#i was in a state to write it down

[darkdragon768]

alright

Had a class with a new teacher today so we had to introduce ourselves (yet again). Everyone was talking about how much they've already done, like studied, traveled and exercised, despite being younger than me, and their amazing hobbies like sports, hanging with friends, reading books. In the break they were telling funny drunk stories they had with friends and at parties.

And you know how that made me feel? I never had (true) friends because I'm boring as all hell and childish. I don't smoke, I don't drink and I don't do drugs. I don't like famous media like shows/movies or books, famous franchises like hp (ew), star wars/trek, or any sort of anime or manga. All I care about are childish video games. Oh and video games are so bad! So bad for you in every way!

...

I also feel like I can't make friends anymore cuz peeps around my age are just more interested in more mature stuff like relationships, independence- oh yea that's another thing. Everyone is already having their own apartment and is maybe sharing that with their joyfriend too. It feels like everyone is so much more advanced than me... I'm still at my parents house, hiding in my comfort zone, not having any huge responsibilities.

I feel like a 10 year old stuck in the body of a 23 year old who has to act as a neurotypical, stereotypical 30 year old adult, who can act and behave like their age. (Everybody is saying older peeps don't know what's up either but still)

I'm also not happy with my future. I can't see myself as a daycare worker anymore. Yea sure, that one internship year was fun but I didn't have to do all that "behind the scene" tasks, like talk with parents, come up with funny activities or trips, contact helping centers, etc. etc.

I don't know what I want to be. I don't want to have a job solely to have a job and make money to survive. I want to do something where I can use and show my strength and skills, and maybe even be happy and excited to go to work. But to look for something like that I first have to actually know what my true skills are, and what I will enjoy doing for 50 years. I just don't know...

IT? Bio lab assistant? Garbage woman? Living of the little money the state offers for people who can't/won't work (anymore)?

I just don't know anymore...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Reasons to play In Stars and Time: Canon Pronoun Warfare.

[krazieka2]

Lil comic about the kind of paralogues the Engage characters could have had hehe

Additional Bunet Paralogue:

[missjashin]

Someone is having a big ass Halloween party in Hawkins and since Robin is back in town from college she demands Steve goes there with her. She has got them matching costumes and all too! So Steve agrees to go because of course he does.

So when she shows up to Steve’s house with two sets of sailor uniforms he gives her a look that’s way more expressive than any words could be.

“Oh come on, it’s funny!” She insists. Steve just sighs, rolls his eyes and takes the outfit Robin is offering for him. And yeah it’s little funny, but he doesn’t want to admit that.

But the menacing grin Robin was giving him should have told him something was up, something other than reminiscing about summer at Scoops. But Steve pays it no mind and starts pulling the stupid sailor outfit on while mumbling curses. It’s not identical to the Scoops Ahoy uniform but close enough. The shade is slightly different and there’s no red details, only blue and white, and the shorts.. Well somehow they are even shorter and tighter. Which seems little odd since the shirt fits just fine. Has he put on a little weight? Steve doesn’t think so but maybe he just hasn’t realised it. Maybe he’ll ask Robin, she’ll give her honest answer for sure.

It’s only when he sees Robin he realises that yeah he probably has not gained weight. Someone has just switched up the bottoms of the outfits. Possibly someone that is now standing in front of Steve, snickering, while wearing her full length pressed trousers as part of her own costume.

“Seriously?” Steve asks and just shakes his head when Robin bursts out laughing. It’s too good to see and hear her laugh like this and not just via phone so Steve doesn’t fight it when Robin starts ushering her out with an excuse of them being late. (How could they be late? It’s an early evening and it’s a party?). And really, sure the shorts are little tight and short but it’s Halloween, who cares. What’s the worst that could happen?

It just so happens that the now graduated ex-Hellfire club leader has convinced his little sheeps, who also wanted to attend said party, to go as a group of pirates, him as their captain of course. So when Steve and Robin arrive, and Eddie sees what Steve is wearing, the pirate captain Eddie Munson is definitely hunting for booty.

[viperwhispered]

Too Little

Part three of Jamil (not) dealing with feels here we go. Jamil x reader, Jamil’s pov Previous parts: part one, part two

This was stupid.

Here he was, rolling around in bed, unable to sleep because thoughts of you filled his mind.

It had been futile of Jamil to think that he could simply brush your presence aside, that he could treat you like just another schoolmate and not let you consume his mind. 

Not when every quiet moment had him reach for his phone in hopes of a new message from you.

Not when you kept on finding new ways to make his heart skip a beat every time he saw you.

Not when he missed you more acutely every time you weren’t there.

So, despite his best efforts, his mind treaded those same paths, time and again, occupied by all the parts of you. Your expressions, your mannerisms, your words, every single detail committed to his memory and played over and over.

He suspected that at this point he’d be able to recreate most of your expressions just from memory. Your voice, too, playing so clearly in his mind.

Not to even mention those oh so tantalizing what ifs, supplying him with even sweeter temptations than the confines of reality and memory could provide.

What it would feel like to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to-

No. No no no. He would not go there.

Jamil could feel the heat burning in his cheeks and he rolled over, groaning into his pillow.

This was ridiculous. Absolutely preposterous.

Yet, there was no getting out of it.

He wanted you.

He wanted more of you, so much more than what he had.

Because each taste of you left him craving more, each glimpse made him want to uncover everything there was to you.

Even the parts you might consider ugly, as sappy as that was.

What kind of people did you like, anyway?

Charming? Intelligent? Funny?

Rich and influential? 

Did you even like guys? Or relationships in general?

Just the thought - relationship - made Jamil's cheeks burn even brighter, made his legs twitch under the covers.

Yet, somehow, it did not sound so bad.

To have you.

To be yours.

To know and be known.

He huffed and turned over onto his back.

As if his duties left room for something for himself, left enough of him to share with someone like that.

And would you like what you saw in him, anyway?

Yet, his excuses were beginning to sound more and more hollow.

After all, he was nothing if not resourceful, and so far you’d shown no signs of shying away, even as you dug your way deeper.

Jamil stared at the canopy over his bed with unseeing eyes.

He’d have to do something about this.

Because if he didn’t, he might just lose his mind.

But was the alternative any better? Could he even handle it? The full force of you, if - and it was a big if - you were to accept him.

Even now, when you looked at him in that particular way of yours… He never could hold your eyes for long when that happened. The softness and the warmth he saw were far too overwhelming, always forcing him to turn away lest he made a complete fool of himself.

If he were to have that, with the full force of affection intention behind it… How could he even bear it?

Like the other day… You’d found Jamil in the middle of his chores and dragged him away, his to-do list crumbling when you grabbed his hand and led him outside.

He was all too aware of how his protests had been half-hearted at best. How your sudden appearance, your touch had shut down every sensible part of him, leaving him unpleasantly raw.

And by the time he’d gathered himself, nearly convinced himself he had other things he should be doing instead, you were sharing ice creams outside Sam’s, to celebrate the first warm day of the year.

As if it wasn’t warm in Scarabia year round.

As if he hadn’t been too preoccupied by your happiness and enthusiasm to bring himself to heel.

Sometimes, it was all he could do not to be swept away by you, barely keeping his head above the surface.

So, what choice did he have but to act?

You’d made a home in his heart already, whether he asked for it or not.

All he could do was take control of what he could.

Eta: you can find part 4 here and part 5 / the final part here. Oh dear I'm starting to get tempted to write this from the reader's pov as well. Or maybe I'll just have to ramble about the thought process behind this at some point to get that out of my system. I also considered going to a more horny direction with this but decided to go with this kind of yearning in the end. But, if the horny version is of interest for y'all, maybe I can do that as an alternative / supplementary thing to this series, or some sort of a standalone at some point. Hope y'all enjoyed! One or two more parts are still to come. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @mazapanmiau @perilous-pasta @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, do let me know! Also feel free to specify if you only want tags for particular kinds of works (like sfw/nsfw for example).

[mcybree]

I prepared this ask in the Notes app only for Tumblr to not let me copy and paste the text so here’s a screenshot bc I’m not typing all that again lol

there’s this funny trend i see in trafficblr art, in that, when there’s a lineup of every past winner, most players will be surrounded by symbols that were relevant to their POV, and perhaps drawn with the last emotion they’d felt just before death (or maybe just whatever emotion the artist most associates with the character). The winners might be doing something, or in a pose that reflects how they won—there are a million ways to make a life series winners’ piece. What’s funny about it is that no one ever seems to know what to do with Scott. He’s most often just standing there looking mildly disgruntled. And for the symbols he’s most depicted with, it’s typically poppies, which are only relevant to the first season; last life scott does not place any importance on poppies, poppies dont ever come up beyond a brief interaction in episode 1, and jimmy as a whole is less relevant to scott’s pov in last life than he is in every other season.

not that this is an issue with the art; the pieces are beautifully done, it’s just representative of how little fandom discussion there is about scott’s win thematically. Most discussion I see are about the watchers and how they hate scott for defying him or whatever, but watcher lore is not discussion of the series itself as much as it is a fan creation that is retroactively applied to create meaning.

Scott’s Last Life win, to me, was achieved through accomplishing what Third Life Scott could not.

Scott spent 3L waiting for his day one ally to die. He kept Jimmy at a distance, often fully gearing himself up first before backtracking to help Jimmy along. There’s a funny disparity in episode 5, where Jimmy spends the entire episode trying to get good enchants on his iron armor, while Scott sets up a villager and gets good enchants for the full diamond set that he’d already had in storage, in about half the time Jimmy took trying to accomplish his own goal, iirc. This disparity is also something scott acknowledges with the “I’ll always be more powerful than you” line, but it’s been a while since ive written a post like this so i unfortunately do not have the episode number memorized on that one anymore. But Scott goes on to explain that he’ll always have better armor and weapons, which is why Jimmy could never kill him. This is all to say that Jimmy and Scott do not stand on equal grounds in their alliance, and, more importantly, Scott does not depend on Jimmy. The progress Scott makes in Third Life is entirely his own, with Jimmy as more of an afterthought than a teammate.

This is what landed Scott his all time lowest placement. After Jimmy dies first, Scott loses sight of his priorities and dedicates his remaining time alive to avenging Jimmy, rather than focusing on his own longevity (like he’d go on to do in future seasons). And, in that way, Scott’s attitude towards Jimmy (disposable, going to die, unreliable) was an indirect contributor to Scott’s low placement.

In contrast: Scott could not have won Last Life without Pearl. Scott has to rely on Pearl from day 1, having only two lives to start with himself. Pearl gives Scott two lives total. Pearl and Scott are almost always together. They made it to the final four by each other’s side. And that forced day 1 reliance on pearl breaks down the role scott typically assumes (*he’s* supposed to be the person people rely on, he’s supposed to be the one bringing everything to the table) which curbs his tendency to see himself as above others, which then allows for the most genuine happiness i have ever seen him have in an alliance.

The comparison between the way Scott talks to Pearl and the way Scott talks to Jimmy is like night and day. Scott doesn’t compliment or otherwise say anything supportive towards Jimmy (save for the “I believe in you! MCC has trained you for this moment!” during Jimmy’s dare to flare attempt) until after Jimmy has already died. With Pearl, however, Scott is much more open about his care towards her, saying that she’s his best friend and that he loves her as early as episode 2. There’s more examples but between last life and third life, Scott’s attitude towards his primary ally is completely different, and i think it’s symptomatic of Scott allowing himself to love and be vulnerable rather than keeping himself at a distance. And i think that it’s so special that scott won the season where he was so close with his day one alliance, directly because of his day one alliance.

because, to me, one of scott’s defining characteristics is his self reliance. He will have allies, yes, but he often assumes a supportive role and acts as a supplier. He doesnt like taking things from other people. Last Life is different because Scott relies on Pearl, too. It’s also not a coincidence that last life is the only season where scott is normal about jimmy but that’s a different post

tldr yes scott won last life with the power of love but not in the way people say he did (ignoring the boogeyman curse was strategy ☝️)

I SHOULD NOTE, though, that the boogeyman curse was still a fail. Although purposeful, Scott receives the penalty and apologizes to his team. He says he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. I do think that his words here aren’t fully honest— he’d admitted earlier that this choice was fully for strategy. But I also think his apologetic attitude here is genuine. Scott is a perfectionist, he needs to succeed; failing, though purposeful, still hurts. He feels the need to apologize. It means so much to me that his win in last life directly follows the choice to fail on purpose. I’m insane though idk

third life scott embodies scotts flaws while last life scott is him overcoming them 👍 is what im trying to say 👍 last life scott is everything that third life scott could not bring himself to be, in allowing himself to love and depend on other people and overall just be a person.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 19

PREVIOUS

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2.  Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion​ @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

[ladyinbooks]

Tidying up the next RP chapter today. Small spoiler: there are two three characters I'm very excited for everyone to meet.

Unfortunately these characters have a whole bunch of backstory, and more-story, and hello yes I am also elbows-deep in plotting a book about them (it may be two books - you see the escalation problem I have here?!). And I thought 'given all the inevitable space politics and the length of this potential thing, maybe this would be better suited for actual, y'know, traditional publishing in the space opera genre? So people don't have to read quite so much politicking with their romance?'

And then I thought, 'Nah. AO3. Clearly I am meant to subject as many people as possible to free space politics, for fun'. 🤣

(And this thing already includes an arranged marriage, backstabbing, enemies to lovers, slow burn, politics, politics, politics, spying, tragedy, characters earning happy ending(s), feminisation kink, drama, gratuitous use of the word 'wife', betrayal, size kink, 'is it true love if I don't stab him at least once?', and as much fake mythology as I can cram into this bad boy. 😭)

I have... become a little carried away with this...

[unfortunatelyilikebnha]

Bnha makes me so mad because it could’ve been good. It had a lot of good aspects. But in the end none of them were satisfyingly resolved so it just feels bad.

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[immediatebreakfast]

After these talks of preparation, Jonathan's attitude becoming more and more jumpy as he listens to the people supposed to help Mina talk about her transformation, and the Czarina Catherine being held hostage by the fog... Mina is probably living her own version of hell on earth right now.

Mina is a kind woman, an intelligent woman, an observing woman. Very aware of her surroundings, and the people that walk around her thanks to being a manners teacher. She reached when Lucy couldn't, she guided Jonathan towards information and inspired all of these men to swear loyalty to her alone.

And now Mina is trapped in a limbo of darkness, and coldness. Hearing, and watching how her comrades talk about how to kill her if god gives up on her. Then the hypnosis comes in a shove in the water deep deep down, and suddenly Mina is dead. Not in the body but in the mind.

Feeling dead, but her heart is still beating. Knowing what a coffin feels like, and how no light comes underground. Only hearing the sound of the waves as her breathing becomes shorter becasue what if she can afixiate while doing this? Then Mina wakes up, and the first thing she sees is Van Helsing's face deep in thought.

The report is the same as yesterday... Again, but Mina notices (of course she does) how Van Helsing "subtlely" checks her face, and mouth then talks to Seward in hushed tones. But, not the ones that ladies like her, and Lucy have practiced up to perfection to talk about someone who is present without noticing, no. It's a simple low voice without finesse, or any attempt of masking that they are talking about her, about her letargy, about her pale skin, about her spike in energy on the evenings. Even Jonathan could do a better job, Mina knows because she taught him a little.

Mina is probably more aware than anyone might think, so aware that she probably prefers sleeping than enduring. I wonder Mina thought for even a second "Do they think she is stupid now?"

[olive-ish]

Anyways the idea of Tubbo’s originally offers of friendship solely for information about the missing eggs eventually becoming him waiting for a letter back from his pen pal

Fred slowly becoming more and more aware as they’ve spent more time with Tubbo, feeling his own heart beat and stomach twist but being scared of it. Their frightened by the new sensation but can’t stop now

They bled into each other and now cannot mend the wound. Connected through their strange relationship.

[shittygaypornmagazine]

Dear Who-Ever-The-Fuck-You-Are's, let me explain to you: Russian filtration camps are not the "Will You or Won't You Pass The Border" kind of camps. These are "Will You Live Or Will You Get Murdered" kind of camps. This is the filtration. And my childhood best friend didn't pass it.

It happened back in June.

He was dragged out of his car, in which he sat with his mother for hours, after being told that they will be shot if they as much as open the window, along with other people in other cars, just like them wishing to escape Mariupol. The Russians took my best friend to their "station" and held him there for more than two hours. His mother said that she was forced to wait in the car, crying and screaming, guarded by one of the soldiers while he pointed his gun at her face through the window.

When the door of the station opened and her son stepped out: beaten, with blood all over his face and clothes, dragging his feet and holding his obviously broken hand at his side, she thought that maybe. Just maybe. It is a miracle and they passed. That they'll let them leave. That the Russians were done with them.

Except they weren't.

My best friend's mom saw as one of the Russian soldiers who exited the station after him laughed at something and pointed at him. Other two people peaked through the door and laughed too. It was strange, but she didn't care. Her son was about to open the door to the passenger seat and they were about to be out of there.

Except they weren't.

The Russian soldier raised his gun and, still laughing, never pausing the conversation he was engaging in with the others, pulled the trigger. At least three times in a row. And my best friend was killed with a single bullet that entered through his neck and painted his mother's white car red. The others pierced his body, each disrespecting it more than any god ever could.

That's when the soldier that pointed his gun at my now dead childhood best friend's mother took his body and tossed it into a pile just couple of meters from the station, full of other people.

Once alive.

Once happy.

Always Ukrainian.

His mother was in the state of shock. She was free now. Was ordered to go because "she passed". So she drove forward. Got to the territory controlled by Ukraine... But her soul never did. And she ended her life today, 18/11/2022. I wouldn't have even known if she hadn't sent me one of her Last Emails, thanking me "For Everything".

Except I never did anything. Or rather never did enough. I still don't do enough. I worked all summer and donated about 12k UAH to the army, give or take, but it's not enough. I can't do anything that will make me fell like it is and now I have the memory of two people to avenge. So, oh help me Devil, whom some of you think all Ukrainian's worship, because if I see a single person saying something about this war not being a genocide, I will do things both wrong and deadly.

[revelisms]

Thinking about Terzo to the tune of Father Lucifer, and Dancing With a Ghost, and Portrait of a Dead Girl:

A son shackled by expectation, but never shining so brightly as he did on those stages; who piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from anger, and who grieved a little boy he never was but could have been; who copied his father's paints, and sang for his mother's leer, and called his eldest brother Nonna not as a tease, but because he was the closest he could claim;

Who loved a forbidden love and scorned its forbiddenness and had it ripped from him, without permission; who cried as violently as he grinned, could twist a crowd's affections around his finger but couldn't put three friendships to his name; who pulled black silks from his wardrobe and smeared a skull on his skin and said, Yes, this is as I am, as I am meant to be: your Son, your Shadow, your Nothing—

Who carried a golden award in his hands and a spike in his heart, and was still good, despite it all (or tried to be, or couldn't be)—

Who Secondo called the imbecile and Primo called little boy and Copia called only brother, brother, brother—

(He was not his brother. Not by blood, by their bastard father; only by Sister, and Sister alone—)

Who at fourteen saw a copper-headed child slumped at his side, with eyes pleading for belonging, and put a hand on his shoulder instead of through his teeth; mumbled, It's alright, little thing, instead of, Who do you think you are, taking my mother from me—?

Who sauntered on a purple-glistened stage, knowing the performance would be his last, with the weight of the world in his smile and a microphone squeezed in his hand, and thought, Is this it? What you have always worked me towards?

Who entered his retirement with a chip on his shoulder and a weariness in his bones, piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from wrath and said, Here I am, eh? Your last "son." Your Legacy.

Who smiled, thin and brittle, at the siblings that stumbled over still calling him Papa; who would correct them, with a grousing tease and a dimpled thing that didn't reach his eyes—It's just me, sweetness. The titles were, eh...never a sticking point, no? You have little Coppie to sing your praises, now—

Who would make coffees in hand-painted cups and carry them stiff-boned, black-clothed down the halls, knock-knocking on their Monsignor's door, finding Primo's fish-pale eyes glowering from his desk with herb roots scattered like snakes over his parchments—

What is this? I bring you the Devil's ambrosia, and you greet me with maggots?

Who his brother swiped the soil from his varnish for, permission given with a bland sigh and an extension of a bony hand; told him, Sit down, Zito, and nudged his half-touched plate of breakfast towards him. You are not eating.

Who gave a child's giggle, and slumped like an old man: still ancient, still fourteen, still glaring at the floor with a smile that didn't shine.

It is not Copia's fault, Primo had muttered. It is not your fault.

Who dragged his thumb through a frayed sleeve, his nails painted and chipped, and sneered.

How is it not?

Who stood at the gates of Hell, with the Unnamed manifested in his finery: a demon no longer born of flesh and blood, who he could not see, could not touch, could not remember—

I miss you. I miss you, so much—

Who tied on black silks and carried leather bound books and took up his helm at the pulpit—not as their Father, but as the esteemed Replacement, as he had always goddamn been.

Who smiled to a congregation who looked for a beast's claws, and found human hands; looked for a beating heart, and found a stone-hardened knot.

Let me ask you now about the subject of Pride.

Not the pride of their litter, surely. Not of his father's own ghost.

(But who could have been.

Hell below, who could have been.)

[thebirdandhersong]

in my you're on your own kid era again (I never left)

[erial-c]

REDACTED THEORY POST !!!

possible spoilers for the balance, sovereign state, carpe deus, and hush's audios . bare with me because this is horrifically long

tagging @mokozroach hi :3

an amalgamation of theories i have regarding the plot heavy series in the redacted verse :3

so i'm gonna try to discuss 3 different things here :

1. the timeline and how i see it

2. how blake is probably hush's brother

3. what the fuck is hush

1. the timeline (specifically when the fuck hush's audios are set)

we know that when avior and starlight get back to the overworld, + when elliott escapes, the inversion just happened . with that, i think i've found a few things that can set the events in the timeline

- in "deferred judgement" and "reforming a sadism demon", hush says that closeknit's headquarters in dahlia are empty, and that the dept. "came and scared them away" or raided the building.

i assume that what happened in the newest balance audio was also a raid (blake saying the department cut the power in the building) and iirc we're still in dahlia, so this is the same building that hush says is abandoned in his recent audios.

- in "reforming a sadism demon", hush mentions he's only been alive/sentient for "a few weeks"

this wouldn't have given me anything, but if we recall in sovereign state, avior keeps hearing the same sound effect that we hear when hush tries to explain what he is to doc.

since the closest given timeline is "facing a disaster with your demon lover" (40 minutes post-inversion), and the audios after that are probably, at most, a few days after (since avior has to explain the inversion to starlight) we can probably assume that hush has been created at this point.

this would have hush's audios + the 2 most recent carpe deus audios be set a few weeks post inversion at the least.

2. blake is probably hush's brother

so we know hush has mentioned having a "brother" twice now ('there's a stranger in your apartment' and 'deferred judgement')

we can assume hush probably means that they're brothers in the sense that they were made the same way? because obviously they wouldn't actually be blood related ("i have a brother, in a manner of speaking")

- both are also instruments/tools used by the sovereigns. hush having referred to himself as an "instrumental force" many times, and blake being called an instrument by d'deridahn ('a deal with the fallen gods').

- both also "teleport" the same way (parentheses because its technically not that?). normae mentions that hush can "be anywhere" but isn't rifting, and hasn't seen anything like it before ('getting to know your mysterious stranger'). d'deridahn also says that blake can "be anywhere". both also have the same sound effect when " teleporting".

we also know that hush and his "brother" not exactly on good terms. hush's "brother" knows that hush is different, and that scares him. this person has been hunting hush down ever since he was given form, but since hush is stronger and faster, he hasn't been caught.

- blake is an empowered human being used as a vessel by a sovereign. and with hush, all we know is that there's an "echo" of the ones who created him that remain in him (e & m possibly), but he's also neither demon nor human, and has killed several demons. because of this, we can probably assume hush is more powerful than blake.

3. what the fuck is hush

hush is called an egregore by vega, and while there are many different definitions of this, i think he leans more on the concept of an independent entity created by collective thought, because he always refers to himself as an instrumental force with a linear goal.

with this, i think hush is some sort of entity created by e'laetum and min'ara's thoughts and goals becoming sentient. i also think he's going to be the entity to strengthen the meridian.

hush is actively trying to contact avior, hence why i think he's connected to e'laetum and min'ara. he could've been created by them, on purpose or not. maybe the meridian sovereigns realized a demon and a human couldn't possibly help on their own, and created hush. or were so hellbent on their goal that they accidentally gave form to hush, since he is "the silence between the notes" and has technically existed before, but was only given form recently.

hush's focus is likely to strengthen the meridian, but in order to do that he needs another sovereign. he specifically refers to freeing sovereigns trapped in their prison ('getting to know your mysterious stranger') and that applies to the drove (d'deridahn and others, excluding e & m) because they were trapped there as punishment. but i doubt the drove would want to help after being trapped for millennia, so what now?

well, in "getting to know your mysterious stranger", normae talks to doc about hush, and tries to tell them that hush is trying to take the sovereigns' powers for himself. it's possible that e'laetum and min'ara are aware that the drove won't want to help them strengthen the meridian, so they might have tasked hush to making contact with the drove to take their powers for himself, and to aid the meridian himself.

all that or hush is just a little guy wanting to fuck shit up on elegy LMAO