so I’m not sure exactly what it was meant to ask but…

One of my favorite things is the way time is interpreted in @lovesick-x-prince’s Nobody Feels Like You?? if that makes sense??

the fic takes place in third life and I believe it’s written like the events took place over the course of about a year? and the space between places is vast, takes several days to travel across the whole server. and minecraft mechanics are seamlessly worked in, with things like insta-breeding animals and inventory management being minecraft-adjacent but not strange at all. it’s a game but it’s also very realistic and brutal and intense and I seriously love it.

but it’s something about the time specifically, about it being so long, like a lifetime away from home (although they don’t remember home in this fic). I really like that.

And then on a completely unrelated note, I just generally love the headcanon of Grian, Pearl, and Jimmy being siblings. Not even necessarily blood-related, but found family, found flock. It fits them all really well.

ahem OK WOW THAT WAS LONG SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER TO REPLY LOL

[gorgeousundertow]

for the hbowar ask game, a, f, i, l, o, v, w (unrelated to the ask game: xoxoxoxo)

a. okay he's not underrated because I think people definitely like him but here's the thing I would smash Patterson like a hammer

f. ranking the shows oh no i'm so sorry everyone but i did not like...

4. The Pacific. I'm just being honest right now. I liked certain parts and certain characters A LOT but it all felt too disjointed and there were too many through lines and it was (this sounds bad bc war and trauma and tragedy but hey I watch tv for entertainment) depressing. I didn't like a war show bc war is depressing, I know how ridiculous that sound.

3. Masters of the Air. Not anywhere near as depressing, but much more disjointed. I couldn't track or find a connection with most of the characters. It felt like too much telling and not enough showing about what I should care about and I want to seeeeee these things.

2. Generation Kill is probably my second-favorite, but I think about it all the time (and by all the time I really do literally mean all. the. time.) so I have to wonder if that's inaccurate? But you guys. It's so fucking good don't take this slight rank of #2 to mean anything besides it's so fucking good and I love it.

Band of Brothers, because it was my first love. Because winnix. Because gorgeous cinematography. Because Liebgott's jugular. Because "Doing fine, Bill, thanks for asking." Because Dick Winters shaving. Because Nixon's suspenders. Because F Company got lost again. Because Joe Toye's brass knuckles.

i. wheeee the fun one!

@ep6bastogne Babe. But not just sweet thoughtful funny Babe although yes that but also sobbing for Julian Babe devastated eyes meeting Gene's in Hagenau Babe.

@screwby Ray ur just Ray-Ray. A sweet chaotic gremlin of such a good and emotionally available friend who is also more down to talk dick than anybody I know.

@lamialamia You give me Snafu vibes but hear me out. It's not tossing rocks in brain puddles Snaf, but Peer Into My Eyes to Check for Disease But Also For the Flirt Snaf.

@blood-mocha-latte I don't know you as well but you started this whole thing and should get as much Being Perceived as you deserve for all that effort. You've got the Very Excited and Delighted attitude of Luz Talking Through The Movie, but also Snug as a Bug nurturing Luz. I'm not even saying this because of Luztoye week, this is just what I'm getting.

l. hbowar does seem a lot less hectic. I've never really participated in other fandoms, but I've lurked around the edges of Good Omens and BBC Sherlock and. well.

o. okay i'm bout to get slapped but. i don't really get luztoye. Obviously I was there for "Just give me a goddamn drink" and several other key scenes but...I don't know!!! Obviously the textual clues are there and they are not subtle, I just don't quite get how the two personalities mesh. Excited to read more fics until I do get it *hides*

v. snippet:

“Nate’s already made contact,” Ray argued. “Go on, homes, bring her a drink, make small talk, compliment her shoes. Whatever, dude. See what you can get out of her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Brad said.

Nate frowned. “You don’t think she’d be interested?”

Brad looked over to where Lara stood sipping her wine and pretending she wasn’t watching Nate’s every move. “I didn’t say that.”

Ray barked out a laugh. “Dude, I was listening in. She wants your tongue in her mouth, like, yesterday.”

Nate grinned widely and turned to make his way back over to Lara. Brad thought it would probably feel really good to punch something. 

“You okay there, Big Gay Brad?”

“Shut up, Ray.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t hear us. This is a special private channel just for you and me. You know, you could just tell him. You could walk right up to him and say, ‘Nate, your soulful green eyes and air of heroic tragedy give me a hard on like I’m a thirteen-year-old boy watching his cousin bounce naked on a trampoline. I want to suck all your pain and suffering right out through your dickhole.’”

w. What hbowar url I should have instead of my Fully Unrelated and Inscrutable url is an excellent question! Problem is Lenora/@screwby already stole the best one.

[multiselves]

I had an idea what about like a cluster of selves based on the days of the week and each one is named after a different day and could only present on those days. What do you think?

- 🍭🌿

Okay, I finally finished this! Sorry it took so long, thank you for your patience. I tried to base them on things beings associate with different weekdays, and hopefully that'll come through. Though I really couldn't think of anything for Wednesday and Thursday, I'm still pretty satisfied with how they came out. Btw I never specified which ids are trans, because I really have no way of knowing your cisds? *cartoon gulp* Anyway I hope that's all workable for you :3 Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Monday

The basic concept was a very tired businessman, because everyone hates Mondays, right? He's chronically burnt out and just generally tired. He tries to be diligent but honestly he's in no state to be doing favours for other people

Pronouns: he/him and POSSIBLY black/grey/smoke as well if you want, but you cannot tell me a 30 something chronically offline office worker would be using neopronouns

Genders: male, masc, boy+, exhazic, tiredgender, dazegender, humanthing, cigsmokic, lonelygender, blackcoffic

Species: depressingly human

Age: 30 coded, 30-40coded, 30-40 agecluster, demiage

Race/nationality: indian

Xenoidentities: none. this guy has no identity. he exists for the grind

Body: his hands shake a lot, especially when he's nervous. He has eyebags and generally looks visibly tired at all times

Mind: somewhat apathetic, nervous, socially withdraws, "lets get it over with" mentality

Tuesday

I was inspired a lot by the "random Tuesday" meme. You know, that one joke where the most absurd things happen on Tuesdays? I wanted this self to embody a similar destructive chaos

Pronouns: she/he/they/it/that/shi/mew/meow/glitch/eye/spark/holo/rainbow/bark/bite/pink/decora/star/chain/burn/cut/bone/blood/fang/zomb/scream/weird/paint/neon/👾/👽/🦷/🎈/✨/🎉/🎭/🎨/👑/💎/🧩/🧸/🧪/💉/🩹/💊/⛓️‍💥/⛓️/🔪/🚬/🪦/🧮/📸/🪀/✂️/📌/🍕/🍔/🍟/🍖/🥩/🍧/🧁/🍭/🍉/🌷/🧷/⭐/🌠/🌈/⚡/❌/☢️/☣️/🗯️

Genders: girlboy, girl, boy, genderfluid, pangender, genderthing, bitegender, cautionthing, dangerthing, radioactivitan, hazardgender, candygorebodic, nonhumanlexic, glitchgender, electrigender, neonrainbowgender, xenoabominataion, rainbowtoxic, batteracdic, eyestraingender, acidgender, hazardcute, catgender

Species: panspecies but particularly ghost, catboy/girl, god, and eldritch horror. Pinks also nonhuman in a general "i could never be one of them" way

Age: agefluid, their age tends to change based on whatever is most convenient for them? For example if they need to get into an 18+ space

Race/nationaity: panrace/nationality, including xenic ids, though they're presentation fluid

Xenoidentities: decora kei/kidcore/scene inspired fashion. Chains, rainbows, glitchcore, speedcore, horror movies, candygore

Body: height/weightfluid, covered in scars of every type, probably has dyed body hair, rainbow heterochromia, rainbow hair, fangs, star and heart shaped pupils, claws for nails, abnormally strong

Mind: emotionally unstable but kind of just for fun? extra super duper autism (major symptoms are being socially unaware, blunt, extremely sensory seeking, obsessive, and having a disregard for social norms + rules), pantrauma, panharmful (but especially a noncon cannibal)

Other: they have the most insane lore. Genuinely the most insane backstory ever. Sharknado levels of insanity

Wednesday

Wednesday was one of those days that I just couldn't think of anything for, so in the end I decided to do something more unrelated

Pronouns: he (when masc) + she (when fem)/it/that/thing/rot/gut/blood/grime/🦴/🍖/🦷/🥩/🩸

Genders: genderfluid, genderloser, genderlame, genderweirdo, pathetigender, alonegender. Rot tends to present female even when masc, and it considers 🩸self a femboy.

Species: demihuman due to trauma, occasionally a cat kemonomimi depending on that things mood

Age: deathstuck 15

Race/nationality: transjapanese. Or if the primary body is already Japanese, disjapanese (primary race -> white -> Japanese)

Xenoidentities: meatcore, animecore, break/speedcore

Body: very skinny and pale, eye bags, big dark eyes and dark hair, terrible posture

Mind: autistic, self conscious, generally kind of a loser, addicted to the internet, overtly pessimistic. Grime has a very dry, and potentially edgy sense of humour

Other: this mf has NO FRIENDS

Thursday

Thursday is just another one of those days that doesn't have anything associated with it. Thursday is just.. Thursday (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Pronouns: she/luv/heart/joy/kiss/cake/paw/bun/sweet/soft/cute/heart/cherry/hope/♡/🦑/🪼/🎉/🎀/🍥/🍦/🍧/🍰/🍪/🧁/🍬/🍭/🍡/🍮/🍒/🍓/🌸/🌺/🌷/⭐/🌈/🩷/💗/💖/💌/💫

Genders: fem, paragirl, nonbinary girl, xenogirl, cutegirl, angelgirl, pinkgirl, g♡rl, lacefem, dessertic, strawberric, strawberrycakegender, flanpuddinggender, strawberryheartcakegender, cakegender, chocolatestrawberric, cheesecakegender, creampuffgender, whippedcreamreix, sweetcloudic, pinkbandaidgender, idolfem, purelovic, strawberrybowic, strawberrymilkshakic, sweetiegender, sugargender, sugarcookiegender, genderfluff, fluffycloudgender, cutepastelic, cuteskirtic, lovelettercoric, lovergender, pinkcandygender, poromation, lovebodiment, cupidgender, pinkflux, magicalgirlgender, magicattic, maginurse, idolgender, angelidolic, hopegender, peacecuric, joygender, sprinklesgender, nursejoycharic, cakefrilled, sweetfrilled, sweetmaiden, ribbonfrilled, femfrill, pinkcloudic, cutefrilled, bowgender, cupcakecatgender, cutemelodic, heartcookiegender, pinkgender, pinkribbon, sweetgender

Species: angel aligned human

Age: 19

Race/nationality: white, race apathetic

Xenoidentities: magical cure loveshot, cats, book shops (she finds them cosy), idols, magical girls

Body: very fem cutesy mannerisms, always very energetic, smiles a lot, tends to always be slightly too quiet or slightly too loud, blushes easily, small and light

Mind: 🍡's super kind and sugary sweet, but surprisingly transharmful in the sense that 🍒's pro recovery. ⭐'s not malicious like most pro recovery beings, she's just very misguided

Friday

Friday is the day of the week everyone looks forward to. It's the party day, it's the going out to eat day, it's generally the day where good things start happening. I was really inspired by Aliyah's Interlude, especially her song IT GIRL because of it's confident, sparkly energy

Pronouns: she/zi/her/star/pink/glitz/charm/coral/citrus/lemon/orange/pineapple/cherry/sun/teal/aqua/🐬/🐠/🪸/🦩/✨/🎉/🎵/🍥/🍧/🍣/🍹/🍸/🥂/🥝/🥥/🍇/🍉/🍊/🍋/🍋‍🟩/🍌/🍍/🥭/🍑/🌸/🌺/⭐/🌟/🌈/🌀/🌊/💫 (primarily she because she is "HER".)

Genders: girl, stargirl, coconutgender, tropicalgender, hibiscusgender, candylipbalmgender, hellokittysunscreenic, tropicalcoregender, tropicalfruitemojic, fizzygender, lycheemarblesodic, pinkgender, cherryblossgender, gummysharkic

Species: human

Age: "i became a vampire to suck blood and fuck forever" type energy. Hot forever type energy. 🍋‍🟩 absolutely hoards xenoages

Race/nationality: racefluid between black and white :3 I could not decide between making 🍣 a nice regina george, or going full in with that Aliyah energy

Xenoidentities: IT GIRL, gyaru fashion (she takes a lot of inspo from it), the beach, fruity drinks, over accessorising, cute stuff :3 but in a bold pink bubble writing kind of cute

Body: tanned and tall. Charm has a few tattoos, but nothing big (just cute little stars, dolphins, peace signs etc) hidden away in places you're not likely to see away from the pool

Mind: confident :3

Other: she has a valley girl accent sometimes, and uses a load of slang when talking

Saturday

Saturday is the best day of the week in my opinion. You get to relax a little due to the lesser responsibilities, you get to actually have fun. I definitely associate feelings of leisure with my childhood

Pronouns: he/woof/bark/pup/wag/bone/🐶/🐾‍/🦴

Genders: boy, videogamegender, pikachugender

Species: shapeshifterkin

Age: 8

Race/nationality: aracial

Body: 🦴 has a lot of bruises from running around like a hooligan

Mind: very bookish and thoughtful, but unafraid to go do stupid things like climb a really tall tree, or go on a walk barefooted. Hey, both things can be true at once :3 🐶 has some pretty great problem solving skills

Other: If you prefer he can also be a tomboyish girl, or even flipflop between the two. I'm not totally decided on woofs gender

Sunday

The main things I drew on for Sunday were feelings of comfort, rest, and an almost reverence considering how Sunday is meant to be the day of rest. It was really hard to find good pictures for Sunday unfortunately, Pinterest tends to only have stuff related to younger beings :/

Pronouns: she/they/pie/love/cake/☕/🍪/🥛/🍫

Genders: girl, berrygender, warmgender, comfygender, autumncat, genderautumna, pastromic, browntabbycattic, hotchocoic, teagender, buttertoastic, chocopastry, cookiebuntoastic, pastrygender

Species: human

Age: late 50's-early 60's

Race/nationality: white, southern american

Xenoidentities: n/a

Body: nothing of note, really. But their faceclaim looks slightly older than what I intended. She does give good hugs though

Mind: a very motherly type for sure. She's a good cook, especially when it comes to pastries of any sort. ☕'s got a very calming, comforting aura

Other: christian, has a bit of a southern twang

[feastonkings]

spencer charnas / he/him ——— no way is that GAGE CHERNYKH.. they’re a 35-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being APATHETIC & CREEPY but there are some people who have seen them being METHODICAL & SHARP. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of remnants of a russian accent, blood on a tile floor, a smile that doesn’t meet the eyes, hair and heart as black as coal, the quiet in losing loved ones, and a well placed mask, but that could just be because they’re considered the EVIL TWIN around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

GENERAL.

full name: gage anatoli chernykh nicknames: tbd classification: human gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him age / birthday: 35, november 14th orientations: bisexual, biromantic occupation: co-owner of killer trash & soldier for skyport mafia location: upper district status: single family: gavrill chernykh (father, deceased), svetlana chernykh (mother, deceased), giorgi chernkyh (brother, deceased), godric chernkyh (twin), pandora (brother's widow) strengths: methodical, sharp, compelling, artistic, comical weaknesses: apathetic, creepy, selfish, bloodthirsty, unstable character inspo: joker (batman universe), patrick bateman (american psycho), stu macher (scream), freddy krueger (nightmare on elm street), barney stinson (how i met your mother), chuck bass (gossip girl), villanelle (killing eve), loki (mcu), roman roy (succession), frank costello (the departed)

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: murder, suicide, blood, graphic violence, abuse, nsft mentions

unrelenting passion, it’s the kind of thing that flows hot in your veins and reaches all the way down into your core. when you want someone so bad, need them, it’s hard to breathe air that doesn’t have their taste lingering on your tongue. that kind of passion is rare, indeed, but it can be incredibly dangerous if it isn’t shared. gavrill chernkyh felt this the moment he set eyes on svetlana mirkin.

when someone is that infatuated with a person, it’s hard to deny them. it felt so good to be wanted, to be needed, she was just another girl trying to survive poverty after all. svetlana fell into the beauty of the thing, wrapped up in lust and the heat of the moment. next thing they knew, they were pregnant, having a shotgun wedding, and at each other’s throats.

first came giorgi, and things were good for a while. gavrill was working his way higher up in the crime syndicate his family aligned with. then five years later when things reached their peak, gage and godric came crashing into the world. it was then that their relationship started its downward spiral.

fights started getting physical, passion transformed into something much more poisonous. still, svetlana stayed through the highs and lows until she started to notice giorgi following in his father's footsteps. she wasn't going to have it any longer, she fled to texas with the help of her sister that already resided there and took all three boys with her.

that didn’t stop gavill's passion though, it took him awhile but he found them. and oh, was he angry. out for blood, and that’s exactly what he got. svetlana was torn to pieces in the end. she fought back against him, but she was no match for his skillset. the red cloud lifted from gavill's eyes and he saw what he did, the massive pool of blood, the object of his desire in pieces, his two young boys staring at him in shock. right there he shot himself.

the twins sat in that massacre for nearly two whole days, covered in the mixture of dna that ran through their veins. it was when giorgi came home that authorities were called. despite their crime affiliation, there was no avoiding the involvement of the law.

all three boys went to live with their aunt until giorgi could legally take over the twins' care. the trauma of the situation settling different with the two youngest boys.

gage loved his mother, at least he thought he did, he saw how much his father loved her, too. he was indifferent toward his father. but he did quite enjoy the sight of blood.

the point was that he never felt the need to grieve the situation. he went on with his life as usual, attended the counseling, went to school, got high marks and went home. violence would come in bursts of rage and silent acts of revenge (even if the deed done to him was warranted or accidental).

he didn't show remorse for his actions. he found it hard to care about things that did not benefit him in some way in the end and that never really changed. over time he became much better at masking it, however.

gage chose to go the family business route, becoming an associate for the skyport mafia in his teens and then a soldier later. he still doesn't have much regard for authority but he tends to abide by their rules well enough.

he helped open killer trash (pun intended) after noticing a large amount of items they could be making money off of from victims him and others were tasked with taking care of (or that he took the liberety with as well). those items shouldn't go to cops to auction, they should get that money. plus it offered another place for backroom dealings in plain sight.

gage lives his life how he pleases, when the mask is up, he is charismatic, funny, and perhaps a bit pretentious but that goes with the status. he attends social events, holds dungeon parties, hosts orgies, and goes to bed with beautiful people in multiples. those unsettling traits shine through, but he'd much rather have people worship him than run and hide. though he does find fear to be just as much of a compliment if he cannot get their love.

HEADCANONS.

he's an artist with when he hurts people. takes his time to enjoy it and leaves scenes precisely the way he would like the masterpiece to look, even if the victim gets to walk away after.

his trophies, though he does not prefer the word, are the pictures he takes of his completed work that he later paints onto canvas.

he is a quite skilled cello player, both him and his brother are, as was their mother's prompting. the sound still comforts him and he will play to relieve stress when he cannot do it any other way.

when his older brother was killed, he didn't grieve but he did get even and took those out that took him out. this is the one time godric gave any blessing for gage's actions.

more to come...

[milimeters-morales]

quick disorder / disability hcs under da cut for my own hyperspecific chatfic (💔). they all need glasses by default bc of the spider bites but the teens won’t truly need them until their late twenties

miles: autism + gad (always downplaying it) + ptsd (unaware) though he is like. cptsd can be developing just from the shit he’s doing as spider-man.? does that make sense hold on. okay yes. he is making it worse for himself.

gwen: adhd (denying) + cptsd (unaware) + dyslexia + chronic wrist and ankle pain (reason she gave up ballet but still tries it)

margo: autism + depression (denying) + some sort of anxiety issues from her sheltered upbringing and spider stuff

hobie: bpd + autism + cptsd (unaware of all) (unrelated but he’s intersex as well but not entirely aware of this, i was considering PAIS but i might just leave it up to reader so they can project)

pavitr: autism + adhd + cptsd (unaware of all, last will also cause insomnia to a degree i haven’t decided but will become a huge problem for him) (this mostly relies on my made up backstory for him)

ganke: adhd + already has pretty bad eyesight (extremely nearsighted) + i’m thinking anemia ? maybe only during his period? also look into that thing where taking T just makes you produce more blood or whatever, i could probably connect all this

comics miguel: ocd + autism + reactive hypoglycemia + cptsd (unaware of first three rn, wont do much diving into his traumas bc he thinks “acknowledged = done with it”?)

peter b: autism (not entirely convinced) + depression (recovering) + chronic back/feet pain. maybe during the pregnancy he had gestational diabetes? not sure i’m even gonna focus that much on the adults in this fic that much to the point where this comes up. besides “haha comic miguel is going to burn the building down if he has to send more emails” moments

SHITTT WAIT. is that bad to make the character i hc to have ocd the “fixer” of the spider society and turning it into like a true volunteer / community space. no right. i’m overthinking that. if that was the case the i would be making it his whole personality and making everyone involved in like general maintenance of the place have ocd. yeah okay it’s fine you aren’t an awful dude. 🙏🏾🎊 WELL IDK. JUST BE CAREFUL BRO

other characters that show up (like comic miles) aren’t gonna get hcs besides what i briefly mention… like being polyamorous or disliking a food .. peni is a special case bc i truly don’t get her no matter what . like she feels just out of reach and i have no idea why so i won’t have her in the gc but will still be present in the story #realism

[parkitaco]

super belated bday ficlet for @astrobei!! (+ my stonathan debut 👀)

Jonathan wakes up with a splitting headache.

This, unfortunately, is nothing new to him - he usually has a headache of some sort these days, as unrelenting stress and trauma will tend to do to a person. There's always something plaguing him. Most of it's his own fault, due to his general inability to let go of anything ever, but still. It's not a pleasant way to be.

He can hear clattering in the kitchen, presumably his mother getting a head start on the weekend's chores. It's still early, if the shaft of weak light streaming in through the gap in the curtains is any indication, and he'd sort of been looking forward to sleeping in as long as his anxious brain ever allows him to, but he's always been a light sleeper and he knows it's pointless to go back to bed now. He groans, sitting up and tossing his covers aside as he runs a hand through his hair.

Jonathan knows it's a little ridiculous, the way his brain works. Summer started two weeks ago, and his job is a decent one, even if the men at the Hawkins post make him want to tear his hair out for a myriad of reasons. The Mindflayer is gone. The gates are closed. Will is safe. Jonathan should not be this stressed.

And yet.

He gets dressed quickly, wincing when he catches sight of his eye bags in the mirror. He hasn't been sleeping well. He hasn't slept well since 1983, probably. Every time he closes his eyes he sees blood, grey skin stretching obscenely over gnarled muscles, gaping mouths with too many teeth to count. His brother's eyes, corrupted from their usual hazel to a dark, swirling, angry color as he strained against the rope tying him in place.

A red-hot poker, sizzling as it met flesh. Jonathan's pretty sure he's more traumatized from that than Will is. He's the one who had to stand by and watch, after all.

That's selfish, though, and Jonathan strives not to be selfish. It's hard to win, in a household with a harried, overworked parent and a younger sibling who seems to get cursed at every turn, but he tries to do as much as he can. It feels like he's doing everything, some days. There's never enough of him to go around.

"Morning, hon," his mother greets when he enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Jonathan lies easily, stepping around her to grab an apple off the counter. He leans against it, biting into the apple with a satisfying crunch that serves to jumpstart his overtired brain.

If his mother notices the lie, she doesn't mention it, simply humming a noise of assent as she scrubs at a plate in the sink. Jonathan had meant to do the dishes before going to bed last night, he realizes with a stab of guilt - they'd been piling up, neglected all week, and it had been bothering him, but then Will had asked him for assistance with the evidently very important matter of deciding what to draw for his friends' next DnD campaign, and he'd forgotten.

"I can help with those," Jonathan offers now, guilt twisting in his gut as his mother works at a grease stain, and she waves him off with one soapy hand, showering him with flecks of lemon-scented water.

"Don't worry about it, hon," she says, which is what she always says, and just like always Jonathan wonders how, exactly, he's meant to stop worrying about things. He's pretty sure that worrying is his sole purpose in life. "Doing anything fun today?"

Fun. Jonathan does have fun, sometimes, he supposes. He has fun with Will, though his brother has been more and more concerned with spending time with his friends lately, which is- fine, it's fine. Jonathan has friends of his own, sort of. It's a good thing, that Will's figuring out how to get back to normal.

Still, Jonathan feels a little lost sometimes, without his brother there to hover over. Like that one night, on Halloween last year, when he'd let Will go trick-or-treating without him, and he'd sat in the car for a solid ten minutes after, wondering what he was supposed to do with his evening.

That was the first and last party he'll ever be attending, thank you very much. He hadn't even lasted for fifteen minutes before something demanded his attention - Nancy Wheeler, in all her overwhelming, drunken glory, clinging to him all the way from the car to her room.

Jonathan tries not to think about the way that mess had begun. Him, watching a drink spill over Nancy's white blouse. Him, listening halfheartedly to raised voices from the hall, watching a bathroom door fly open and a boy come storming out, leaving the girl behind to stare moodily at herself in the mirror. Him, Jonathan Byers, following the boy instead of the girl, stepping out on the porch and murmuring a soft I'll take her home, don't worry.

That had been the same night Will's visions started in earnest, and Jonathan had been off at a party, caring for drunk girls and their jilted exes instead of his own family. He can't win. Ever. Everything he does is just a little wrong.

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan blinks, snapping himself back into reality and staring blankly at his mother, who's smirking from where she stands by the sink. "Huh?"

"I asked what you're doing today," she repeats, smiling, and he offers a smile that turns into a grimace halfway through.

"Don't know," he says tightly. "Is Will here?"

"No, he went to Mike's," Joyce answers, already back to the dishes, the water a gentle spray over her hands. "I have to go to the grocery store in a little while, and I have a couple other errands to run- oh, did you ever make it to the pharmacy, hon?"

Jonathan is ninety percent sure she never asked him to go to the pharmacy, but he figures he probably should have known to go anyway. They're low on ibuprofen, of which he is in need of constantly. "No, I'll go today."

His mother smiles absently over her shoulder at him. "Thanks, hon."

Jonathan nods, a little distracted by his mental checklist, which is constantly growing - pharmacy, library, laundry, an endless list of tasks that never really seem to disappear. God, he's tired. Maybe he should have tried to sleep in after all. "No problem," he says, and is only sort of lying, because the truth is that there are no problems, not really - other than the underlying ones, such as money being tight and everyone being traumatized, things are fine. There are, strictly speaking, no specific problems.

It never seems to feel that way, though.

His mother heads out after an hour or so, reminding him to eat breakfast and ruffling his hair on the way out the door. Jonathan spends a half hour making scrambled eggs (and then remaking them, after burning the first batch horrifically). He eats them slowly, one hand holding open the book he's been trying to read for the past three months, always ending up too distracted by the everything else around him to get more than a few pages in. He's never been much of a comic book person, but he gets why Will likes them - they're definitely far more digestible than anything he's ever tried to read. But Jonathan's a bit too serious of a person for stuff like that. Bright colors make his headaches worse.

It's almost ten by the time he starts getting ready to go to the pharmacy, book abandoned on the table and keys in his hand. Maybe he can go to the record store - he has some money, after getting his first paycheck from the Hawkins Post, but at least half of that is going to need to be used to cover their bills this month. Probably better to wait a few more weeks, until after rent is due and he can properly assess how much is left over.

He grimaces to himself and pulls the front door open in one fluid motion, shoving his wallet in his back pocket and flipping through his key ring for the right one - and almost crashes directly into Steve Harrington.

They both yelp and stumble backward, Steve looking sensibly chagrined as he drops his arm, which Jonathan now sees had been poised to knock. "I- sorry," Steve says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Sorry."

Jonathan stares at him for a beat, one hand still holding his keys a bit uselessly. Dimly, he wonders if there's a new supernatural horror come to haunt him - that seems the only logical reason why Steve Harrington would be at his house, on his own, at ten in the morning on a random Saturday in June. They don't do this. They're not- friends, they're probably something closer to enemies if he thinks about it. They don't show up at each other's houses unannounced except in dire circumstances.

But that one time, a snide voice in Jonathan's head pipes up, he did. Remember?

Jonathan banishes the thought, on account of the fact that a., Steve had come to apologize for literally beating him to a pulp, which does not connote friendship in any way shape or form, and b., they'd both nearly been eaten alive less than five minutes after. Not exactly a good track record.

Steve grimaces, and opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can Jonathan blurts; "What are you doing here?"

It comes out sounding a little ruder than he intended, as do most of the things he says, but to his immense relief, Steve seems more put at ease by it than anything. He laughs, a short, huffy sort of sound that's more endearing than it should be. "Um. I wanted to talk to you."

Jonathan and Steve are not friends. They do not talk. Is he having a stroke? "About what?"

Steve shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing away awkwardly. "Jesus, Jonathan, I don't know. I was just gonna see if you wanted to come for a drive or something." He glances back at him, sheepish, and he does an awkward sort of shrug-twitch thing with his shoulders, eyes falling to the keys in Jonathan's hand. "If you're busy, though-"

"No," Jonathan says before he's even aware of it, thinking of his mother asking if he was doing anything fun today and how spending time with Steve Harrington is probably not really all that fun, but is at the very least an interesting concept. Better than blowing money on records that should be going to his family. "I was just gonna- pharmacy," he says, gesturing vaguely. "My head, uh." He pauses. He doesn't usually tell people about his headaches. Or any other ailments, really. "Nevermind."

Steve squints at him, looking stuck between a laugh and a frown. "Okay. Is that a yes, then?"

The pharmacy can wait, probably. "Yeah, sure." He coughs. "Yes."

A blinding smile splits across Steve's face, a genuine one. He never used to smile that way, Jonathan remembers - two years ago, it was all closed-lips and wry smirks and raised eyebrows. Kind of insufferable, if you ask Jonathan, but then again, no one ever does ask Jonathan.

It's- nice, is the point. If you asked Jonathan, right this second, what he thought of Steve's smile, he'd say that.

"Where are we going?" he asks, trailing after Steve to the car parked haphazardly in his driveway and shoving his own car keys into his pocket.

"Just- for a drive, man, I don't know," Steve says, pausing with one hand resting on top of the open driver's side door and looking mildly exasperated. Now that he knows he has Jonathan's attention, he supposes, he's back to behaving like a prick.

(Not really. He's not much of a prick, anymore. Not that Jonathan would ever admit that aloud.)

Despite himself, Jonathan smiles a little as he climbs into the passenger seat. "Okay. Got it," he says, tinged with amusement and sarcasm, and Steve gives him a dirty look that doesn't reach his smiling eyes as he backs out of the driveway.

The radio is playing softly, some sort of Cyndi Lauper bullshit spilling from the dash as Steve drives. He's a good driver, Jonathan notices a little fondly, better than he would have expected, with the whole being-a-prick thing and all. He's careful. Like he cares about keeping Jonathan alive and well, which is- bare minimum, really, and it's probably just as much about his own self-preservation, but still. It's nice. Jonathan's always a little pleasantly surprised, where Steve's involved.

But he doesn't want to think about that for too long, so instead Jonathan rolls down his window, letting the cool early-summer air waft over him. "Any particular reason we're doing this?" he asks, just for the sake of distracting himself from his own thoughts.

Steve shoots him another look, though he looks distinctly more amused this time. "You ask a lot of questions," he says wryly, and Jonathan snorts, glancing back over at him. "Don't you ever just, like. Go with the flow?"

At this, Jonathan outright laughs, and surprises himself with it a little. "Go with the flow," he repeats, a little incredulously, and Steve's cheeks pinken a little as he pointedly looks back at the road. "I don't think I'm a very flowy sort of person."

"I'm getting that," Steve grumbles, and Jonathan laughs again. "I just meant - you're so tense. Like, I get stressed out just looking at you sometimes."

You look at me? Jonathan thinks, and then immediately banishes the thought because- no. He's not going to start asking questions like that. "Yeah, well, not all of us can be the perfect Steve Harrington," he says, and it comes out a little more biting than he intends. He winces, an apology on his lips, but it gets stuck in the back of his throat. Better to be a little mean than a little too incriminating. That's how they operate, him and Steve.

Steve coughs, halfway toward a laugh but falling short. "No," he agrees, and sounds like a person trying desperately not to sound as hurt as they feel. Jonathan bites back another apology. "Guess not."

Jonathan's never been good at letting things go. Desperate to fix it, fix them, fix everything, he corrects; "Well, I guess the kidnapping probably mars your record a little."

The statement works precisely how he expected it to - with a cough and a splutter and a reddening of tanned cheeks. "I am not- kidnapping you," Steve squeaks, and there's that laugh again, bubbling up from somewhere in Jonathan's ribcage that he wasn't previously aware of. Maybe that's where he's been keeping his serotonin all this time, locked away in his chest somewhere. "You said you wanted to come!"

"I said I would come," Jonathan corrects, "I didn't say I wanted to."

Steve scowls. "You did want to. You- you want to hang out with me so bad."

Jonathan's not so sure about that one, mostly on account of the fact that he hadn't really known that hanging out with Steve was an option until today, but now that he is, he can definitively say that- maybe, possibly, he likes it. A little. Maybe.

"Don't make me beat you up again," he says, for lack of a better response, and this time Steve laughs, loud and bright in the summer air, and the sound settles something in Jonathan's usually-nervous system. People don't usually laugh with him like this. It's a bit odd, realizing that he's- funny. Likeable, maybe, in the right set of eyes. Or maybe that's just the Steve Effect. He puts people at ease.

"You wanted to," Steve says again, a little more quietly, and Jonathan stays silent, an admission by omission.

They pull into an abandoned parking lot, somewhere on the outskirts of Hawkins where Jonathan's only been a handful of times. It's a decent spot, raised on a hill overlooking downtown, grass growing through he cracks in the pavement. Pretty, in the bleak small-town way that Hawkins typically offers.

He shoots Steve a questioning look, and Steve smiles as he kills the engine. "No one ever comes here," he says, which feels a little like a confession even though it's not, doesn't mean much of anything at all. "I mean- I do, but. I don't know. There's probably, like, better and quieter places to hang out farther out of town, but I get kind of- um." He flushes, running a hand through his hair. "It seems sort of depressing, you know? I like to be somewhere where I can be close to where people are without having to actually, you know- talk to them."

There's a beat of silence, the radio having gone silent the moment Steve shut the car off, and Jonathan allows himself a moment to examine him, a little, the twisted grimace of his lips, the flush steadily rising to his cheeks, the faraway look in his eyes. Steve is a little confounding, sometimes.

Then:

"Sorry, that sounded dumb."

Jonathan blinks, shaking his head on instinct. "No," he argues reflexively, but finds he means it when he adds, "I know what you mean." Under normal circumstances, maybe, he'd poke fun, ask why Steve has suddenly gone philosophical on him, but there's a weird energy in the car, something delicate and vulnerable that Jonathan isn't nearly cruel enough to break.

Steve meets his eyes earnestly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, which Jonathan is- not looking at, not even a little bit. "Yeah?"

Jonathan's mouth suddenly feels very dry. "Yeah," he confirms hoarsely, and then, because that's a little too raw even for him, "Yeah, it's- that's what photography is like, kind of. Using a camera to distance yourself while still, um. Still seeing people, as they are."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Maybe I should take up photography." He glances back out the window, lost in thought, and Jonathan, overcome with a strange kind of confidence, nudges his arm gently.

Steve turns back to him, frowning, and he tilts his head at the window. "It's boiling in here," Jonathan says, which is half-true. In truth, it feels a little too closed-off, like anything could happen here, anything could be said, and only the two of them would ever know it. It feels like if he's not careful, he might do something dangerous.

Luckily, Steve only nods, unstrapping his seatbelt and climbing out of the car after Jonathan, who clambers up onto the hood of the car with a considerable lack of grace.

"Scratch my car and you're dead to me, Byers," Steve says, but he doesn't sound like he means it even a little, especially when he hops up onto the hood seconds later, knee knocking against Jonathan's.

There's a few moments of silence, both of them staring quietly out at Hawkins spread below them, the breeze ruffling their hair. They make an odd pair, Jonathan knows - Steve, in all his letterman jacketed glory, and Jonathan with his old band t-shirt and eye bags and headache. But oddly, it works like this, in the silence and summer air, the two of them opposite ends of the same spectrum.

"I'm not perfect," Steve says after a moment, less like he's correcting Jonathan and more like he's speaking it into existence, like he's afraid to admit it. "Just- just so you know."

If this were any other day, Jonathan would laugh, make a joke, deflect. But today is different, so he just bobs his head once, a quiet acknowledgement. "I know."

Steve glances at him, brows drawn together in concentration. "No, I mean it," he says, "I'm not- I mess things up, all the time. I think I'm- I don't know. If you're not a very flowy person, then I think I'm too flowy, or something." He bites his lip, eyes raking over Jonathan with an intensity that leaves him feeling oddly exposed. "I wish I was more like you," Steve says, with a quiet reverence that makes something stutter in Jonathan's chest.

He shakes his head once, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "No you don't," he assures him, and Steve's frown deepens, "I'm exhausting."

"You're driven," Steve argues, looking almost offended on Jonathan's behalf. "Not the same."

"I'm a nervous wreck, Steve," Jonathan says with a laugh, but it falls flat. Too close to the truth. He swallows. "All the time."

Steve stares at him for another couple seconds, then releases a soft breath and turns back to stare out at their pathetic little town. "Maybe we should switch," he muses, voice low but sending sparks through Jonathan's nerves all the same, "or- meet halfway, or something."

A year and a half ago I was arrested for beating you up, Jonathan thinks and doesn't say, and now you want to meet me halfway.

They make an odd pair.

"I'd like that," he says, and Steve's gaze snaps back to him, something clicking into place in his expression.

"Yeah?" he asks again, and again looks hopeful and earnest and all of the emotions the old Steve would never have been caught dead exhibiting.

Jonathan's throat is so very dry. He nods. "Yeah."

The breeze ruffles through his hair, and a hand presses against the side of Jonathan's neck. Far in the distance, a bird squawks, and here on the hood of a car a boy meets Jonathan's eyes.

The car creaks beneath them, and Jonathan leans in.

Like everything else, kissing Steve is pleasantly surprising. He's gentle, more gentle than Jonathan might have expected given his reputation, and his lips are soft when they press against Jonathan's own. He tastes like soda and smells like detergent and is careful when he lays a hand over Jonathan's chest, right where his heart is throwing itself against his ribcage. Jonathan presses in closer without meaning to, hand grappling for purchase against the surface of the car before grabbing Steve's waist instead, pulling him closer with a gentle creaking of metal beneath them.

Steve hums, a soft, unintentional sound, and pulls back, the carefully blank look on his face not quite hiding the gleaming look in his eyes, fiery and terrified at once. He shivers once, Jonathan's thumb brushing gently over the cotton of his t-shirt, tucked under his jacket.

His hair is falling into his eyes. Jonathan brushes it away without thinking about it, and only pauses when Steve's breath catches somewhere in his ribcage. Jonathan offers a shaky smile and presses in again, lips connecting with Steve's softly and briefly before he pulls back for real.

"What," Steve says, and then pauses like he doesn't know where to begin.

Jonathan smirks. "Too many questions."

It takes a second, but Steve's face falls into a (feigned) scowl in one swift motion, much to Jonathan's delight. "Wh- I didn't even ask anything yet!"

"Good," Jonathan replies, smirking as he lays back against the windshield, "Don't."

"You're a prick," Steve says, and doesn't seem to mean it in the slightest when he follows suit, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

Jonathan presses his leg against Steve's, enjoying the solid warmth of him next to him. "Right back at you." He closes his eyes, letting the summer sunlight wash over him, and Steve shifts beside him, leg pressing more insistently against his own.

Jonathan's head doesn't hurt at all anymore.

[pemberlyprose]

Mycelium and Mexican Gothic

While sitting and listening to music, I got thinking about Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Over the past few days, I have been ruminating on what I'd like to write about regarding this story and how it has affected me. Typically, my process for writing essays, formal or informal, involves a lot of black tea and annotating.  Today, inspired by Hozier and Noah Khan, I want to have a brief interpretation/contemplation of a single topic instead: mushrooms being a metaphor for toxic family dynamics in Mexican Gothic. 

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THIS NOVEL! 

(Also, this is highly summarized because I am a creature fueled by caffeine and chaos and can't be bothered right now. Please forgive any errors).

Taking place in the isolated mountains of Mexico's countryside, Mexican Gothic points a crooked and mishappen finger at the horrors lying beneath the Doyle family's history and home. Noemi, the protagonist of the story, arrives to the Doyles' house to call into question the care of her cousin, Catalina, who has been sending frantic and incoherent letters about voices and apparitions since moving into her English husband's home. As Noemi spends time with the Doyle family, and her cousin, she begins to unravel more of their secrets. Eventually she becomes so deeply involved that, before she knows it, she is taken prisoner. 

Now there is a patriarchal element to this novel that I find fascinating. The Doyles' are made immortal by becoming hosts for "The Gloom" a conscious mushroom network that has inhabited thier bodies, home, and minds for centuries. The Gloom controls the house and thier minds, but it is Howard Doyle, the patriarchal figure, who physically and spiritually controls his family. God-like in power, he has been ingesting these mushrooms for hundreds of years. So, to maintain his power, and in return for making his family immortal, they must give up thier lives, bodies, and offspring to him when necessary for the most henious reasons. 

Like a snake, he stays alive by sliding from body to body, consciousness to consciousness, and he cannot be stopped. Meanwhile, those he takes over are completely erased from existence or thier consciousness remains trapped in The Gloom. They become an echo... A phantom in the house they have lived and died in for the rest of time. All in the name of tradition and family. 

This is a great allegory of how family, tradition, and generational trauma can affect the living. Our bodies store memories from hundreds of years ago, and whether we know it or not, feel it or not, our family members have weaved their genetic memories into our bodies. We are a mycelium of memories. It is in our blood and stretches out to those joining our families and learning our customs. 

Of course, at least I hope, most of the time this is not in a creepy The Last of Us kind of way, but in a loving and grounding ancestral kind of way. I believe there is always more good than bad. However, regardless of patriarchal or matriarchal themes, this novel does an excellent job of illuminating the expectations children feel pressured to meet (in the most extreme way) to please/satiate a parental or authority figure. It's also an incredibly creepy and interesting way to examine the lengths families, even unrelated groups of people, will go to preserve a way of life. Even when it goes against everything they stand for morally and physically. 

I also wondered to myself, why mushrooms? Lately in popular culture we are seeing a rise of mushroom media, and although humankind has always had a certain reverence for them, this novel along with shows like The Last of Us call into question where this circulated fear of being taken over by mushrooms comes from. I don't have an answer for this, but it is a dynamic question to contemplate. 

Why do we fear being taken over by nature? Is it our physical minds we fear losing, or our autonomy in the abstract? Would we even notice it was happening, or would we find out too late like Noemi in Mexican Gothic? Could we escape even after we were captured? 

I don't know. But what I do know is if any of these themes strike your fancy check out this brilliant novel. It truly had me on the edge of my seat all night.

**If you are interested in this story, please note that it is a gothic novel and has many triggering themes surrounding gore, sexual content, and horror. Always do research before reading if you are unsure :) Stay safe out there. 

[acoldsovereign]

In verses where she is not paired up with anyone, Maiz eventually creates her own children through science.

One such situation actually does happen in one of her verses for Super. Spoiler alert: only one experiment survives and The Kid Is Not Okay™.

The relationship with these experiments are impersonal; she doesn't see them as her child(ren). They're merely an extension of her and a way to cheat death, however temporarily. Unlike Frieza (and Garlic Junior, or Zamasu, even), she doesn't thirst for immortality--she doesn't want it. She knows that's silly. It's a childish dream. If someone were to ask her about it or offer it, she'd probably hesitate before answering or give a disgusted look. Everything is not meant to live forever, and she knows that--she's just hypocritical when it comes to herself because she refuses to let go of her trauma from the Saiyan Genocide.

Hence, why she would turn to unethical experimentation--initially, she'd try to figure out a way to extend her lifespan naturally. Longevity would be the goal. If she could get rid of aging altogether or slow it down further, she'd do that. But, time would catch up to her at some point, wouldn't it? Death would come, eventually. . . . And what's the point of continuing to live when everything she once knew and cared about is nothing but a memory? Without a way to stay in her prime indefinitely, she'd succumb to her innermost thoughts and worries about her empire coming undone. So, that'd cause her to make an army of Saiyan-blooded individuals. The relationship would be impersonal because she's not doing it for the sheer love of motherhood or because she had a change of heart and wanted to create something for creation's sake. It'd be to preserve what's left of Saiyan Culture. To continue the system she created, with no thought about them and their wishes. She wouldn't care about these children outside of that purpose; she wouldn't bond with them or be close, emotionally. Their purpose is to surpass her and be long lasting. To create another generation and tend to the planets, conquer more, enslave more, and so on.

They would be conquerors like her. Tyrants.

Not children, and not people with their own thoughts and feelings.

As far as she's concerned, they wouldn't even be allowed to talk out of turn unless it's to warn her of something. And goddess help them if they develop more empathy than she has naturally, or enough consciousness to ask her questions. She'd give them the cold shoulder. Depending on the severity of their infraction, she might even make an example out of them. She's very much "do as I say, and do it right the first time I tell you". Calling her a matriarch would be a stretch--she's more accurately a cruel mistress that violates the codes of BDSM for whatever reason. A drill sergeant. A distant, ever-looming guillotine that threatens to come down hard at the slightest movement.

The only upside is that whoever or however many of them survive--verse and plot depending--Maiz would become hands off when they show complete understanding of her instructions. Contrary to belief, Maiz isn't the type to abuse her subjects (read: slaves) for no reason; if she does, it's typically because they failed an instruction twice (they don't get a luxury of a third chance, sometimes once is enough), or because they happened to be in the crosshairs of her wrath, typically unrelated to their work performance. Her temper was much worse in the beginning years of her rule--she calmed down in her 30's, more or less.*

[asocial-lobster]

The Crumbling Pedestal

Link covered his head in his hands, gripping the roots in a shaky hold. His body was pressed into a small closet in his room, and he'd closed the door behind him so that the claustrophobic opening was completely covered in darkness. 

He was supposed to be out there, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of war. A heroic front figure to rally behind, strong and unwavering and perfect. These days the other soldiers barely knew the real him; he was put on a pedestal so high that he was no longer recognizable from below. Instead, he was condemned to freeze on the top of his pillar, alone and utterly broken. Instead, he was huddled together in a closet, desperately trying to escape the watchful eyes of the soldiers outside.

And yet, Link could not correct them. Could not step down to be the others' equal, could not let them see his flaws and trauma. Morale was already low after a whole year of fighting, and they depended on Link to be the perfect hero who would save them all.

He shivered and pressed his head closer to his knees. If only he could stay right here. If only he could let the darkness take him, let it lull him to sleep. If only he could escape this day.

It was the day; the day Link had been dreading for weeks now. Ever since that fateful evening, when Impa had called him to her tent.

She'd greeted him from behind her desk, looking troubled and biting slightly down on her lower lip like she was nervous. Impa never looked nervous, Link knew. He swallowed the lump in his throat and waited for her to speak.

"We caught him," she finally said, when the silence had already stretched too thin, just like Link's nerves.

"Who?" he asked, anxiety morphing into confusion.

"Lawrence," she said. "A scout found him lurking near one of our eastern camps."

Link's anxiety returned with full force, though he was unsure what he was anxious about. Lawrence and Link hadn't exactly parted on good terms; last time he'd seen him, the other man had attempted to slit his throat. So maybe his anxiety was for his own – or, Hylia forbid, Mask or Tune's – safety. Lawrence's attempt at his life had been the first, but there had been others since. Link had to sleep in a private room now, and he could no longer trust his food to be unpoisoned unless he made it himself. Lawrence had driven a previously unthought of danger into Link's life, one that had almost ended it several times.

But it was more complicated than that. Before Lawrence attacked him that night, before the war, they had been the best of friends. Link had been a guest in the other man's home during his childhood more times than he could count, and they had seen each other grow up. When Link's dad died, his mama had turned to Lawrence's family for help. Though unrelated by blood, Lawrence was more akin to a brother than a friend.

It had been when their other childhood friend, Samuel, died, that he snapped. Sam hadn't even been laid to rest yet, when Lawrence drove the knife into Link's collarbone and forever shattered the brotherhood between them.

So, perhaps the anxiety was not for Link's own life. Perhaps it was for his misguided brother who would now have to face justice for what he'd done.

Link had been there for the trial. He'd had to, both as front figure of the war and as the victim. It'd been messy, the usually so meticulous workings of the court disrupted by war and the princess' continued absence. Impa and a few other generals had been there, the highest authority now that the royal family was unrepresented.

Impa had supported him through the ordeal, but General Rolf was among those who thought Link was responsible for the war. He was among those who claimed Cia would never have attacked, if it hadn't been for her infatuation, her obsession, with the hero. Link had been forced face-to-face with his trauma for hours on end during that trial. And he could barely even be relieved that it was over.

Because in the end, Lawrence had received a death sentence.

It was a punishment seldom used in Hyrule. But with the raging war and need for more soldiers, most prisons were shut down – they simply couldn't spare the guards to defend them against Cia's forces. And besides, the generals had wanted to make an example of Lawrence. They'd wanted to show all the turncoats and assassins what they risked by joining Cia's cause.

That knowledge did not make it easier to bear that it was Link's testimony which had condemned Lawrence to death. It did not make it any easier to shoulder the guilt which still wrecked his mind.

The door to the closet opened, and Link barely had time to straighten his hair and sit up before someone peered in. Against the light from the room, the person was nothing more than a silhouette, and Link's heart clenched in fear, knowing with a sickening certainty it was an assassin, that he'd die, and at the same time feeling shameful relief that he wouldn't have to watch Lawrence's sentence be carried out later today-

"Odd place to relax, Cap," came the person's voice. Link blinked, and the threatening figure turned into the form of a teenage boy with unruly, blond curls.

The sailor leaned against the door. He angled his face, and light hit a gentle but worried expression.

"How else am I supposed to get some peace and quiet around here?" Link answered, hoping the light banter would distract his brother from his bloodshot eyes.

Tune extended a hand to him, and Link grabbed it, letting himself be hoisted to his feet. After so long in the dark closet, he blinked against the light outside.

"Impa asked me to find you," his brother said, much quieter than before. "It's almost time."

Link sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Can you keep Mask occupied? I don't want him anywhere near there."

Actually, the same went for the pirate, but Link kept that to himself. Tune winced, a knowing look in his eyes. The sailor had an uncanny ability to read thoughts sometimes, and despite only having known him for a couple of months, the two had grown close. Tune somehow always knew what troubled him – despite Link's best attempts to conceal it.

"I'll take care of it," the pirate promised. He hesitated. "You don't have to be there either, Cap," the young boy finally said.

Link shook his head and wiped the rest of the uncertainty and grief from his face. Calm and invincible. Just like the hero was supposed to be.

"I'll be alright," he lied. He really wouldn't, but that wasn't the point. He owed it to Lawrence after the history they'd shared and the part Link had played in the trial. They had once been like brothers. Not even the other man's betrayal could change that.

The younger boy didn't look convinced, once again seeing through his words, but he didn't remark on it.

As Link left the room and closed the door behind him, he wondered how long he could keep this masquerade up. How long he could keep convincing the other soldiers that he was the perfect hero.

How long before the pedestal beneath him crumbled, and he plummeted into the darkness.