#he has seen photos but the damage looks worse in person

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Ceiling Guy should be coming to give me a quote today! I hope he can fix the ceiling. He's a carpenter so there is a small risk he'll look and say "this is out of my scope mate, you'll have to get someone else". I hope he can do it though.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #28

(#) = Notes at the end of post

✦

Chartreuse

Due to the high levels of ambient ectoplasm, all the citizens of Amity Park gained a permanent change in eye color. They don't glow or flare in response to rampant emotions like true ghosts or the halfas though. They're just an unnaturally bright yellow-green.

The thing is, nobody else on Earth has this eye color, and it's never been seen in the human race until the recently graduated Amity Parkers started branching out to other cities to find jobs.

Nobody paid this any mind at first, though. Many just thought the individuals liked strangely colored contacts or it was a trick of the light. It's not until Danny and Tucker are both hired for positions in Wayne Enterprises that questions start popping up.

At first, the other employees thought the two might be related. It could happen, it's not that strange. However, when both of them said they're nowhere near related, just childhood best friends, it left everyone confused. If they aren't related and they aren't wearing colored contacts, then what are the odds of too completely unrelated people having the exact same strange and unseen eye color?

After a while, everyone just stops asking questions. After all, both men are easy to get along with and are excellent at their jobs, so a strange eye color isn't really something to complain about. Their stares were just a bit more intense than most people, and honestly, they've seen stranger things.

It helps that they've started seeing other people with the same eye color popping up in celebrity, sports, and activist circles. (1)

However, It's not until the power goes out during a late meeting/presentation, and Tim Drake accidentally turns on and shines his cell phone light into Tuckers eyes, that he starts seriously digging.

Needless to say, the animal-like green shine of his pupils scared the shit out of him and got him wondering if two of his new employees were part of a previously unknown alien race that'd recently settled on Earth without anyone noticing. When he looks into the middle of nowhere town they came from, this idea is even further cemented when he sees every person he finds a photo of have the exact same shade of chartreuse eyes. Ignoring the ghost rumors and "sightings" as just a strange tourist trap for the strange little town to make extra income, he brings the info he found to the other bats and birds.

They aren't exactly welcomed when they go snooping around Amity Park, unfortunately... (2 & 3)

✦

Now. To make this a bit more cracky, when confronted, do Danny and Tucker just come clean or do they milk the idea of them being aliens for all it's worth? (4) Add in a few strange, but perfectly normal for them, things they do that have people scratching their heads and make the assumption even worse/more irrefutable. This includes the unexplainable eye shine Tim discovered.

✦

(1) Paulina became a supermodel and is coveted for her striking eye color and beautiful complexion. Dash became a coach for a well known college in Metropolis, while Kwan became a fitness trainer and sponsor for health related items that actually work, also partnered with the college Dash coaches at. Sam became a notorious environmental activist and is the enemy of many companys who are determined to turn the world into a toxic wasteland. With the help of Danny's parents, she's found many eco-friendly chemical compounds that dissolve many of the toxic substances damaging ecosystems around the world. Etc, etc.

(2) Ectoplasm exposure has made everyone a bit more territorial over the town, including their protectors. They don't need outside heroes/organizations interfering with their work and don't/won't take kindly to the sudden interest hero organizations gain over them and their strange little town. That hasn't worked out too well with other government sanctioned organizations in the past and they don't want a repeat, thank you.

(3) Maybe Team Phantom even established themselves right around the same time or even before the Justice League was formed and they just flew under the radar until now. Maybe Amity Parkers feel a bit superior due to their seniority in having an excellent team in the know about the supernatural/non-human side of the world/universe? Who knows? You pick! Amity Park has been through a lot by themselves, so it's no shocker if they have an extreme amount of solidarity towards those they call their own.

(3 cont'd) Also! Since Amity Park has become so rich and saturated in ectoplasm over the years, they were eventually annexed/became an outside part of the Ghost Zone. Jack and Maddy are border patrol and any ghosts coming through need a passport now. Amity Park is basically a vacation hub for ghosts? Ghosts can freely roam the streets, they just don't wreak havoc anymore. That'd basically be terrorizing their fellow citizens at this point anyway and that's a no no. That means jail time with Walker. Amity Parkers also aren't afraid anymore and in fact CAN hit back now. This does not stop the Bat Clan and eventually the Justice League from thinking they're a town full of aliens tho. Some are just more human looking than others. Or they've been on Earth and procreating long enough with humans that their hybrid offspring have also started looking more human, is the ongoing conclusion.

(4) The Anti-Ecto Acts are not an issue here! Team Phantom already dismantled and annihilated the GIW years before they even thought of leaving Amity Park on its own. Before graduating highschool even. Yes, Team Phantom is perfectly self-sufficient and able to handle their own problems and have kept the city-wide ghost infestation pretty isolated outside a few events that were handled quickly and with the world none the wiser. So the world is still pretty ignorant of the existence of ghosts/the Ghost Zone. Would Team Phantom and Amity Park prefer to keep it that way though?

[fayedartmouth]

The next snippet from the requested car accident fic. I'll link the first bit below the cut.

First bit is linked here:

The new bit is:

It’s not that Shoupe hasn’t been on a scene before – it’s part of the job; it just is.  Most of the time, it’s not exciting crimes.  It’s usually this sort of thing.  Domestic disputes.  Petty theft.  Vandalism.

Car accidents.

They aren’t usually pretty, and Shoupe has seen some doozies in his day.  Dead bodies are hard when they’re cold and stiff.  When they’re fresh and bloody?  When they’ve been broken in two by metal and glass?

Well, yeah.  Needless to say, Shoupe’s stomach isn’t from all the murders on the island.  Most of them are from calls just like this.

Someone losing control.  Debris in the road.  A deer.  Two cars veering over the center line.

It’s his job to figure out why.

It always strikes him, though, how much it doesn’t matter.

Does it mean anything who’s to blame?  Does it change the fact that there are skid marks on the road or that the car is totaled?  If he can close a police report, does it mend any wounds?  Does it bring anyone back from the dead?

That’s a no – definitely not.  But still, somehow, it’s his job to try.

Seriously, it is his job.  He tries to get out of his, but Peterkin says this one’s his, and he hates her a little more when he realizes who’s involved.

Because of course it’s not some Kook.  It’s not some tourist with out of state plates.

It’s an old van – a piece of shit that doesn’t have any business being on the road.  He knows what they call it – the Twinkie.

And he knows who drives it.

John B Routledge.

16.  Dumb as shit.  Probably an abandoned kid, this close to flunking out of school.  His daddy disappeared months ago, and the boy refuses to sign the death papers to close the case.  He’s a pain in the ass, and Shoupe half respects him for it, but <i>such a pain</i>.

Because where you have John B.

You have his entire entourage.

The Pogues.

Pursing his lips, he takes a steady breath.  Pogues or not – he has to investigate this scene.  And the sooner he gets started, the sooner he can finish.

With that mindset, he finally gets out of his cruises, turning off the engine.

“Hey, Billy,” he says, as lightly as he could to the first officer on the scene.  It’s a pair of squad cars, with one unit setting up a buffer on the road against oncoming traffic.  Billy and his partner – a woman named Elizabeth – are collecting evidence of the accident itself.

Billy is at least bright enough, and good natured.  He won’t overlook the details just because these were kids – and just because this is the cut.  If Plumb were here, it’d be a different situation entirely.  “Looks pretty straightforward,” Billy says, leaning back and looking down the length of the road, where the skid marks and debris trail were littered behind.  “Probably an animal in the road.  No sign of another car, at least.”

This time of year; this stretch of road.  It’s the most plausible explanation.  He looks again at the van, chewing his lower lip.  “The damage looks like it could be worse,” he says.

“We’ve called for a tow,” Elizabeth says, where she’s taking a few photos for the police report.  “But vans like this are tanks.  A windshield replacement and she’ll probably be as good as new.”

That’s good, considering.

But it’s not the point.  “What about the driver?” he asks, and he doesn’t use John B’s name.

He can’t make this personal.  He just can’t.

Billy nods, sobering a little.  “Already been moved to the hospital.  Three rigs, come and gone,” he reports, ever dutiful.

That’s not unexpected.

It’s just also – not good.  Shoupe swallows hard and tries not to let that cold, niggling feeling in his gut bother him.

“Were they – doing okay?” he ventures, and he’s aware that he sounds the way he does.  That his effort to maintain a professional distance is failing.  Miserably.

Billy nods his head, but his face tells a different story.  “They were alive,” he says, because they’re always looking for that lowest bar.  The professional art of aiming low <i>damn it</i>.  “One of the boys – Big John’s kid – was conscious, but pretty out of it, I think.  The other two kids – the Heyward boy and the Carrera girl – they weren’t moving much at all.”

Shoupe doesn’t even realize he’s waiting for more until Billy doesn’t say anything else.  Like that’s it.

“Wait,” Shoupe says, because maybe he missed it.  “Routledge, Heyward, and Carrera?  There were just three?”

Billy blinks at him, like he doesn’t know what the big deal is.

Elizabeth nods for them all.  “That’s affirmative,” she says.  “Routledge was driving, best we can tell.  There’s no sign of impairment, and we didn’t find anything suspicious on the scene–”

Which – is good.  But Shoupe is reeling, trying to keep the point.  Because the scene is straightforward.  Animal in the road; old van flipped.  No airbags – reasonable rate of impact – yeah, Shoupe’s got all that.  Open, shut, it’s mostly a formality.

Except.

<i>Except.</i>

“Was JJ Maybank with them?” he finally says, giving voice to the doubt clawing at the inside of his gut.

It’s such an obvious question that it’s seem like he shouldn’t have to ask it.  But Billy still looks blank.  “No, just the three,” he says.  “The medics didn’t find anyone else at the scene.”

Shoupe considers.  It’s possible.  Sure, it’s possible.

Maybe JJ hadn’t been there.  Maybe they’d been on their way to pick him up.  Maybe he’d been staying after school.  Maybe he was working a job.  Maybe his old man had <i>grounded</i> him or whatever the hell they wanted to call it these days.

Maybe.

He can’t shake it, though.  He looks at the scene, the skid marks, the shattered glass.  He steps forward, mindful of the debris, and pokes his head through the open van door where Elizabeth has been cataloging things, just in case.

“We think they were coming home from school,” Elizabeth says.  “There are their backpacks–”

She nods.  One backpack has spilled onto the road.  There’s two more jumbled in the mess of a backseat.  And—

There.

Between the seats.

A fourth.

He reaches for it, zipping it open.  There’s hardly anything in it, its contents scant.  He pulls out a notebook, with scribbles and doodles and a name–

<i>JJ Maybank.</i>

It’s JJ’s backpack.

JJ had been in the car.

JJ had been in the accident.

His stomach bottoms out – and hard – and he makes a strange strangled noise in the back of his throat.  “There’s another victim,” he says, turning away and looking out across the road now.  He looks, up and down, but there’s nothing but debris and trash.

“What?” Billy asks, frowning.

“They only found three–” Elizabeth starts.

Shoupe ignore them, though, and trusts his gut.  He knows this island.  He knows these kids.

He knows.

He’s moving now, walking around the van, and surveying the scene again.  He glances – out across the grassy roadside – and does the quick mental math.

The speed of the road.  The signs of the impact.  The trajectory of the van as it flipped.

The shattered windshield.

A dumb-ass kid not wearing a seatbelt.

He moves now, forward away from the crash site.  He steps of into the grass, which is deeply overgrown and too long.  

At that rate of speed – how far could a body fly?  If the passenger is unrestrained – the force of the accident – the distance covered–

There.

He breaks into a jog when he sees it, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.  His chest tightens as his head threatens to spin.

There’s something in the grass.  An unusual shape, matted down.  A black boot – a pant leg – a body–

“Oh, shit,” he says, because the body is a kid.  Jeans and a flannel shirt.  Blonde hair, messy and matted with blood.  It’s JJ.  It’s <i>JJ</i>.  “Call an ambulance!”

He screams it over his shoulder, not even trusting himself to look back as he crashes to his knees in the brush.  

“I found him!” he yells again, even more frantic.  “Call the damn ambulance!”

JJ’s body is twisted funny, sprawled awkwardly on its back.  One leg is bent unnaturally, and his arms are splayed out at his sides.  His left side is coated with blood, his clothes in tatters with raw, exposed skin – like ground beef – underneath.  His head is tipped away from Shoupe, but it’s not hard to see that a portion of his scalp has been ripped, and his nose is leaking an obscene amount of blood all over his face.

He looks like an ambulance might be too late.

“Come on,” he mutters, because he’s trained for this.  He’s a first responder, damn it.  He’s <i>trained for this</i>.  “JJ?  Talk to me, kid.  Talk to me.”

He reaches out, fingers shaking as he presses them to the skin at JJ’s neck.  He’s cold – too cold – but Shoupe sighs with relief when he feels the fast, uneven thrum of JJ’s heart.

He’s alive.

Maybe not by much – and maybe not for long – but he’s <i>alive</i>.

“Get a first aid kit!” he says, craning to look back over his shoulder.  “And where the hell is the damn ambulance?”

He turns back to JJ, not sure what to do or where to start.  There’s so much blood – too much blood.

“Shit, kid,” he mutters, as Billy runs toward them, presumably with a first aid kit in hand.  “You don’t make things easy, do you?”

Because Shoupe knows what his job is.

And JJ never makes it easy.

But this time – this one time – Shoupe is not going to fail him.

[meraki-yao]

You don't have to post it if you don't want to, you can also block me or delete it's ok, I just need to vent because this situation is hitting rock bottom and I can't stand how people don't want to see the problem:

In short: there is a video of the q&a where the female producer gets Casey pronouns wrong when talking about them. It's totally ok to point this out and give respect that Casey deserves BUT who was given the main blame? Taylor obviously, despite him also using the right pronouns during the panel, is guilty of not correcting the woman in front of everyone so he's bad again.

But this time we're not talking about that handful of idiot Nick fans, we're talking about the rwrb fandom that says they love him so much but once again for the umpteenth time they threw him under the bus without thinking twice even though he had no fault. And it will be the third time that the same fandom has exaggerated something against him, subsequently causing serious problems ( like racism and homophobia and doxxing which took place in december where everyone then washed their hands of it pretending nothing happened and they did nothing wrong)

And I'm so tired of reading that we just have to ignore that social because that social is the most active and followed and we know Taylor a few days ago saw stuff and posted and today Casey saw and posted a story. That social causes damage and everything they bring there is seen and affects all of them. So no it's not enough to ignore and put our hands over our eyes and just talk about how beautiful the sky is and I'm so tired and sad and heartbroken because every day even unconsciously they make it more and more evident that there isn't the same affection and respect for both, it's not true, one will always be seen with a critical eye "yes you are beautiful, perfect, so sexy, wow how beautiful these photos BUT you are a bit problematic, BUT you should be better than that, BUT you should learn better, oh disappointed but not surprised" and it is obviously always the poc man who has to be better who has to do better even when he does absolutely nothing wrong.

And this comes from the people who say they follow him and love him. It's no longer possible, that man has been attacked every single day for months, now he must also fall into the transphobic category because he didn't correct another person in front of everyone even though HE had used the right pronouns. But do we realize that this shit fucks up your mental health in the long run? But why doesn't anyone realize how serious the situation is? I cannot take it anymore and I feel like I'm screaming into the void and witnessing the moment when everything will get worse and fall apart and then we will be here sad because it didn't have to go that way for him

…Woah.

Jesus Christ what the fuck.

Okay um, here we go. This is a monster of response to write but here I am.

I’m gonna start by saying I am not a direct witness of any of this. I didn’t know about the misgendering issue during the Q&A, I didn’t really notice it when I watched the Q&A myself yesterday. I’m not on twitter and I don’t follow or look at Taylor or Nick’s tags. All insults I seen regarding the boys are either from assholes trying to bother me or from people who want to talk about the phenomena, both in my inbox.

Regarding misgendering Casey:

Firstly I’m gonna state the obvious and say of course it’s a bad thing to misgender someone. Don’t do that

However I will also say this.

In regards to the extent of reaction: it’s not always done in malice. And in this case, I think it’s a genuine slip up, which happens. I had to consciously remind myself to deliberately use the right pronouns after my friend came out to me as non-binary. I had to correct my friend using the wrong pronouns when talking about our mutual non-binary student. It’s not ideal, but it happens. It’s not mean, it’s just careless. And please note that I’m not saying it’s ok to misgender someone, no it’s absolutely not but I also don’t think this case calls for a big reaction.  If someone maliciously, deliberately, publicly and repeatedly misgenders someone, that’s problematic, that should be called out by the masses to this extent. This, we should acknowledge, make a note, and move on. I think there’s some cases where the reaction to certain issues are massively disproportional, this is one of them.

In regards to Taylor not correcting Sarah and being targeted for it: Firstly, Taylor didn’t misgender them, Sarah did. Taylor used the right pronouns. In fact when they hung out in New York last August, Taylor used the right pronouns on his Instagram story. Secondly, he might not have picked that up. Thirdly, even if he did, it’s awkward to suddenly cut off a monologue, let alone one from friend or not, is someone on a higher level than you, to correct a mistake that doesn’t directly affect comprehensive. Fourthly, bystanders are encouraged to step into situations, but they’re certainly not obligated to. So placing the blame or putting so much blame on Taylor is ridiculous and unfair.

In regards to Casey’s Instagram story: I understand where the connection comes from but honestly… I think there’s also a possibility that that’s just a post that Casey saw and wanted to share without reference to this issue. They don’t have Twitter, and it’s been several days since the screening. Truthfully, everyone involved seems really friendly with each other, and how this very project is advocating for LGBT rights, I don’t really believe that if they were aware of the misgendering, they wouldn’t apologize to Casey.

So replying to the “You don’t have to post it…” anon, I agree that putting any blame on Taylor is kind of ridiculous in this case, just like what happened in December. I think there’s a portion of “fans” that are fucking around with this and genuinely hurting him, but there might also be a portion of people who have a problematic/complicated perception of this type of situation, and it’s not targeted specifically towards Taylor. Either way I disapprove with what they’re doing, but here’s a hypothesis.

Regarding the damage these stuff causes:

I’ve addressed the insults thrown at Taylor multiple times by now. And I kind of agree with “I hate that there are idiots…” anon that really disgusting insults thrown at Nick tend to be overlooked, it’s not like there’s no Nick haters, there is. But because of the inherent racism, attacks on Taylor are much more obvious. Either way it’s cruel and disgusting and the boys don’t deserve to be thrown insults like that, nor do they deserve to have people enact cruelty in their name. Rarely is anyone deserving of that, and in the case of these two boys who have been proven to kind and wonderful people, it’s definitely wrong.

I’m tired of reading and seeing these bullshit on social media as well, which is why I actively avoid it, but “You don’t have to post it” anon, I definitely understand and share your worries of this fucking up the boys mental health.

But the sad truth is that we can’t decide what he can see and what he can’t. We’re just gonna need to trust him, to believe that he knows how to regulate the exposure of response he gets, that he knows what comments matter and what don’t, that he knows how to take care of his mental health. He actively avoids twitter, so I think he has an idea on what he can engage with an what he shouldn’t. Same goes with Nick, all we can do is believe he knows his mental health and how to regulate it. Meanwhile, those of us who aren’t assholes, we’ll show them all the love we have for him. I think public figures all struggle with this to some extent, so when they stepped into this career, I believe they saw this as a possibility, so they’re prepared to some degree. That doesn’t make any of this okay, but again, ultimately, we’re not people directly in their lives. We can’t do anything else practical.

Ultimately I want to say, be kind, compassionate and considerate. We can’t control what others do, and truth be told when it comes to the majority of the haters, I don’t think calling them out will change anything. They have their mind set. So the best we can do, is manage and control what we say and do, and to some degree, what we see and engage with.

[peculiar-archives]

Below is a letter I received several years ago, and recently rediscovered in my drawers, dated 1711:

Ms. Starling,

I’ve come upon something most intriguing. Attached are photos relating to the mysterious events, and I hope that after reading, you could respond to me with advice. I’m rather at a loss.

I appear to have forgotten my manners. My apologies, here is an introduction if you’ve not heard of me. My name is Ms. Iryna Petrel, and I am currently in charge of a loop in Crete, Greece. We reside in a manor, which has since been destroyed through an arson, committed four days after I began the loop. As I and my wards have made a home here continually since November fourteenth, 1711, I’ve had many traveling peculiars stop here as not to age forward. Some famous, many simply looking for a place to stay and rest. It’s been almost two hundred years (In actuality, it has been one-hundred-and-ninety-nine years and three-hundred-and-thirty-five days since the loops beginning), and the most trouble I’ve encountered was a group of peculiar raiders. That is, until now.

Early yesterday morning, four peculiars entered my loop. They carried the body of another, very obviously deceased girl. The rest had sustained major injuries. At first, when I’d seen them enter our loop (The signal for entry is rather bright, and happens to be outside of my bedroom window), my thought was that they’d want me to save her. Even from two stories, it was clear that she’d suffered much damage to her stomach, nearly her entire body being drenched in blood. 

Their injuries were much worse in person than they appeared from the window. Upon running across the the manor to reach them, it was clear that they were in urgent need of medical assistance. I showed them to the west wing of the house, which is our teaching and medicine area. I then awoke three of my wards who excel in medicine, and the peculiars told me their story.

The three living were Georgia (appeared 23, true age 26), Xenia (appeared 11, true age 112), and Chrysanthos (appeared 17, true age unknown, assumed to be just under 190). The dead peculiar’s name was Artemis (appeared 9, true age 12). They had fled here from a loop in Cyprus, which had only been open for around three years. Xenia and Chrysanthos had been forced to flee from two previous loops, the second of which they were in together for over 70 years. Chrysanthos referred to Xenia as his younger sister, and was very concerned about her safety for the whole time they were in the medical wing. Georgia and Artemis were siblings from Cyprus who decided it was safer to reside in a loop than out in the open, risking Coerlfolc discovering and possibly killing them. By the time my wards had healed them appropriately, it was well into the morning, and I could hear a large collection of my wards waiting outside of the door to the medic room. I told them to come in, and the other fourty-two wards in my protection walked through the door. Since it could not do to to have them all in a singular room lacking much ventilation, I took my wards (as well as the three new arrivals), into the garden. Georgia required a chair to sit on, as whenever her bare skin touched plant life, it would grow up to ten times its original size. She apologized profusely for this, explaining that she couldn’t control it when she was stressed.

The three peculiars began to tell their story. I’d advise reading this outside of the company of any wards, as it is rather violent, and I would not like to be responsible for traumatizing anyone under your protection. I’ve written this part with help from Chrysanthos, so I missed no details.

They had lived in a loop in Cyprus for three years, led by Ms. Chukar. It was a small loop, occurring in a hotel basement just outside of Georgia’s village. Ms. Chukar was a young ymbryne, but a very powerful one nonetheless. On one night, she welcomed in a man who claimed to be an echolocator. He claimed to be named Jonathan, although, it could easily be a falsehood. His eyes were blank, so we all assumed it was true, and he was simply blind. He came with a gun, claiming that he needed to protect himself on his travels. He stayed for two days and became quite a favorite of the younger children, with a quiet and kind demeanor. That made it even more startling when he turned his gun at Ms. Chukar and fired on his second dinner in the loop. She fell out of her chair, assumed to be dead. There were sixteen peculiars (including Ms. Chukar) in the loop at that time. In my panic to leave, five other shots were fired. There is every reason to believe they were lethal, as only ten of us left from the only exit of the basement. They all attempted to leave the loop, scattering in many directions. The man walked casually towards the entrance to the loop, shooting two more wards in the process. None of them, outside of Chrysanthos and Artemis had peculiarities that would help with combat, so Artemis stayed behind to buy the rest of them time, while Chrysanthos protected the main group. She used her ability to create winds up to 150 km/hr to keep him pressed against a wall while we left the loop. On the other end, there was a sort of monster that waited for us. It was invisible for ten seconds, until it grabbed two wards with two long tongues, and ate them in one horrible bite. It looked like a rotting grey corpse, with loose skin folds, and oversized eyes. It moved using three monstrous tongues, and it had teeth that appeared over 25 cm long. It managed to eat almost all of the peculiars, only two (Georgia and Chrysanthos) making it back into the loop, even though we’d sustained injuries. We’d made it back through to see the man with white eyes slash Artemis’ stomach with a knife, him finally having overcome her miniature hurricane. 

The next paragraph is entirely written by Chrysanthos, as I (Ms. Petrel) know how difficult it is to put one’s own peculiarity through the words of someone else. 

After Artemis had fallen, held by her sister on the rock, I did something that I’d never known I was able to do. My abilities normally extended to simply telekinesis and in the past few years, I’d discovered that I was able to turn quantities of a certain matter into another - a piece of metal into the same amount of water - but only with intense concentration. I, in a state of panic, instinctively pushed the man to the ground. I held his arms above his head, and power rush through me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I felt the blood rushing through his body. There was a small cut on the back of his hand from where I’d pushed him down, and that was enough. I turned all of the blood in his body into stone. His mouth was frozen in a pained scream, and his eyes wide in terror. I’d no idea I could do that. I fell off his body. I was picked up by Xenia, who was yelling at us that we needed to go. Apparently, another one of us (who’s name I will not disclose out of respect for the dead, but I was very close with him romantically) had gone through the loop entrance again, dying, and told Xenia what happened. Xenia had a fight with Artemis earlier that day, and was too angry to attend dinner, but ran downstairs after she’d heard gunfire, fearing the worst. Artemis was still alive, but barely. Georgia carried her to a boat that we had, and Xenia piloted us towards Cyprus. We made it here in under five minutes, thanks to Artemis. It was this effort that killed her. We all stepped off of the boat, in shock, and found the loop, thanks to Xenia’s ability to sense other peculiars and loops, amongst other things navigational.

I (Ms. Petrel), am writing again. I beg for your assistance in future endeavors and advice with how do deal with the new arrivals. Xenia says that she can sense two of them from the loop on Cyprus alive, and I am going to travel there. While I am gone, my loop will be maintained by Ms. Phoebe Spoonbill, an injured ymbryne currently under my care until she is able to find a group large enough to start a loop. If I am injured and unable to return, she will be in charge of my loop. I will report to you with any changes. 

Please advise,

Ms. Iryna Petrel

P.S. - Attatched are some images that Georgia brought with her.

I - The loop entry in Cyprus, with a normal light flash

II - The strange light occurance in the hallway when the man entered, very abnormal

III - A picture taken of the hotel where the loop was

IV - A closer look at the hotel room where the man was rumored to stay during the day. Dark prints on the side wall are most likely blood

V - An unknown room, from the hotel, picture found on the dead man

[alightwhendarknessfell]

Recent Palaye Royale Issues

I am beyond disappointed in Palaye. Yet somehow not surprised. I feel like as fans, at this point. You only should be surprised at yourself…for trusting these male artists with a lot of privilege in life, from birth…to not be even worse. Once they gain even more privilege. The same story keeps happening over and over again. I think the lesson remains to same to all fans. We don’t really know them, so you can’t know they are a good person. Palaye Royale has had several chances over the years and blown them all. Now you have Emerson getting caught in a HUGE lie, while trying to defend himself against accusations he sent vulgar images to a minor. Well if he’s willing to lie about his life and the woman he was engaged to. You can’t trust anything they say. His fiancé btw just left him because of his lies. He said they were in an open relationship and just expected her to SUBMIT and go along with his deception to the bands fans. All because there was evidence of him sending nudes to someone between October of 2022 and now in March. That the person might be a minor. Then Sebastian went on a Twitter rampage trying to do the most desperate damage control, I have ever seen. ( He even had the audacity to try anc cheer on SceneQueen with her new song 18+) Then the accounts of people who tried to share the truth got attacked. The band going as far as to get a google docs account destroyed and deleted. Thinking they got rid of the evidence. Thankfully several people still have the receipts. Then Palaye Royale organized an emergency meeting of their most “loyal” fan via their super engaged discord. This is an obvious sign of grooming. This band grooms their entire fan base. Manipulates them and treats them like they are fools. Then, trying to future distract from their brother being exposed by his own future wife as a liar. Sebastian posts several times about his own wife and puppy…hoping to quiet the fan base. While Remington in a cordinated effort drops a not so causal photo in a shower, tagged with his new GF. That no one knew about for certain until now. Hell of a time for Remington to just drop that don’t you think? They are absolutely masters of their craft. Their craft is manipulating and I wish I trusted my gut years ago. Further more, Remington’s ex Kaylen is supporting Emerson’s now former fiancé Shy and they are in contact with eachother. As is Demerie. Kaylen went so far as to like a post from a BVB fan who talked about how Brandon Hoover’s ex tried to warn people weeks ago that Remington is just as bad as Brandon and that is why they were sticking together. What people don’t realize is that in Heidi’s case she was at PR’s house a lot with Hoover. Crown’s lead singer was their room mate for a long time until really this year. There were so many photos of all the little cliches together. Kaylen was also mistreated by Remington and fans didn’t want to face it back then. ( I didn’t realize until looking at Kaylen’s posts and pain) She has thankfully moved on and is having a child with someone that actually loves her! Palaye Royale are a unique band in the sense that they are brothers. All three brothers have shown everything from problematic behavior to now allegations from their former partners. It’s bad enough when a band has multiple issues without the members being from the same family. This is just too frequent. The more successful they have gotten, the more they lashed out at fans. Palaye Royale went so far as to lash out at fans when they got called out for working with a known trans/phone. ( Which I wish I had known sooner, so I could have left then) Like when there is smoke, there is fire and where their is fire, their is an inferno. Looking at which men are supporting each other in the industry when certain dudes are getting exposed. Is pretty eye opening once you start to look. Considering the effort of not only Emerson, but his brothers. Their corruption and deception is a family affair. If it wasn’t for Shy, so many people would have believed Emerson’s lies and I think that is terrifying. He was counting on a woman he disrespected and betrayed, to be publicly humiliated and lie for him. So he could get away with it. Then continue down the aisle with him? The audacity…

I’ve really LOOKED at PR for the first time and you know what they are all about the “PR”. Their gfs and wives are used as part of their branding and marketing. It became clear how not only Sebastian but then Remington weaponize interest in their personal lives to deflect from their brother’s exposure. Those women are beautiful accessories to vapid men. Those men weaponize mental illness, clothing and cool aesthetics to insight an emotional response and connection to their fans. Who also fall victim. So that you don’t see under the mask. They use interest in their personal lives to expand their mythos and engagement. Their wives and gfs like puppets. Well Shy cut her strings. She didn’t just say oh Emerson lied. She said he was TOXIC and that she was done. My heart aches for her. To be so publicly betrayed and treated like less than a person. She was just his alibi in the end. These women are as lovely as can be, more beautiful conventionally speaking than most ever will be. They still aren’t good enough for the toxic men of this scene. You can’t be good enough for a toxic man. I know you have posted about them in the past Ren and gone to their shows etc. I wasn’t sure if you were still that active with them anymore. I hope you see this if you are. It’s just awful and god if it’s not “all men will disappoint you” in the scene the last year few years…. It’s just endless

Oh and Ashley Purdy came up in all of this and Demerie actually responded to people making some comparison between Emerson and Ashley. She said there are even more VILE things Purdy did that still have never come to light. Even more?!!!! That he should be in jail for and that she is happy BVB kicked him out, at least. That ultimately he needs to be in JAIL though for what he has done.

Last thing for those wondering. If you look at the time line of tweets. You can see fans would say oh maybe he got hacked? Then Emerson is like oh I got hacked. Fans were like, oh he’s in an open relationship So Emerson goes, I’m in an open relationship ) which is how he gets caught in the lie) You can actually see his statement get built by fan theories hours before he made it. Then Sebastian gets sent the 18+ SQ song about bands that let underage girls on buses etc. Suddenly Sebastian, decides to engage with SQ. That kind of mirroring is usually seen with narcissism. Then fans are like oh well forget Emerson I’m music going to stan Seb and Rem. I’m sure they are great partners. Seb and Rem drop a bunch of content showing them as “loving” partners. I’m not a huge conspiracy nut but I’m also not blind either. At least now I don’t have to care about the Palaye Royale album I ordered…that Sumerian Records of course never sent me and basically stole my money. Which is pretty much the general experience with THAT label. You can’t look at anything around Sumerian Records, without the majorly of comments being like “ I ordered all of these things a year ago and I never got to them”.

The above is a submission 

Reply: I feel so bad for Shy, it’s not fair that Emerson lied about their relationship. My heart goes out to her. 

I do agree, that it seems like PR’s team is trying to sweep this under the rug as fast as they can. In my opinion, that’s not a good look because it makes it SO obvious that it’s what they’re doing. 

[tumble-d-wumble-phd]

Okay, so I was recently bitten by a rabid fox in South Carolina. According to the healthcare workers I saw, they’ve seen a noticeable uptick in rabies cases to such an extent they’ve started keeping a good supply of the vaccines on-hand in their pharmacy. While I wouldn’t say that my experience and this are good evidence of a rabies uptick across the nation or whatever, I’d still like to give anyone going on a stupid walk for their stupid mental health some tips on how to spot rabid animals and keep people (including yourself) safe:

- Nighttime animals should not be seen out in the open during the day. These include fox wax raccoons, skunks, and bats. This is not proof of rabies, but it is proof that that animal is in some form of distress. These animals are both in danger and dangerous.

-Do NOT approach these animals standing in broad daylight, even they seem “friendly”… especially if it seems “friendly”. You cannot immediately see symptoms of rabies on every occasion. Not all of these animals are foaming at the mouth or visibly rotting away, though many do. Symptoms include animals seeming “drunk” or otherwise disoriented. Here is a photo I took of the fox before it bit me:

This is also a text I sent minutes before the attack. It is objectively hilarious.

-If the rabid animal starts following you or, worse, chasing you, you are probably going to have to defend yourself. Do NOT turn away from the animal unless it is visibly incapable of keeping pace as you run. Be very careful when trying to decide if a fox can chase you.

- Use pepper spray, a cane, a walking stick, or whatever you can to stun the animal. This can involve hitting it in the head very hard, which has a slight chance of apparently aerating the virus if the disease has developed sufficiently in your attacker. Scream.

-If it keeps coming after you, you will have to hit it harder. You will have to scream louder. Personally, I had to kick this rabid fox in the head at least four times. I heard cracks. This is what my left shoe looked like after the attack:

That is pretty much all fox blood. I was lucky, and only one bite barely managed to make it through these shoes.

-ALWAYS. CONTACT. YOUR LOCAL ANIMAL CONTROL AND YOUR STATE’S DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH WHEN YOU ARE THE VICTIM OF AN ANIMAL ATTACK. If the animal is still nearby and there are other people around, INFORM THEM. I was on a very popular trail in my community and apparently a man had likely been bitten by the same fox days before and he didn’t do any of this. He literally just blithely complained in a bike store then went home. If he had reported his attack, my attack COULD have been prevented. We all live on one earth together.

-After informing relevant parties, go to an emergency room. Listen to your doctors. You NEED to get the rabies vaccines if you can confirm you were bitten, scratched, or otherwise shared any fluids with your attacker. If you aren’t sure whether or not you suffered any physical damage, GET THE VACCINES. You will need to get more vaccines if you are immunocompromised, and if you are uninsured these vaccines can be very expensive. Speak with hospital staff and your state health agency about available options for reduced payments. If you were infected and are unvaccinated, the MOMENT you show symptoms days, weeks, or years later you WILL die of rabies. Rabies has a nearly 100% fatality rate. Please take your health seriously.

-Additionally, do not touch dead animals on the road without protection. They can give you diseases, INCLUDING rabies! Be careful!

-Once you get your vaccines secured, buy a rabies pride flag on Etsy. You’ve earned it.

SHIT.

Please reblog!

[falsetruthmoix]

Where it all started, The trouble that followed!

So your probably wandering what I’m writing about. Well first things first is an introduction to who I am, well I’ve not given my real name for safety reasons as the people who tend to follow the people I talk about are called “Stans” who are the ones egging these fake PRs on and they can get very nasty and have been known to stalk personal accounts.

Gladly I don’t have a personal a count at all.

On here I go by Mac Wright. But you can call me Mac.

I have started up this False Truth Moix blog, also an Instagram page to talk, make light of these situations and to hear your thoughts and opinions on the topics.

Well I started this Blog to talk about the issues that aren’t always highlighted by the media, by the people that are or have been targeted in these situations, which are PR relationships.

The lies that follow, the manipulations that have been created and set up by said persons managers. There needs to be some kind of limit that stops managers from being able to exhort their clients into doing this when they don’t want to or the fact they need to recognise the harm and damage it not only causing harm to their mental health but also their reputation which they have taken so long to build up.

This certain topic is involving the speculation of this PR relationship between Mr Henry Cavill and Natalie Viscuso. I have been watching and reading the lines behind the scenes on what has been going on via their instagram accounts. From what I have personally seen their isn’t much really that makes this a true and factual relationship between them both.

The limited responses, the contact between them through social media, I understand Mr Cavill is a private person and I respect that, but if they were truly in a relationship then where is the genuine photos of them both, the videos of them being out and about in the public, that many others have been seen before this whole fiasco?

Before even starting this whole blog and instagram page, I was like anyone else in the beginning truly thinking that he had found happiness with someone, like always I give them a chance without any doubt that nothing is wrong and it’s genuine. But when I started to talk to some of Henry’s loyal fans he has gained after a while I learnt and saw that this whole picture wasn’t what it seemed to be.

So off my own back I decided to do a little digging to see who this Natalie Viscuso actually was. What I discovered has shocked me! The first photos I came across was the black fishing photo, I was sat there stunned and alarmed that a white women actually did this, for an advert by holding a bottle of water. That set alarm bells ringing off, so I then looked deeper into who she was, I came across photos and articles from official websites that said about her jobs previously to working with Legendary studios.

One of those jobs was working as sex worker / performer in her fathers night clubs, that she was in a pornographic video, that she was willing to pose naked in her photos that were public. But what was worse for me was the story of when she was 16 years old, she invited people to her party who weren’t her friends and then she continuously bullied them for turning up as she had invited them, also she is known as Micah Teschler. Now why would you need to go by an unknown name? What are you trying to hide Miss Viscuso that you don’t want people to know?

Now what kind of person who invites people to her party then thinks it’s ok to bully them and humiliate them in front of others? I mean it’s not right to do that to others.

So after Miss Viscuso had left legendary she moved onto a less unknown company that not many have heard off, but I did some digging as something was off about this “supposed” new job at vertigo Entertainment. It turns out that the owner of this establishment has ties to sex trafficking, paedophiles, and of course the well known paedophile Jeffery Epstein, it was turns out that her and her father were friends with Epstein and had visited his island on more than one occasion.

So then I also did some digging on her father, who it turns out also has ties to sex trafficking, sexual assaults, several of them. Now if this was a such a loving, healthy relationship please tell me why would Mr Cavill be into someone with this type of background?

It doesn’t sound right nor does it add up at all. Mr Cavill doesn’t tend to go for this type of women. But that’s just mine and many others opinions on this women.

So then after a while I started getting messages from people, who were Mr Cavill’s loyal fans, these messages consisted of Miss Viscuso stans that were deliberately going after anyone who didn’t believe in this what now seems to be a money, grabbing false PR relationship. Some of the messages I won’t go into great detail, but some were verging on racial discrimination, thoroughly going after their family members, going after any little bit of information to get on his fans and then release their private and personal details online, which is actually against the law, it is an illegal offence to do this without this person’s acknowledgment or their permission to do so.

Some of the messages were also telling these people to go and kill themselves, I also believe and have a bit of evidence to prove that Miss Viscuso has created some of these accounts herself and personally stalks these fans of Mr Cavill.

Here are some questions I think that Miss Viscuso or Miss Teschler needs to answer to.

1. What makes you think it’s Ok to enter this PR relationship whilst trying to erase your personal history?

2. What are you hiding that you don’t want Mr Cavill or the public to know about?

3. Why do you also think it’s ok to go around creating fake accounts and bullying people who have been loyal fans of Mr Cavill for so long?

4. Why did you think it was acceptable to be forced to apologise for black fishing a photo with your face still white, and not be prosecuted to racial discrimination?

5. What I would love to know is why is it acceptable for your stans to go around racially discriminating, bullying, harassing these innocent people and leaking their personal information which in its own right is an illegal offence?

Some of these photos that will be added into this blog are quite shocking so please bare with me. Did you also know Miss Viscuso is currently under investigation from the FBI, InterPol, and quite the few others it seems. There will be more to come so don’t worry, this isn’t a one off type of blog, it’s a continuous blog that will be talking about this topic more and more.

I would honestly love to hear your thoughts and opinions on this topic. Also my informants are protected top notch. If you have any emails or messages sent from these Natalie Viscuso stans or any information that your being threatened at all please email me at Falsetruthmoix@gmail.com .

Thanks

From Mac.

#FalseTruthMoixBlog #HenryCavill #NatalieViscuso #HenryCavillNatalieViscuso #Blogs

[crystalcow]

𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑝𝑡 3

Masterlist // part one // part two

Sapnap x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: swearing, death, betrayal

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

╔.▪️.═════════╗

Being sapnaps child will include..

╚═════════.▪️.╝

𝐏𝗼𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐥

Apparently the castle got attacked

George was killed by the one and only technoblade

You haven’t personally met the man but you respected him

After all he is a legend

But he killed George

So you were dragged with sapnap when he got pinged on his coms

Dream and George were arguing on the prime path

The sight somewhat terrified you

They were supposed to be best friends?

Dream is the strongest person on the server

George was supposed to be the most unproblematic and protected person

For some reason Quackity was also there

Hiding in the corner of Tommy’s house

“You don’t give a shit about us”

Those words brought some hurt to you as they left sapnaps mouth

“Of course I care about you! I just want to keep him safe.”

The three most important men in your life

The dream team, and ultimate trio the friendship that could never crack! The ones who raised you to be who you are

They were falling apart

“George is no longer king!”

Quackity was just eating all of the drama

Damn duck

“I’ve done so much for you, I hope you don’t forget.”

“Like what?” “I helped you raise a child Sap, a damn child.”

That pissed the both of you off

As if you didn’t just recently spend a whole day with him

None the less your whole life

Being drawn into wars, multiple actually

Practically being drawn to death

“Don’t you bring them into this Dream.”

“Eret is now king again, he can actually rule this place.”

“I was the best king this server ever had!”

So there it happened

The crown was snatched off of George’s head and you were dragged along with it

“Don’t worry, we can start our own place!”

“El rapids it is”

𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐬

You were 100% skeptical about all of this

You didn’t trust that this would be good

I mean how could you

Everything that someone starts on the server

Dies, explodes, nukes, or straight up fails

So instead you went down to Lmanburg for the day!

You went to Nikkis bakery to get something to eat

She was glad to give you a couple snacks for the road

So while you were walking around the new area you spotted dream

“Where you heading off to?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You both eyed each other weirdly

“Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

You just laughed

Ofcourse you were upset

But you were also bored

“And?” “Come on let’s go see tommy”

So you agreed and carelessly followed the green man

You missed Tommy, after not having seen him for a bit

Fucking hell you needed friends

But when you got there

“Why the fuck is everything gone!”

You ran around the now blown up area

The tents were destroyed and signs were thrown around

Then you noticed the large pillar

You instantly ran to dream, begging him to give you a pearl

He was upset himself he lost his leech

So you threw the pearl up thankfully landing on the pillar

Looking around to see if there was any way he could’ve survived

But you accidentally tripped

And lost your first life

𝐘/𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝗼𝗼 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 ♡︎♥︎♥︎

𝐏𝐫𝗼𝐩𝗼𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐬

You woke up screaming in your bed

The three lines on your wrist now faded into two

Sapnap came rushing in holding you lose to him

You tried not to but you cried a little

This was your first time loosing a life..

And you didn’t even mean too!

“Your never fucking leaving me again.”

Karl came in with Quackity following after

Karl just like snatched you away from sapnap and just held you

That man was ready to go back in time and reverse that from ever happening

Trust me he will if you ever loose another life

So after that everyone kept a close eye on you

That was until one day you were with your dad

You both were at your old house just chilling around

Before he handed you two velvet boxes

You were in awe of the two rings that sat in them

Who the fuck paid for these??

“I’m going to purpose.”

You almost dropped the boxes

“What?”

Sapnap just kept smiling

“You really like em huh” “Yeah flame, I love them.”

So you just hugged him

Internally freaking the fuck out

What would this mean???

Three dads? What if they wanted another child! Oh hell no

So you all stood in el rapids

Candles were spread around the top of the grassy hill

There were flowers blooming from every direction and lanterns set afloat

It looked mystical

You watched as sapnap got down on one knee

Karl was in shock, tears streaming down his eyes

Quackity looked love struck, looking into sapnaps eyes with total adoration

So when they said yes your dad called you and the other two just hugged you

“I’m guessing they said yes” you laughed

“Yeah they did!”

You couldn’t help but be happy

Your dad finally found some happiness

Even tho life was going to shit

If you won’t be there

He’ll have them

𝐋𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺

Oh wait shit did someone spot tommy?

There was supposed to be a festival today

So you went to go check it out

Maybe throw a ball at the furry

“Go fetch!” You shouted at fundy

Yeah he was not happy and just threw you the finger

“Hey N/n is Dream coming?”

You were excited that Tubbo was actually talking to you again

“Huh? Oh yeah I think” “Great thanks”

And back to the disappointment

So you walked over to get a pretzel or some shit

And then heard everyone making a commotion

There he was, Dream walking in (angry) with full netherite armor

Damn dude respect some tradition

“Tommy blew up the fucking community house”

Did someone say tommy?

Oh you were ready to kill that bastard

Hell if Dream didn’t you most definitely will

So you followed everyone to the community house

Yeah you were ready to fucking cry

One of your homes, the place you’d always confide in since you were little

Where dream and George both helped raise you

Now blown to shreds

“What the fuck”

They were talking about Tubbo giving up the discs

Oh we are not going through that shit all over again

And this time the odds are most definitely not in your favor

Then tommy appeared half invisible

“YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD I THOUGHT YOU DIED YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT”

You litterly stabbed him, having to be held back by Quackity

“Alright hot shot, lets let them have their argument”

Tommy sent you an apologetic look already on the verge of tears

“Tubbo your not seriously considering this”

Then it hit everyone

“The discs were worth more then you ever were!”

Oh yeah we’re you already pissed off at tommy?

Yeah

And he just made it worse

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO TUBBO YOU SHIT HEAD”

Yeah you didn’t take pretending to be dead very lightly

Oh shit why was techno there

never mind, Lmanburg will be gone by tomorrow

No point killing tommy yet

Whos side were you on?

Neither. You litterly went into that battle feild and killed some shit

That was until multiple pieces of tnt landed ontop of your head

And that’s where you lost your second life

Shit

𝐘/𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 ♡︎♡︎♥︎ ⚠︎︎ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝗼𝐧

This time when you won’t up it didn’t feel as bad

But you still screamed

A rush of a heartburn and scars employed on your body

The second line now faded into one

Shit

You were only 16-17 and on one life??

Die young the better

You waited out in your bed until the end of the fight

Death alerts and messages drowning out your communicator

But you had no energy what so ever

Until it all went quiet

You tried your damn best to get out of bed and walked to the damaged Lmanburg

There were people crying

Others were severely hurt

Then there were those who were perfectly fine

The whole place was a crater

Lmanburg.. the place of agony and depths of your pain

Now it’s finally gone

What the hell are you gonna do now?

Quackity spotted you calling out for Sapnap

You felt like you were gonna be crushed under their hold

“I’m gonna fucking kill dream.” You heard Quackity mutter

Sapnap felt like a bad father

Who lets their kids die twice?

(Cough cough Wilbur and dream)

Then suddenly things switched around

You were walking around with a bloodied nose and black eyed Tommy

Yeah you did a number on him

But it’s okay since he was your best friend

And there was a sign inside his house

“Wednesday you and Tubbo. Bring no one or anything, lets settle this once and for all”

The final disc war

“Tommy you can’t go” “I’m going N/n, he has my discs.”

So you like cried a little bit lined up on the prime path

Giving the two probably the last hugs they’ll ever get

Prime you really didn’t want to loose them

So you ran straight to church prime

Litterly begging Master Oolong that they won’t die

“Please please please spare them. Pogchamp.”

(Please this is all jokes and old references don’t cancel me)

You got a blast message from punz on your comms with cords

“Come here. bring your best armor”

So you did so running to the nearest ender chest

If walking means saving tommy and Tubbo, it’s somewhat worth it

Sapnap made sure you didn’t leave his side as you traveled around the nether

even tho you could literally swim in the lava

So just to piss him off

You jumped in

The sigh of relief this man

Yeah he’s gotten a little more paranoid for you

But it’s okay since it’s in love

You looked around the weird black stone room

There were two giant photos of the discs

And everything was made out of the same material

No design what so ever

Tommy and Tubbo ran to you like you were gonna protect them

“Dream why” you asked as he was incased in the blocks

Down on his last life

Just like you

‘I’m sorry’ he mouthed to you

Why was he apologizing to you?

Hasn’t he hurt everyone here

You looked around the different items

Tracing the outline of the item frames

Gasping in shock as you a cage with your name on it next to badboyhalo

“Tell em what you told me! How you blew up the community house!”

Your neck spun around faster then an owl doing that 360 thing

You picked up your ace seriously read to slash his head off

“Wait wait! Lets put him in the prison.”

So they took him off

And it pained you to see it

You trusted that man for a very long time

Nothing stays the same on the Dream Smp

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

TUMBLR WOULDNT LET ME WRITE MORE KMS. So yes I’m sorry but there will have to be a part FOUR. I just wanted to finish this-

As always! Ask or request anything and ask if you want to be on a tag list :))

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

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

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[t-lostinworlds]

no, your likes aren't public, but i saw that you did like it when i was going to block everyone who interacted with that rude post and i was just shocked that you, someone i genuinely respected, did. you can rail against me being a 'bad' friend all you want, but i don't get why you can't see how that MIGHT be a little upsetting especially when you've made friendships over this fandom?

you can say the post wasn't that serious all you want, but genuinely, this about the same person who just a few months ago said that he was dealing with anxiety over seeing the mean crap people say about him online, and that WAS mean crap. there's just SO many better ways to express that you want him to work rather than calling him 'fucking pathetic'. like that is just wild to me and two faced as hell when no one here had any problem with him taking some time off when he was recently at home.

it just truly sucks that so few of the people i'm friends with here have the maturity to realize that it's just simply not a big deal if he's in a relationship. of all the things for yall to be mad at him over, THAT really takes the cake. anyways, i absolutely stand by what i said. aiming that amount of vitriol to a dude who has done NOTHING wrong is making this fandom just miserable and i truly cannot believe it happens over and over again every time he's seen with her. it's toxic and i'm just so frustrated you can't see that.

honestly, how will i even know who you are when you're sending me asks ON ANON. bro, my dms are open to EVERYONE. literally anyone can send me a message whether i follow them or not. i have that open so people can reach out to me any time they want whoever they might be but you choose to send me this as an ask over ANON. do you know what message that sends me? you want this public. you won't say this shit to my face bc then it's just you and me having a conversation. but you want to let all the people know how much of a 'horrible person' i am so then you can have more anons to back you up. bc power in numbers right? until someone is driven off this site? what kind of friend does that make you?

and all because i liked a post. it's actually funny how you got all of those claims from me liking ONE SINGLE POST. you're accusing me of attacking tom, of berating his whole entire being, of disregarding his mental health when all i did was like a post that said they missed the days when tom was seen as an individual. and i honestly don't see where your problem with that is. why is it such a crime for people to want to support his craft and his craft alone? and fine, the language was a bit offhanded but i've literally seen people call him WORSE THINGS on actual sites he can SEE. hell i saw another post in the tags that spoke meaner things about him which i don't even agree with. but me liking a post that deadass wasn't so fucking deep and was literally one single sentence compared to a whole article is suddenly a testament to my whole being and how awful i am? why are you acting like i've made such a disgusting take when I DIDN'T EVEN MAKE THE DAMN POST. it's such a crime to fucking like things without it having a deeper meaning nowadays huh?

i honestly really want you to show me all the times i made a big deal out of this relationship. or me being mad over it bc it honestly feels like you're just dumping this all on me just to get your frustration towards other people out. bc by this point, you're just putting words in my mouth. is it bc i'm not reblogging stalkerish photos of them? is it bc i have said NOTHING about it instead cooing and awwing at every picture? is that why you immediately came to a conclusion that i have such a problem with him being in a relationship bc i am not waving a big banner that they look so darn cute together?

and you know what, i wasn't going to add this but fuck it. i'm pissed now. it's so fucking rich of you to keep talking about his mental health and how i'm causing so much damage to it when i have said nothing bad about this guy in my own posts or made my own takes on a site he has no idea exists when you're not even stopping to think about what you are doing to my mental health by coming to my own safe space guns blazing accusing me of shit i didn't even do. a bit hypocritical if you ask me. or maybe i just need to be rich and famous for you to actually care about that too.

[internetgremlin]

Annabeth Chase

Whatever you think this is about to be, shut the fuck up because it's not that.

I don't make tiktoks, and I don't know if this is trending as much on tumblr as it is over there but the reaction to Leah being cast as Annabeth Chase in the upcoming Disney+ Percy Jackson series has been explosive, to say the least, and after nearly a week I think I've finally collected my thoughts enough to say my piece.

Absolute disclaimer: Comments, reblogs, whatever are fine. But don't come for me. I'm not here to spread hate and I most certainly am not here for fights so DO NOT try to start one. I've been in two minds about saying anything at all for a while but I feel like I need to put pen to paper if you will, and at least journal my thoughts a little.

So, here goes.

When they first announced Leah's casting I was... feeling some feelings, and I'll admit I wasn't initially filled with joy.

But let me tell you WHY.

I am a white cisgender female with blonde, CURLY hair. Emphasis on the curly.

In the early 2000s, curly hair was highly unfashionable and having pin-straight hair was in. I HATED my hair. My mum has very thin straight hair and had no idea how to take care of mine. I grew up crying as my hair was brushed dry, the only hairstyle I knew was a 100% frizzy ponytail. For every slightly formal thing I did from school photos to attending weddings, my hair was straightened. Even at the hairdressers, they used to wash and straighten my hair before it was cut, so it never looked right once I washed it and it sprang back. For years I used harsh chemicals and all sorts of nasty products in attempt to tame it. I straightened it for school every morning for 18 months as an early teen, I don't even want to think about how much damage that did.

Of curly-haired role models and main characters, in books and movies and media, there were few. I think Hermione Granger is the most obvious, but also characters like Mia Thermopolis from The Princess Diaries. But for every single curly-haired main character I got to see myself in, that I could relate to and pretend to be, there was always one thing that happened. They had a makeover, and their hair was brushed and washed and STRAIGHTENED, and then, all of a sudden they were seen as beautiful, desirable women.

I grew up thinking that I would only be seen as pretty, beautiful, or even as a girl at all when I had straight hair. (is it worth mentioning I was frequently misgendered from a baby up until about 15 because my hair was always short or scraped back into a low ponytail/bun?)

And then I read Percy Jackson and I met Annabeth, who looked like me. She was a white girl with curly blonde hair and she didn't give a fuck. She is ruthless and clever and fierce and wise and she is my hero. I adored her and I wanted to be her and throughout 10+ books she appears in she never has a straightened out makeover. Percy sees her as beautiful from Day Fucking One and he values her always, and for the entire person she is rather than one trait or another predominantly.

When she has her 'makeover moment' on Circe's island in the Sea of Monsters she still has curly hair but it's described as shiny and tamed and Percy sees her as beautiful but 'not her' and 'not right'.

So you can imagine when the only character I've ever truly connected to and felt represented by was changed, it was a blow and the 12-year-old inside me was devastated.

But I'm an adult. Curly hair is not an inherently white trait, and there are far, far more little black girls who have suffered with managing and loving their hair far worse than I have. For every white main character who has curly hair, even if she has a makeover and it's straightened to be desirable, where are the black characters with incredible natural hair? I'm not even listening to the Hermione argument here.

I'm an adult, this show is primarily for kids. I do not need to be represented in this show. I have the books, and I had my childhood and it's time for well made, representative and inclusive media to take the stage. It's time for all the little girls with or without curly, difficult hair, white or black to be able to take something from this incredible character.

And look at Leah, she looks great. From the trio picture released you can see it already works. I can already see her proving everyone wrong and that girls are as much the heroes as boys are, giving endless attitude and calling Percy Seaweed Brain, I can already see her virtually glowing as she talks about battle strategy and architecture as if it's perfectly normal for a 12-year-old.

I trust Rick Riordan with this series. So far Walker has proved himself to be the perfect fit for Percy, and I know he would never do us dirty on any of the characters. His statement rings completely true, it's not about how much an actor looks like a book character, but how well they can bring that personality to life that makes it.

So to anyone in the fandom, especially to adults like myself who used to enjoy the series as children and teenagers and are excited for it to be brought to our screens *properly*, if you're not okay with Black Annabeth and Desi Grover then you need to take a long, hard look at yourself buddy, because that ain't about 'representation' and 'book accuracy' and you fucking know it.

Also, it's a tv show. Don't take things so seriously.

And, one final mama bear note, THESE ACTORS ARE CHILDREN. Sending racial abuse to anyone is horrific, but these are LITERAL KIDS. Don't fucking abuse kids, come on.

tldr: surprised but excited about further casting for the PJO series and anyone who has an issue with the actors' race can go fuck themselves.

(image not mine but look at these babies, I would die for them)

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

[kaaytea]

heyhey !! can i request some hcs of jun, tetsuya, n chris having a very soft but artistic s/o who draws them a lot? and maybe one day they find her sketchbook open n it’s just sketches of them? no pressure if you’re not inspired by this or anything tho n ty !! <33

Sketchy Secrets

⤷Includes: Chris, Jun, Tetsuya

A/n: I'd be more than happy to write this! The 3rd years make me unfathomably soft so I'm going to have a bunch of fun with this! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it ♥️

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

Chris

Chris wouldn't consider himself a very nosy person

He's always respectful of your space and never pries when he can tell you want to keep something private

But nothing has ever tempted him to break that boundary more than the worn notebook you keep on you

It's in your hands constantly and you're so secretive about the item your behavior was bound to garner some curiosity on his end eventually

Nevertheless, Chris fought his inquiring mind out of respect for you and let the contents of the notebook remain a mystery

Chris could definitely appreciate art but he wasn't much of an artist himself, so it was quite the surprise when he opened the notebook he used the keep baseball notes in and be met with a bunch of sketches

Immediately he understood that this must be the oh-so mysterious notebook you've had on you for months. By some miraculous force the two of you seemed to have accidentally swapped notebooks

The damage was done and he already knew what resided in the book so how much worse could it be to give into the hungry curiosity he's been harboring the past few months?

Chris handled the pages with care as he flipped through the book. Most of the pages were filled with what he assumed to be anatomy studies and the occasional silly doodle here and there

When Chris reached the middle of the notebook he noticed a trend in your art begin: All of your sketches were of him

His cheeks were most definitely tinted a soft pink the further he flipped. He was dumbfounded that you found him to be a source of inspiration, he wasn't always a ball of sunshine and rainbows as you've seen him on his worst days

But he found it interesting to look at the conjured up version of how you saw him. It was like he was looking at himself through your eyes

It was then that you barged open his dorm door, hair messy from running and his baseball notebook clung to your chest. He saw the fear flare in your eyes when you spotted the open book in front of him

"D-did you..."

"I looked through it. I'm sorry, you wanted to keep this private and I spoiled that for you."

"So did you see the...uh sketches?"

"I did and I think they're remarkably beautiful, I had no idea you were so talented, love"

A wave of relief crashed into you at his words. You honestly thought he'd think it was creepy you had pages and pages filled with sketches of him

Chris chuckled at your reaction before he stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace where he placed a kiss to the top of your head

Jun

Jun is...a very brash person

He's loud and rambunctious by nature but the man instantly developes a softer side when around you

Seeing the normally boisterous outfielder morph into a far gentler version of himself was quite the sight, and the occurrence had definitely become a topic his friends would make jabs at

Jun never let their teasing remarks bother him much, he enjoyed spending quiet time with you and was more than happy to sit through his friends bad jokes if it meant he could continue hanging around you

Recently though Jun had noticed an odd habit of yours

You stare at him alot. Not in a 'checking your boyfriend out' kind of way but as in blatant staring even if you knew he caught you looking

It was a bit odd in his opinion seeing as you never addressed or hinted at why you actually do stare at him so much

Jun didn't question it, maybe he was just catching while you were spacing out and didn't realize what you were doing

What he didn't know was that he would unintentional find out what was driving this habit of yours only a few weeks after becoming aware of it

He spotted you alone at a table in the schools library one afternoon while searching for some research material he needed for a project

You were sitting with your back to him, leaning heavily on on of your arms. From where he was standing it looked like you had either fell asleep or were zoning out like you often did around him

Jun decided to go "wake" you up, as leaving you there in that state would be defeating your purpose of coming to the library in the first place

Before he could tap your shoulder after approaching your table, his eyes flicked to the book sitting wide open infront of you

More specifically he was watching your hand roughly sketching the outline of a person's hair style

The longer he looked the more he realized that the entirety of the two pages in front of you were drawings of him

Anything from small, quick doodles of him catching a ball or swinging a bat to more detailed sketches of him laughing or reading a book

You must have finally sensed someone looking over your shoulder as you jumped slightly in your seat and quickly turned to find Jun (whose face was beyond flushed might I add)

"This is why you stare at me all the time?!"

"Ah...maybe?"

Despite how embarrassed you both were he still pulled a seat up next to you, gruffly mumbling out how you shouldn't let his presence keep you from your art

He then quietly complimented your artistic skills, sealed with a soft kiss to the back or your hand

Tetsuya

If there is one thing that Yuki Tetsuya loves about your relationship it's the fact that you always pack little bentos for the two of you to share after games

Obviously he loves YOU for many other reasons! But if he were asked what quirk or abnormality he loves the most in your relationship it'd be the bentos

Which he was currently rummaging through your bag for

You usually have a specific spot in your bag for the small containers, a place that would keep the food cool so it wouldn't get spoiled in the Tokyo heat, but Tetsu couldn't seem to find them

Eventually he spotted the familiar teal and green box after shuffling the contents of your bag around a bit

With an accomplished glimmer in his eyes he pulled the bento out from your bag

As he was retrieving the container, said bento caught the corner of a small notebook causing it to tumble out and flop open on the concrete

Tetsuya quickly scooped the book up from the ground fearing that he had gotten it scuffed or dirty, but those worries left as his attention was captured to the contents of the notebook

At first he thought the image was a digital picture you had printed out but the longer he looked the more he picked up on the smudgy finger prints littering the page

And then it clicked for him: You drew this!

Right next to the portrait of him was a smaller doodle of a scene he recognized as your phones lockscreen (a second year version of the two of you happily smiling at eachother, his arm wrapped respectfully around your waist as you struggled to look up at him due to the brim of his Seidou hat blocking your view)

The sketched version looked exactly the same as the real photo! It was beautiful and somehow you had managed to enhance the tender emotions portrayed in the picture

"Tetsuya, did you find the ben- oh.."

"Do you think you could draw a larger version of this? I want to put it on my desk."

You just laughed at his bluntness before giving him a nod in response

A small smile graced his features as he looked from you back to your messy sketch. It wasn't a look you saw very often from him, but that smile made your knees weak as you fell in love with him all over again

[sunlightandsuffering]

Prompt : they are both famous and secretly dating.

tbh I don't know what this is or if it makes any sense at all, so sorry anon for butchering ur prompt, but I'm a basic bitch and I like my drake, so like this is gonna be pain bcuz my favourite song on the new album is just pain and I can't stop thinking about a fucked up celebs relationship to it, just ANGST AND PAIN!! 😭😭 but those lyrics hit, can't believe I wrote a song fic ugh circa Tumblr 2015 jfc I'mma write a happier ending to this in another prompt 😂 bc someone else asked for the same thing.

Fucking Fans

I'm still working on me

Eren stands at the Met Gala, holding Mikasa by the waist, giving a cramped smile for photos and keeping her close. People call their names and cameras flash and his beloved blinks, hiding her face into his shoulder as the lights overwhelm her.

He looks down at her lovingly as some jackass reporter yells about a cheating rumour and her pretty face pinches up. Eren is quick to comfort her with his touch, both hands gripping her waist reassuringly as he decides it's time for them to go inside.

"Come on Miki," he kisses her forehead and she nods, accepting. Neither of them wants to think about those rumours, the damage and the pain they bring up is too much and it's all his fault, he knows, but he can't undo it.

The guilt eats at him and she holds his hand tighter, the despair takes him and she cuddles him at night.

They're together now but sometimes Eren wonders just how it happened, how he came back from falling so far. How she took him back when he fucked up so massively.

And I'm coming back better for you

The day he shows up on her door step again is the day of the biggest awards show of the season, the one he knows she's going to kill and probably sweep several categories. Just because she's that amazing. He finds her where he expects, in her apartment, the address Armin gave him, doing her own hair and makeup, humble Mikasa just like always, ironing out her own dress. He shows up in a suit with as many white roses as he can fit into a bouquet and ready to leave if she still hates him, which she has every right to.

But he's been through months of therapy, gave Armin control of his bank account, and check himself into rehab thrice, every time he was even inching closer to relapse.

He's not fixed, but he's better, marginally, and he wants her to know it, know he still loves her at the very least.

She opens the door, beautiful even without makeup, and wearing a white slip and her pretty red mouth parts in shock.

All he can do is hold out his roses as tears leave his eyes at seeing her for the first time in months.

Most times it was my selfishness and your helplessness that I took advantage of

It was so easy with Mikasa, she was so devoted to him. So loving and sweet, always there for him.

She'd wait up, let him do what he wanted, never wanting to stifle or control him. Too afraid their tenuous relationship would crack and they'd break up.

A part of him blames her for it, for being so willing to let him do what he wanted. She'd been passive, unsure how to insert herself, had minimal complaints, letting him ruin his life party by party, late night after late night, drugs and alcohol all of it.

But he knows he can never hold her accountable for his own actions, and the day she's finally done with his bullshit is both the best and worst day of his life. She finally says no, and it begins his path to fixing himself. Because hitting rock bottom is losing the most important thing in his life, and that's Mikasa.

You sit in the house and I be out and I know you're worried, up

The problem with her passivity is he knows it's not passivity at all, she just doesn't know what to do, how to fix him. Eren has always had a temper, and she's known him for a long time, knows he'll lash out and behave worse if provoked. So she'd reacted as best she could, leaving rehab pamphlets out, asking him to stay in and watch movies, bake with her, anything other than going out to party.

But he'd stumble home every night and see her asleep on the couch, waiting. Always there to pick him up instead of a cab, not wanting the paparazzi to get a hold of him, she was always there.

And you try and block it out

They lived in a bubble, they pretended it didn't happen. They didn't acknowledge when he was too hungover to shoot the next morning. She'd brew him coffee, get him through the day, flush his drug stash when they checked, both his saving grace and biggest enabler.

Even when he's kissing her for more than just an on-screen kiss, lips drinking her in like a man starved, and the next morning she finds new girls in his bed, she keeps quiet.

They're a mess, but every time she dutifully kicks the girls out and drags him to the shower.

I'm so sorry for letting you down

When he'd first become famous, he hadn't known what to do with himself. He'd been scouted for how many movies, tv-shows, underwear commercials, brand deals. It was a whirlwind as Hollywood found their new boy wonder, handsome, smart and a nice boy.

His best friend, and female love interest in their debut movie, Mikasa, who had followed him to Hollywood on nothing more than a whim, was equally bombarded with fame and fortune. They'd always been close, always best friends, but never quite more, no matter how much they both obviously wanted it. It never progressed beyond a few acted kisses.

Still, they got an apartment together, and Eren had thought it was the start of something great, he was living the dream. Rich and famous with his best friend, the girl he'd secretly loved since he was young.

He'd been content just to stay up late and watch movies with her before work, to visit her on set and bring her donuts. They were Hollywood's shining stars, two kids sickeningly sweet in love even though they weren't officially dating, they were as good as.

At the advice of his agent, he'd started doing more, started picking up a few other gigs on the side, modelling, but he kept it small, he didn't want to overwhelm himself, and he still wanted time for Mikasa.

It had gone well, they'd taken fame okay, and Eren had been proud, neither of them had a sex-scandal or a pregnancy scare yet. They'd even been inching towards finally being something more than just friends, a few heated looks, some on-stage kisses to finally get the ball rolling.

Then Mikasa had been cast in an upcoming romance movie and her love interest hadn't been Eren, it had been Jean.

That had been the start of his spiral.

He'd never meant for it to get so far out of control, how many movies he started doing, how many promotions. Meanwhile Mikasa, smart, brilliant Mikasa stuck with smaller projects and only ever one at a time, preferring to keep close to their apartment. He was all she had, and she was all he wanted.

Nights when I just needed to hold somebody

He misses her, lays in bed awake at night thinking about her, how long it’s been, when was the last time he saw the curve of her face in person and not in a washed-out picture on a magazine. Girls in and out of his apartment, trying to fill the empty void inside him, and nothing works, nothing ever works. Because he’d fucked it up, said he didn’t need her, told her he could do it on his own, fame wouldn’t take him. Called each other names, every one in the book, screaming matches over stupid shit, if he should take that job, what she was doing with Jean, how she was eating, if she was eating enough.

The toxicity was palpable in their apartment until finally Mikasa just left and he broke.

Feeling overwhelmed, should've told somebody

Fame takes him like a drug addiction, actually it comes with a drug addiction, heroine, cocaine, molly, all of it. In trying to ditch his Hollywood’s sweetheart, good boy image he diverts his life so radically he doesn’t know if he can ever get back to where he was. He loses weight, barely gets by, he doesn’t even understand how he’s still getting booked, but people want him even more now that he’s Hollywood’s bad boy. Meanwhile Mikasa is disgraced now that he’s ‘thrown her away’ even though it was the other way around. Last he heard she lived in a little apartment on the upper east side, leaves only to work, and to fly up to see their families. He hasn’t seen his parents in months, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see the look in their eyes when they realize how skinny he’s gotten, how his body lacks muscle, skin barely clinging to bone, gaunt and lifeless.

He needs help, but he’s spiraling, he’s committed and no matter how many times Armin tries to get him into rehab, he never goes. What’s the point Mikasa is gone, he’s not getting her back, all he has now is the money, the drugs, and the women.

Picturin' it's me sending chills through your body

He hears she’s dating Jean now and somehow, he gets worse.

Every fear he’d ever had comes to life and he gets angry, his temper coming back full force. The past few months he’d barely been getting by, not really living, but his rage awakens him. She’d told him no, that they weren’t dating, never so much as kissed outside of work. What a fucking lie.

How many girls he takes home that month he doesn’t know, how many paparazzi photos of women leaving his apartment, how he dreams it’s Mikasa under him, not some rando.

He sees her on the cover of some magazine, walking innocently with Jean and it sends him into even more of a rage, but under it all he wishes it was him, doesn’t matter that they were never official, that it only happened a few times, he wants her back. But Eren’s never been good at navigating his emotions, so he clings to his rage like a lifeline.

I just probably should've chilled 'til I saw you

When they ask about her in interviews, he doesn’t answer. Not until that once, when he lets it slip and he watches Armin wilt in real time from behind the camera as he spits the words, “I think it’s obvious, she’s with Jean now isn’t she, right after she was with me, figure it out yourself.”

The insinuation is lethal, cruel, mean and he knows it’s not true, but he says it anyway. He knows she didn't do it, but still the coincidence hurts too much, the very thought that there might have been something romantic going on with them before makes him want to throw up.

The interviewer looks shocked before he brightens up at the tidbit of information, like a vulture picking apart the last pieces of his heart, massacring it further, but Eren doesn’t mind the pain anymore. It fuels his rage and that’s all he has these days.

How am I supposed to get to know somebody?

When the rage wears off months later and Mikasa has done nothing, no comment on his interviews, no appearances, no angry texts, just silence, he becomes numb. Then the sadness sets in, because losing her romantically isn’t even the worst part, he doesn’t even have his best friend anymore, he’s lost her too.

She’s become a recluse, a hermit, he hasn’t even seen her with Jean on the magazine covers lately. Distantly he knows it’s because their movie is finished filming, and she was probably never dating him in the first place.

He goes to awards shows in hopes of at least catching a glimpse but she’s gone into hiding, there’s rumours she’s back in their hometown, but he’d never visit, not with the disgrace he’s become. He tries to date seriously, tries to talk to other actresses, but it’s all so vacant, disingenuous. All they want him for is his image, there’s nothing real about these women anymore, everything is fake, plastic right down to their boobs. Nothing like Mikasa, who was pure to her core, even in the face of her fame.

If we broke it off then you know it wasn't painless

He'd cried for weeks after she'd ended it, despite it being entirely his fault.

Armin had cancelled all his engagements and Eren hadn't left the apartment, curling himself up on her empty mattress, her room a barren wasteland.

He'd only eaten when Armin forced him too, and only come out of his hibernation after his mother had called to yell, Armin holding the phone right in his ear, the first time he'd spoken to her in forever.

If she got a watch then you know it's not a stainless

He’s got money, but it means nothing. Mikasa has money too, it doesn’t even matter. What has it all been for? He doesn’t even know anymore. All he’s gotten from his acting career is trust issues, more money than he knows what do with and the loss of his best friend and the only girl he’s ever loved.

It’s all a blur now, he acts, he models, he does PR. Armin makes him a schedule and he follows it. They meet with his nutritionist and his personal trainer, and he starts working out again, eating real food, not just smoking, and drinking coffee to supress his appetite.

Armin is the only reason he’s still a functioning human being as Eren hits rock bottom. The only one left to try and push him out.

I was out here fucking fans, I was shameless

He knows he fucked up, it’s why he starts therapy.

The shit he’d done, high off his own fame and arrogance, it’s messed up and he he knows it now. All the girls, all the money and the drugs, ignoring Mikasa’s concerns, dragging her down with him.

He doesn’t blame her now, he knows none of it was fair, she was justified in leaving. They were toxic, their half on, half off relationship, how he'd commit to the drugs but never her.

He can still remember the first time he kissed her, really kissed her, Eren and Mikasa not two characters on screen. It was after their first awards show for their movie, he’d been so excited, so delightfully sober, he couldn’t help himself, she’d been so pretty in her white dress, he’d leaned down before he could stop himself. The first night they’d had sex, her moans, her soft cries of pleasure, nothing had ever measured up since.

It had been bliss, for about a month or so and then they’d really been discovered, and it had all been shot to hell.

All the fans, all the women throwing themselves at him, his eyes couldn’t help but wander despite Mikasa always being the most radiant in the room. He had her love, he’d had everything, but that insidious voice in the back of his head had wondered. Thought the grass was greener on the other side, wanting to explore fame at the same time they’d finally started their relationship.

You was at the crib reading stories that they sent you

They’d kept it casual at Eren’s insistence and Mikasa’s heartbreak, his rock had been willing to allow it for him, for the chance to finally explore their relationship. But he could see how much it hurt her, the tabloids were the worst part, every day a new cover, another apartment he’d leave, another hookup in the parking lot. And he could barely justify it to himself, why he did it, why he continued to do it? He had everything he could ever want in Mikasa, the girl he’d loved since forever, finally in the palm of his hand, willing to give herself wholly to him.

And yet fame had called him more, and the people he was hanging out with only encouraged it, the famous lifestyle, drugs, sex and rock and roll.

Everyone was doing it, so why shouldn’t he?

Most of that was bullshit but some of it I did do

The rumours spiralled out of control after a while, there was nothing he could do, it was over, they had too much on him.

He'd been telling himself lies that maybe she was with Jean on the side, that she had the same opportunities as him, she could go out and sleep around too.

As if Mikasa would ever even consider it.

He’d finally given into being exclusive, seeing the toll it was taking on Mikasa, after Armin smacked him upside the head and told him he was going to lose her if he didn’t get his shit together. Eren had finally realized how irreversibly he was fucking up his relationship, but by then, it had been too late.

When they finally started truly dating, monogamy and all, it had been far, far too late. The backlog of photos the paparazzi had was ridiculous, any opportunity they got to demonize him they took.

He and Mikasa been casual at the time of all the photos, sure, but anyone would buckle under the weight of constant articles about their significant other cheating. Eren became the villain in his own story, and Hollywood loved it, ‘Bad Boy Eren Yeager Ditches Mikasa Ackerman’. He still remembers the headline, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, she’d come home, dropped the offending magazine on the coffee table and hidden in her room for the rest of the night. He’d slept outside her door, and the next morning he’d been woken by her stepping over him to leave, bags packed.

It was sad, they’d never even officially dated to the public, they hadn’t gotten to that point. She’d wanted to reveal it at some awards show by taking him as her date, thanking him in her speech, her boyfriend, Eren Yeager. Overnight the paparazzi had singlehandedly broken them up for shit he hadn’t even done.

He had no one but himself to blame.

Hard for me to justify the women I was into

Looking back, he can’t say why he did it or what the purpose of all the models that looked eerily like her were for. Maybe he was trying to fill the empty space in his heart, maybe he felt neglected by her friendship with Jean and how obvious the man’s feeling for her were, but for one reason or another, he’d slept his way through about half of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, and award shows were awkward these days. Meeting the eyes of all the talented women he’d hooked up with in such a professional setting was uncomfortable at best.

How many more did he not even remember, to high off drugs and alcohol and his own ego?

Especially when the whole entire world wished they had you

He’d seen it in how Jean looked at her the first time they’d walked the red carpet as promotion for their movie. The tall man was a b-list actor and he’d been invited to the pre-screening, and he’d watched Mikasa the entire night. His gaze wasn’t moved by Eren’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist or his chin resting on her head, nor the possessive hand on her thigh.

They hadn’t even been fooling around back then, but he couldn’t help himself, he didn’t want Jean’s eyes on her. She was also Mikasa Ackerman, and the whole world thought she was just as beautiful and amazing and perfect as he did.

But she was his. His best friend, love of his life, his everything

If only he’d treated her like it.

Probably made you want to hit the streets on everything

She doesn't take him to the awards show the night he comes begging, but she lets him inside her apartment. Lets him help her with her hair, something he's sorely missed. Something he's familiar with, been braiding her hair since they were kids.

He helps her put it up into a beautiful twist.

And when Jean knocks at her door to take her to the awards show he lets her go, kisses her cheek and tells her how much he loves her, how she's going to win it all and he'll be waiting her when she gets back.

And then she leaves, walks away with another man and Eren thinks he deserves it, it's his penance, how many times has she felt this same way, how many women has he been through?

Probably made you want to pour bleach on everything

He discovers not a single remnant of himself in her apartment, no pictures, no clothes she's borrowed. Even his old sweatshirt, her favourite one is gone. Hell, even their award for best-onscreen-kiss is gone.

He finds it all in a crumpled box under her bed and it's his own fault for snooping, their photo crumpled up and misshapen, riddled with water damage. Probably from her tears if he had to guess.

Probably made you want to kill me on everything

She comes home that night and Eren is surprised, he'd expected her to go to Jean's. Hadn't really believed she was going to come back. Had resigned himself to sleeping on the couch and waiting till tomorrow when she'd come home dishevelled and covered in hickeys and bruises, the kind good sex gives you. The kind he'd never really allowed himself to give her.

That's when she'd really broken and he'd been so fucking happy when she'd thrown her purse at him. No more of her her silent rage, her forced smiles. She'd kicked and screamed, cried in his arms only to hit him brutally with a pillow, chasing him to the end of the couch. Hands restraining his wrists, as she curses him out, tears running down her beautiful cheeks sparkling in the moonlight, she's a vengeful goddess and he deserves every second of her wrath.

She collapses on top of him in a heap of sobs and all he can do is hold her, hating himself just as much as he's sure she does.

Yeah, trust, I know that

He wakes the next morning with her weight in his arms, and he holds her like he never wants to let go.

He's lucky she's even here with him right now, that she didn't kick him out on the spot. That she even cares enough to still fight with him. He kisses her forehead softly, he knows.

Yeah I kinda hate this but whatever have angst 🤷🏻‍♀️

[bioodorange]

||How I See The Pastas||

© @frozensriracha, for some help with visuals!!

This was originally supposed to be how they looked but I decided to go for mental aspect and explain why as well PLEASE like, reblog and share your thoughts on this in the comments or inbox

Below the desciptions are images i’ve compiled and some art (if you know the creator please tell me so i can credit them) for a visual

dont forget to like reblog and share your thoughts with me, I spent a few days on this so i’d appreciate this

Jeff the Killer

So lets start with the obvious- jeffs pasty white toothpaste lookin skin

But realistically he wouldn’t be completely covered in scars

It would be blotchy, with pink fleshy patches among the burns

He most likely has contracture scars, third degree burns that turn the skin a pale white and tighten the skin

This explains his gaunt features and skin color

Now we have to take into account the vodka that was splashed on him, he’d probably have worse burns there with exposed flesh and damaged nerves

This would result in gnarly exposed skin, a damaged scalp and maybe damage to his teeth and eyes

Realistically, Jeff wouldnt have burned off his eyelids that alone would have resulted in blindness and death

Than his smile, his signatuure mark would probably be more of a gangly bloody scar mess

Pastas heal faster and aren’t really human, he’d have to recut his smile pretty frequently making it pretty jacket up because ltes be honest hes far from clean

ANd than his hait being chard black is very unlikely because as nasty as he is he s h o w e r s

not very frequnetly given his living situation and untreated burns but people can figure out how to wash hait and not much else

also i think its funny he’d shower with a plastic bag on his face to avoid getting soap in his nasty infected scars-

His hair would probably be dry and cut unevenly, more of a dark brown color with blonde undertones

Not to mention his burned scalp, hair probably wouldn’t grow there so he’d have a cool unintentional side shave

Jeff would also be a tall individual, he cant really eat, snacking on things from his victims homes giving him a more skeletal build

His personality and mindest is about as pretty as his face- but he most likely has a very screwed up headspace

Lacking in self care, maturity and sanity its fair to say he’d be a brash and violent person

Fun Fact: While researching this I learned that some versions of the joker had facial scars in the shape of a smile

Ticci Toby

So tobys age, unlike a lot of pastas, is pretty well agreed on, 19

So unlike when he was first a proxy toby most likely has stronger facial features and facial hair

Because shaving and hygiene isn’t first priority for pastas (gross-)

He stands around 5′7 and has grayish skin

Toby i feel is picky about foods, not only is it hard for him to eat its hard for him to keep food down

He’s malnourished explaining his thin figure and grayish skin

His hait is dark brown and a curlish mess, unkempt but short so it doesn’t get in his way

I’ve always seen him with a small gap in his teeth, because I can

And since toby can’t feel shit I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to eat rocks simply because he fuckin could

So some chipped teeth that are a bit uneven

Along with his CIPA and not eating enough Toby would bruise easily and have lots of scars, from things like cutting his finger on accident or getting mauled by a racoon

I wouldn’t be surpised if some of his joints were a bit screwed up, because whenever theyd beak or fracture he wouldn’t notice, this would probably happen a lot causing them to not heal correctly

One of tobys habits is nailbiting but he cant te;; when too far is too far

His fingers may be abit odd looking, knobby and discolored nails because of how exetreme his habit is

Would most likely have bandages around his fingers frequently to prevent the habit

So theres a lot of debate about tobys cheek was it the CIPA or the car accident, I beileve the accident because his other cheek is completely fine, theres damage from the OUTSIDE to inside and considering his sister died in the accident its unlikely he survived unscathed

Fun Fact: only a small handful of people have ever been diagnosed with CIPA, less than 500 (documented) cases around the world

Bloody Painter

So Helen is often seen as quiet emo painter boy 

but uh no <3

Personaly i beileve he suffers from narcisistic personality disorder, exetreme importance and that he is always victorious and gets what he wants

This sporuts from the constant heavy invalidation from classmates, toxic friends and neglect from his parents

He doesn’t hang out with people because he doesn’’t lie them its because they never let him in the past and he beileves he’s better than them

But this also links to deep rooted insecurity and social anxiety/being inept completely

Him being nice is basically so you like him, he wants validation amd admiration not love

Unlike the other pastas he’d be a more clean well kept one a helthy figure and some tattoos bevause he can

I beileve he lives in socity, finding hus victims in girls and men alike who fall for his charm

he uses hhis skill and ordinary appearance to blend in on the streets

From his behavior helen most likely keeps his hair a bit shorter and clean

He always looks his best

Has chapped, and picked at lips because of his anxieties

Aswell as his breakdowns- his identity is completely in his head, he is very unsure of who he is and takes the delusions in his mind as reality

Unrelated but paino fingers-

And finally in order for his art to be as perfect and amazing as him, he has to be apart of it

Thus using his own blood in his pieces and the body parts of those he admires

Covers his scars with clean bandgaes

But his paintings turn brown and dry out, he’s always in need of a new medium

Is most likely anemic from all the blood he looses and has a paler skintone

Clockwork

ahh yes finally someone who knows what self care is-

helen, i love you buddy but you need to stop 

But anyway natalie has a stronger, athletic build

She often chases her victims and gets in altercations, relying on strength most  of the time

on that same note, this would defintelty cause many scars on natalie

Wether it was a bite mark or scars from a kitchen knife, shes got lots of scars

A few even on her face

Now, for the clock in her eye that thing is like holding her skull together at this point, realistically

She is probably delicate and cares for it becaise 1) it hurts 2) if it gets screwed up that could cause a lot of problems

natalie would be a smart person, I wouldn’t be surprused if she had a few other stray stitches or bandgaes wrapped around a fresh wound

For more visual-ish things uh m u l l e t (credit: @cum-looking-sock-mf in a chat like 4 months ago)

She has one, fight me on it

but also thick and curlish hair so I also riase you

Undershave

just y e s

I can also see her getting tattoos over certain scars on her arm, just to make them look not so ugly

I feel like clockwork wishes things worked out better

Wishes for another chance but knows she’ll never get one

Thus her taking goof care of herself

Natalie throws herseld into her “work”, keeping her body in shape and killing people

Its a way to avoid her life and that it is- a huge, sad mess

Shes an outgoing impulsive individual, confident but questions her actions

She’s also unstable- protective and loyal but explosive and strong 

Jane the Killer

Jane is the final one, im sorry I couldn’t do more theres a photo limit and I wanna bash my head into the wall

Now a main different between her and jeff is she had surgery and lie treatment

Janes skin is still greatly scarred but it is greatly healed

She takes care of it and had skin grafts

Her face is disfigured, a scarred smile and burns around

But unlike Jeff she doesn’t recarve the cut so its a cleaner line and a lot healthier

Janes hair took a rather long time to grow back, but it did! 

She has a slightly long pixie cut a bit choppy but she doesn’t mind

Her wife definetely cuts it for her and you can fight me over that

I can see Jane having a lot of facial trauma, scars around her nose and cheeks

She was young when she started killing and went for the over the person, pin them down kill which didn’t work out

She switched to a silenced pistol after awhile, you know like a smart person

Janes arms and legs are in alright condition where most of the burn trauma is on her back

She has a leaner but healthy figure but like boobs-

Like clockwork and Helen she takes care of herself

She doesn’t kill as frequently, going after a few of jeffs victims before him and is of course, actively hunting him down

Her eyes are a pale green and she wears makeip to fill in her eyebrows because those bitches take a long time to grow back

fun fact: jeff has no eyebrows, fight me