#im stuck in stasis

[fruit-snacker]

Need a routine to get anything done

Cant have one because the moment it inevitably gets broken it's dead forever and I need to figure out something new or never do those things again

[junkmailmusubi]

hang on hell no i just got to the puzzle in vivid/stasis

[spookytimecollective]

im scared to see how our system will look after this week

[marmett]

i am honestly having the most insane year ever filled w/ massive life changes like.

my dad died

i graduated from college

im moving

im working on getting licensed and job hunting

[finalhaunts]

Siigghh

[freshmeatz]

fun leech information of the day even if it's too personal I given my heart out on a platter constantly and I just cant bother to care anymore

[huldrabitch]

"All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her"

- James Joyce, "Eveline" from Dubliners (1914)

[tls12lessthan3]

kim dokja [side character] [self imposed]: protagonists like yoo sangah really are a different type, haha................and me? im just your average salary worker.....well, maybe slightly less than average.........

(is stuck in a self-perception of eternal bystander to his own life. this keeps him rooted in place, unable or unwilling to either desire more for himself or take active steps to achieve it. he avoids forming relationships, putting unnecessary effort in or generally doing anything that could draw attention to himself due to this self-perception as doing so may violate it. a coping strategy from when his mother's book got popular and he became an unwilling main character who desperately wanted to once again be relegated to the background. this is obviously bad for him and both causes an absolutely miserable stasis and prevents him from connecting with others. however, because it forms a core part of his self identity, it will not easily be shaken off)

han sooyoung [villain] [self-imposed]: nyehehehe i love doing evil and murdering puppies #girlboss #villainsontop!!!!..........what, what do you mean how do i feel about almost killing lee gilyoung and shin yoosoung back at the beginning of the scenarios........well, it was what a villain would do, so.......

(views the world as a story almost as much as kim dokja does and adapted her role from 'heroine of a trashy power fantasy novel' to 'villain of an extremely different trashy power fantasy novel' when the world changed in order to cope. genuinely likes being a bit chunni and cackling about her evil schemes but neutral-to-negative on the actual murdering that comes with them, so uses this self-perception to prop herself up and justify her behaviour. invested in keeping it up because it prevents her from having to reflect on her past actions or how she might feel about them - all she has to care about is staying alive and grabbing power wherever necessary. bad for her as it prevents her from any self-reflection and causes guilt to build up without any outlet)

yoo joonghyuk [hero] [externally imposed]:.............................hm.

(stuck in a protagonist role and absolutely despises it. cannot shake it off entirely at any point because it is quite literally what he was made for but constantly yearns to drop the hero worship and just be seen as he is. his protagonist status is tied to his captive nature in the star stream and something he must transcend to finally escape the novel. metaphor for genderisms (subtle))

yoo sangah [heroine] [externally imposed]: i think people are little too kind to me sometimes........but i do try my best to do my best where i can!

(shoved into a heroine role against her will by society around her, a role which coincides with the uncomfortable expectations her parents have put on her as Their Daughter and one that often leaves her feeling isolated. she's aware of how people see her and the issues it causes for her, leaving her frustrated with this role. even when she thinks she's escaped it, she often finds herself shoved back in without warning (e.g. her entire relationship with dokja) and so she dedicates much of her time to tearing down that wall. metaphor for genderisms (overt))

[dennisboobs]

i think some people watched a different version of frank shoots every member of the gang

[fanaticsnail]

Despiértame mi Corazon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,454

(Image Source: Actor: Alex Pettyfer + @fanaticsnail's dodgy photo editing skills)

Synopsis: You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again. 

Themes: mutual pining, sickness, love, Rosi is a daddy, Rosi is a sweetheart, idiots in love, friends to lovers, Trafalgar Law is a child, baby Law is an edge-lord, angst, crying, hurt/comfort, dancing, Rosi is a dork, sad ending (I’m sorry), Dance reference link here.

Notes: This is a gift for @writingmysanity. You get two Cora fics, because we both need it. The other, more happy one, is coming soon, sweety!! 

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail I don't know if you guys like Corazon, but I hope this convinces you to love him.

Song Suggestion: “Wake Me Up” - Postmodern JukeBox

The air carrying the tide towards your feet felt as thick and heavy as the encumbering weight on your heart. Frozen remnants of falling snow stuck to your cheeks, your eyelashes collecting a small amount of dust to coat your follicles in the crisp breeze. Aside from the peace found in momentary stasis, your mind was racing and your soul screaming for release. 

Trafalgar D Water-Law was dying. The boy you took under your wing, the child you cared for, the adolescent who held your heart in his hands was dying. He was not going to make it without consuming the Op-Op Fruit, a cruel reality that had finally caught up with you. 

You were so close. So unbelievably close to getting his cure - his fate balancing on the edge of a knife in the steely grasp of Donquixote Doflamingo. A cure like this was not something that would be gifted freely, both you and Rosinante knew this for a fact. There was no amount of convincing, scheming, bribing, groveling, or begging you could do to gather this cure for the sickly child you both loved. It needed to be claimed by force, and claimed now. 

Finding solace in the small moment you carved aside, you allowed yourself the luxury of hot tears rolling down your cheeks: consumed by the grief in the dire situation you found yourself within. You were simply unable to carry the weight of these harsh and raw emotions any longer. What began as a small sniff through your nose quickly and quietly escalated into soft sobs. As the sorrow was released, you felt the weight grow heavier in your heart and expand to encumber your chest.

Drawing up your knees and cradling them against you, you turned your head away from the shack as your shoulders shook with each whimpered sob. You desperately hoped to any deity that was listening that you were far enough away from your home for the night to hold your sobs in silence, not alerting or disturbing your two companions as they lay in slumber. 

Stalking slowly towards you, aided in silence by his devil-fruit abilities, Donquixote Rosinante was approaching you in your sorrow. His hand stuttered forward, wanting desperately to place it down on your shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze in consoling your release of your emotions. 

He, himself, knew this feeling, and he knew this feeling well. Giving into his feelings a few weeks earlier, while drinking a vast amount of sake straight from the bottle. He felt helpless in the overwhelming devastation that currently held the three of you hostage. Desperate to provide you comfort, although not desiring to give you a touch you were not expecting, he halted his movement from descending upon your shoulders.

Retracting his extended hand away from you, he stumbled backwards towards the shack to check in on the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Clambering up the steps, he looked over the peaceful form of the boy nestled up in his blankets to keep warm in the cool night. Noticing the fluttering rise and fall in his chest, the subtle wheeze extending and catching in his throat, he felt the return of helplessness overcome his body. 

Turning away from the child, his fingers absentmindedly brushed against the surface of the steely frame of his radio, flicking on the valve to wake its static call. He began turning the knobs, seeking out a whisper of a song to drown out his circulating devastation and distract himself with. 

The rustling static did nothing to wake Law from his rest, but did alert you of the fact Rosinante was awake and skulking around. Hastily drying your tears with the inner sleeve on your wrist, you ensured you were the very picture of positivity should the leader of your expedition join you in the cool air outside the shack. 

Your relationship with the younger Donquixote brother was complicated. 

Pledging your undying loyalty under pain or death to Doflamingo in your youth, your proximity to the younger brother had you develop the swell of infatuation with him. Through the years, your heart always had a soft simmer threatening to rapidly boil towards the surface. He was quiet, he was calm, his skills as a fighter were a privilege to behold in battle, and it was an honor to fight beside him. 

Under the orders of the older Donquixote brother, you had done  terrible things that required atonement to cleanse your hands of it. As you were both introduced to the young child who wished for death to claim him, you both became as hardened as the other to force the will to live upon him in repentance for your transgressions. 

Watching Rosinante take the lead in Law’s care, your infatuation rose once again: a rise which prompted you to cast aside your loyalty to Doflamingo and aid ‘Corazon’ in the task of betraying him. You were in exile, hiding while searching for a cure for the boy that you only now learnt were in the clutches of the very hands you were attempting to flee from.

You loved him. You loved watching the lanky man fawning over the sickly boy. It had your heart soar and fly ever higher. The way he loved with his whole heart had a ripple effect, prompting you to open your own heart to love both of them even more. When Rosinante displayed his heart, it was worn on his sleeve and given unconditionally. And when you saw this love for others, it made you long to be a recipient of such devotion. 

The rise in static volume prompted you to turn around, glancing at the looming figure exiting the door of the shack, a radio within his hands. He placed it on the wooden frame lining the porch and gestured for you to come over to him with a subtle sway of his hands. You offered him a soft, melancholy smile and rose to your feet from the cool sand beneath you. 

No words were spoken as you approached him, keeping your head bowed from him as the static crackled and roared to life. A familiar tune from your youth rose in the speakers, your smile broadening as the lyrics shepherded you into a gentle sway. 

Rosinante’s outstretched hand flitted fluidly down to you, a small bob in his head indicating for you to place your hand within his own. You returned this gesture with your eyes closed and shaking your head in disbelief at his invitation. He smiled, reaching forward his other hand down and claiming your unoccupied hand and began swaying you to the beat. 

“What are you doing, Rosinante?” you slowly hummed your question up at him, brow twitching up in intrigue. His warm smile pulled you in, alongside the slow shimmied-shake of his arms with your own. 

“We’re dancing,” he confessed with a rumbled chuckle, his toes accidentally colliding with your own: both flinching at the contact. He shook his head, adding to his answer, “I stand corrected: we’re trying.” 

Although the mood was filled with sorrow, the sway of Rosinante’s awkward movements had your smile rising up your cheeks and eyes drying of their prior downpour. A small swell in your heart at his attempt to make you smile had your cheeks begin to pull upwards by the smallest smile you could muster. 

Everything about the way he danced with you was stiff, awkward and rigid: a memory rising in both your minds of earlier in your youth springing forward.

“You remember when we first danced together?” Rosinante asked you, his painted lips attempting to hold back a toothy grin. You giggled at him, ushering his body to spin in your arms and gently twirled his body. The dark feathers tickled your skin, a sneeze rising in your nose in response to the subtle brush from the inky follicles.

“I remember it being about as ah-... ah-... ahh-...!” you sneezed, shaking your shoulders as you turned away from him to save him from the spray. He chuckled as you recovered from your sneeze, continuing, “-As awkward as this one. You didn’t have your feather coat then, either.” 

“Oh, right!” Rosinante laughed, twirling his body away from yours and removing his feathered overcoat from its place on his shoulders, casting it over the wooden frame beside the speaker. “Alright now, where were we?” His pink shirt dipped in his chest, the subtle rise of his lungs and exposure of soft skin tempted a warm flush to rise in your cheeks. You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts about your friend, recovering enough to plaster a small smile on your face. 

Swaying your hips and tapping your toes against the ground, you skillfully twirled your body to rejoin your hands within his. He gleefully laughed at your gesture, his own hips swaying to the beat and rocking his shoulders as the rhythm picked up. His knees were unpracticed and unskilled in this artform, but his enthusiasm overtook his inability to dance. 

Twirling his body away from you, he clapped his hands and began stomping his feet lightly on the floorboards. He tapped twice more before kneeling himself down on one knee, his other leg arched into a deep lunge in front of him. He placed his right hand on his hip, rising his left above his head and brandished it with a playful flourish. 

“Oh, we’re doing this one, are we?” your tone picked up, your brow arching on your forehead as you leant forward to claim his left hand within your right, “You remember how I tripped over your lanky legs when I did this last time,” you smiled, circling his body and hopping yourself over his calf lying flat behind him.

“I do,” he chuckled in return, following your movement with the lull of his head. His smile rose further as you playfully watched him from the corner of your eye. “You remember how we recovered, though? What we did to balance out the dance?” 

“Yes, Corazon,” you half-laughed, half-sighed, as you recalled how the evening progressed, “We drowned ourselves in several bottles of sake and laughed at our own idiocy.” Rosinante shook his head, rising to his feet after releasing your hand from within his. 

“No, mi amor,” he whispered, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from behind, “I meant this.” He turned you within his arms, raking his hands over your hips, hands circling over your waist and holding you firmly against his torso. You hooked your arms over his shoulders behind your head, shepherding him to embrace you further while swaying to the rhythm. 

Rosinante pressed his cheek against your own, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed as you felt the rise in his grin on your skin. His breath tickled the nape of your neck, you breathing along to his rhythmic pattern with each passing moment. 

You felt all of your worries cast themselves aside each moment he held you in his arms, all anguish and melancholy passing from your body and reigned within his embrace. The pressure of his own sorrows fled from him and onto you, the sharing of the emotional labor departed each of you in this moment to simmer and smother between you.

“Why were we dancing again?” you whispered to him, your lips almost making contact with the shell of his ear. You felt him shudder against your touch, instinctively pressing your back further against his chest and nuzzling into your neck. 

Spinning in his arms, his hands tugging at your shifting shirt as you turned to face him, his eyes widened as he sought out his answer to you. Humming thoughtfully, he finally located his answer in his memory.

“I think it was Doffy’s birthday, or celebrating a raid on some unfortunate-,” Rosinante began, halted by you pulling away and glancing into his eyes. 

“-I mean now, mi corazon,” you floated your eyes between his, looking for rhyme or reason within his steely orbs, “Why are we dancing now?” He stuttered in his sway, freezing like a fainting goat being startled by a loud sound. 

“Y-You called me-...” his breath caught in his throat, lips parting as he floated his gaze between your own eyes, briefly caught in gazing longingly against your lips. “You called me ‘mi corazon’, mi amor.” He held you in silence, his heart swelling and adrenaline urging his body against his will to surge forward. 

The air was tense, the deafening silence being broken only by the smooth rise in melody from the radio beside you. His eyes softened more, wordlessly asking you a question with his lips quivering and eyes frantically darting between your own.

A small nod from him, answered by a nod of your own was all the answer he needed to join his lips with yours, softly molding himself to your lips and breathing in your air. 

The world came crashing down around you, the realms of unanswered questions from your youth were retorted by the soft lips of Donquixote Rosinante’s pressed against your own. You squeaked against his lips, eyes wide and watching as, his were closed with his brows furrowing in deepest concentration. He hissed in a breath through his nose, turning his head by the angle of his chin to deepen the embrace. 

Raking his hands up from your hips, he claimed fistfuls of your shirt in his needy grasp. He whimpered against your lips, prompting you to reciprocate his passionate kiss. You felt his heart, his spirit and his worries pass from his body into yours further. This intimate and wordless confession had your heart racing at the impossibilities that brought you here. 

Slowly pulling your hands from his shoulders, you slid them down his neck and grasped the embroidered pink collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards the railing. As his beck hit the hard, wooden pillar, he gasped into your mouth and desperately clawed at you to hold you firmer. Angling his head away, he pressed lengthy kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks and chin: a trail marked by his pink lip-paint. 

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering them above your own before pressing his own against yours twice more, “I want us. I want all of us-.” He peppered your cheeks with lengthy kisses, the smear of his lip paint rubbing against your skin and tinting your flesh. “-The three of us. I want to be our own family: go where we want to go, wherever our hearts take us. I want to forge a life with you and that kid.”

“What are you saying-?” you whimpered for him, your hands claiming his cheeks within them and ushering his face away from yours. He groaned, leaning forward and claiming your lips beneath his own before fully allowing you to push him away.

“I want to adopt Law,” he continued, his hand rising to your hair and caressing your scalp, “You already mother him, fawn over him and treat him like your own.” Your hand flew to his hair as he pressed a long kiss against your neck, “I want to do this, and I want to do this with you, mi amor. I want to marry you, to be yours and you to be mine.” 

“I want us to be happy, mi amor,” he concluded, a melancholy smile finding his cheeks as he dipped his brow down to seek out your eyes, “I will have you smile again: a smile mirrored between the three of us.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your brow, adding a muffled, “Three against the world.”

The shock of it all happening at once held you in momentary silence. Feeling the pull to confess your own adoration and wants for the future onto him, your lips formed words before you could withhold them in your throat. 

“When this nightmare is all over,” you gasped, tugging at his blond locks to subtly weave him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “When we wake up from the darkness,” you slowly caressed his cheek, your thumb finding his bottom lip and attempting to press the paint within the boundaries of his lip line, “I want all of that with you, mi corazon.” 

At your confession, Donquixote Rosinante’s heart soared for you and his tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. He truly didn’t know those words were needed to grace his ears and soothe his mind, but so thankful you formed them. 

He loved you from the moment he met you all those years ago. The urge to protect you from the evil his brother ushered into the world was so strong, he nearly broke the mask he made while infiltrating the crew. Seeing you hold your own against them, your skill in combat ushering a swift death to those who opposed you with mercy had him swooning at your kindness amongst the brutality. 

“Te amo, mi corazon,” you whispered, your lips again hovering over his own, “I always have, and I should’ve acted on it sooner. I just got caught up with the mission, with loving our child. You are doing such a good job with him, I want you to know that.” You soothed over his blond hair, brushing your nose against his while confessing your admiration further, “I love you, and I love Law so, so much-.” 

Surging forwards, the contact he made with your lips was wet: the stale aftertaste of his last cigarette was eclipsed by the salty tears falling over his lips. He didn’t know when his tears started to fall, nor did you grasp when your own intertwined with his against your lips. You laughed against his lips, feeling the lingering tingle of affection spark and ignite in your chest. He swooned for you, raking desperately at your body to hold you as close as he could without breaking through the material of your clothes. 

You broke away from his lips, gazing into his eyes with nothing but pure adoration and love. His own unspoken confession lingered in the air, the atmosphere tense and swollen with the lust-stricken adrenaline. The spark of the adoration tinting your eyes surged his confession forward, his words clumsily jumbled over his lips. 

“Mi tesoro, mi amor, mi familia,” he whimpered for you, his voice stuttering and stumbling over his words as he stooped down to you, “Te amo-... I-I love you. I love everything about you, and I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to tell you from the day I first met you. I swooned for you when you danced with me all those years ago. My heart beats for you, and propels me to complete this task all the sooner to start this adventure with you and Law.” 

He pressed his forehead against your own, the feeling of hot tears rolling down his cheeks at the confession had you both sobbing and laughing at yourselves. Sniffling and collecting your own tears on your wrist, and he with his, you both glanced up at each other and allowed your smiles to rise. 

“We will get this done, Donquixote Rosinante,” you hardened your resolve, nodding through every word, “And when it’s all over, we will be una familia- a family, mi corazon. The three of us. Together.” You held each other close on the deck of the small shack: swaying between kisses as the darkness plaguing your journey was eclipsed by the light rising between you. 

Hanging on your every word, a small sob hitched at the crack in the door, Trafalgar Law’s hand clasping over his lips to mask his presence. Law had never witnessed so much love pouring from one person to another. The fact that you both held such love for him too had him openly sobbing at the interaction. 

He wanted this too. 

He wanted to be a family with both of you: two absolute idiots that loved both him and each other unconditionally. Two complete idiots who were hardened fighters, pirates, and war criminals. His idiots.

He wanted this so desperately. 

He wants his imperfect, perfect family. 

But some things were not meant to be. 

Law would call on this memory often. Each time that melody played over his personal radio, his heart would both consequently swell and shatter as tears threatened to pour down his face. He wanted to wake up, for it to all be some horrific nightmare and still be searching with you and Cora-san for a cure for his illness. Your love was real, and he was thankful to play his part in it.

However small a time it was, it was his. His perfect, imperfect family.

[hexhomos]

Can I ask...what actually happens with Viktor in S2?? I keep hearing people being really vague about it being Bad but I haven't seen the leaks and now cannot find out anything that isn't just someone saying they won't say anything;; I just want to temper my expectations bc I was only excited for S2 for his storyline (+ Jayce interactions) and I'm getting the impression they don't do.....much?? with it?

spoiling stuff for real under the cut

As of ep5, Viktor:

-Doesn't have his mask or armor

-Has no outspoken ideological drive

-Has never once expressed interest in the traditional venues of transhumanism ocurring all around him

-Never made blitzcrank, never did shit ONSCREEN

-The only tangible reference we get to the machine herald is this shot of cards back on s1:

I genuinely dont know if he has even 5 full minutes of actual footage across all of these episodes lmfao...

His contributions to the story are, in sequence:

-stuck in stasis. jayce waits by his bedside for over an episode

-emerges from coma, immediately rebuffs all of jayce’s warm affectionate advances to the point its a little comical. looks like a dried grape, barely any bigger. declares that he's mad over not being left to DIE; he has to go away now. he hears... her voice! oh! that girl who spoke one time in s1 and that he ignored in every scene!

-left the lab buttnaked and barefoot with a blanket jayce wrapped around him to explore the streets on zaun. a bunch of sick homeless guys (who are, of course, shimmer addicts, see my note about war on terror) think he must be augmented so they want to kill him for scraps and parts. But they dont know that viktor is jesus now. he turns his stigmata palm to that guy who sold out caitlyn in s1 and proceeds to magically cure the lepers.

-this is his last scene for a little while. we Hear Of Him when one of the disabled councilors is looking for ways to deal with his pain from the accident. arcane loves looking over the shoulder of the rich and powerful like they are the main drivers and movers of the story

-like an hour of footage later, jayce reemerges (from a nexus-type of situation) and he finds one of Viktor’s servants -- its that councilor guy-- doing something unspecified. He's surprised to see jayce and tells him that he may speak to viktor; viktor says he misses him and wants to see him and basically "my bad man i was tripping when i said that shit to you the writers needed some lazy disagreement point," but he sounds really cult-leader sleazy and jayce is really mad over being left behind. Jayce is having some flashbacks to void monsters in the other side and tells servant guy he's not allowed to let him go. Servant councilor guy says well too bad! Im going! So jayce pulverizes him with his hammer. based jayce. he looks like brown bearded dante from devil may cry

That's the ep5 clifhanger. i think you can tell how i feel.

My predictions are as follows: jayce tracks him down to his lair and we get a showdown that is a vague reference to their original character bios battle; the one where viktor sics a bunch of brainwashed people on him and the building falls over everyone from the impact. It's possible that viktor is still not wearing his armor, and in this altercation jayce beats him up so bad or dismembers him enough that in act 3 he will have built one. That feels insulting to me but they legitimately have been very lazy.

oh and jayce also has a magical stigmata now. i hope they get to scissor those things together

[wolf-pearl]

So a while back I learned that the Stanley Parable started out as a mod of half life two.

So uh. yeah. au where The Narrator and the g-man are the same person. The narrator became the gman after Stanley left the game. The way g-man speaks is due to how long he went without anyone to talk to, and after a certain point he just stopped trying to talk. He's really rusty :(

Stanley got out of the parable, but the Narrator remained. Narrator never understood why stanley wanted out. After all,  the Narratorwas created to be here, to tell this story. Why would he want to leave? .... not until Stanley left and the Narrator was stuck there, alone. Permanently, this time. Not even an unreactive stanley model to keep him company.

The narrator didn't originally have a body, he created the form he has now after he was alone in the void for a while. Its up to interpretation as to whether or not the G-man rembers the reasoning behind the apearance he chose. It may or may not be a direct nod to Stanley's hate for authority.

G man was intrigued by Gordon because he's a seemingly normal man at first appearance, working at a morally questionable company, while not necessarily being in the know of how morally questionable his workplace is... kind of like a certain other protagonist the Narrator G-man is familiar with.

So yeah imagining the eldritch business man saying the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never

Bonus:

Gordon: ok I get that you're a cosmic entity with trauma resulting in some severe abandonment and control issues, but im begging you to please just go to eldritch therapy instead of throwing me and my friends into the stasis void- *muffled sounds of being thrown into stasis*

[friendlynaborhooddisapointment]

yk what im thinking? the fentons are 100% crazy enough to be Waynes. so what if they were? Jack could be Thomas Waynes' great-grandfather's brother who lived at Wayne Manor with his wife and kids. and they still open the portal with danny in it, so hes still a halfa. but either Jack and Maddie find out and they stick him in a stasis tube to try and fix him (what if they were also the people who figured out how to make the court of owls dead guys????) or Danny got stuck in the portal when he went inside and it doesnt open until the bats find it.

when the bats find him im thinking either they know (as well as danny) that hes half dead (the stasis tube) or they dont (stuck in the portal) and they find out all the fun stuff together. but, if they know hes dead already and so did danny there could be more creepy ghost shenanigans that could happen before they found the laboratory. which is v important

[bapouro]

working at a badly funded and poorly run homeless hostel for over a year has taught me a lot but reassuringly solified my belief in compassion. we have some real dickheads here who have done terrible things (theyre in the minority) and witnessing that ive still never thought for a second that theyre undeserving of shelter, food, amneties and access to second chances. which is not anything someone should pat themselves on the back for but its really disappointing when some coworkers make comments like they dont.

the real problem seems to be that for our council, and society at large, as long as theyre not on the street and not in sight, thats as far as their issue with it seems to go. they want you off the street, but thats it. theres this insane cognitive dissonance where youre either a 'good' homeless person just in need of a leg up or a 'bad' homeless person who gets cycled around the system with little hope, as long as youre not in public view, as long as youre more or less kept alive. staffing is so important. ive worked two quite different places now but here the morale is so low. the turnaround is so high. support workers here are assigned about 20 clients per person when really you can only support around up to 5 responsibly. the building is full but we perpetually need staff in a place where nobody who genuinely wants to help without burning themselves out to do so will stay (not to mention they make £1 above minumum wage). you cant support people like that, and whats the point when these people feel set up to be put in stasis in this bad system. if you cant/dont work, you get housing benefits to pay the rent. if you do find work, your benefits are gone and all your money will go on the rent. the only ones who can seemingly successfully 'bootstrap' themselves out are the ones finding work in secret so nobody else can manipulate them and their new money, which has to be cash in hand to keep their benefits. youre going to feel stuck, if you feel stuck, you feel hopeless or lash out. lashing out at other people losing hope and staff losing the morale to properly help. we can tick off the boxes of basic rights and say theyve got what they need but beyond that, the support to a real quality of life does not feel like an objective in that system. some people will always be in this system, for whatever reason, they will have to have this proper support. they get treated as helpless and totally in a situation of their own making at the same time. its complex. its sad and infuriating. i wanted to write some of the thoughts ive experienced on it for a while. ive met all kinds of people. i wish there was more i could do but really its on structures a lot more powerful than me that are on the whole indifferent. but i guess thats the thing. i want to stay angry but im afforded that indifference. im lucky i dont have to be too anxious about falling into that system. it can be out of my sight, i dont want to let it out of mind. but for them, they cant have either.

[melissa-titanium]

what are ur guys md age headcanons . i see them a bit younger now but my initial ones before i really. knew wtf was happening in the show were like;

uzi ; 21. she's 21. okay? okay. glad we're on the same page. n ; 23 is my favorite number so he's 23. (maybe 16 at the mansion?) v ; 22 v gives me middle child energy. (maybe 17 at the mansion?) j ; 20 j is the youngest. (maybe 15 at the mansion?) cyn ; ??? (10-13 at the mansion) tessa ; well. tessa's fucking dead but. okay. let me explain why the alphabet gang's ages are fucked up. v was the oldest at the mansion. i think a year or two passed during v's error 606 state, which kind of. put her in a stasis and she didn't age mentally or physically, allowing n and j to "catch up" to her in a sense, physically and mentally. for my own sanity; v went down first. j went down second. n went down last, but i think he was the first to be revived back into an actual disassembly drone body rather than staying as a solver drone, making him the first of the alphabet trio to be "reborn," leaving him to be older than both the other two. v and j during the destruction of earth just fight as solver drones while n backs them up as a fully fledged dd. v is recreated like a year later, and j is refurbished 2 years after v, right before they head out to copper-9. this makes it so when they arrive at copper nine (i think the trip took about a year) uzi was 2, j was 1, n was 4 and v was 3. okay. im done khan ; mid 40s (44?) nori ; mid 40s (46?) but older than khan, i think she & khan had uzi relatively young because of the short span of time between her surfacing after the core collapse & the dispatching of the dds. also there's no way she was the same age as uzi when we see her alive. yeva ; two or three years older than nori (48?) yeva's husband (alexei) ; year younger than yeva (47?) doll ; 26 ( okay i genuinely cant explain this one. i know realistically doll would be the same age or hell even YOUNGER than uzi & it doesnt match up with the timelines that i made up in my head but. bbut she's the older cousin. okay? okay. this is the first and only age that i can't explain don't worry i've just had the age 26 so fucking solid in my head i literally can't think of any other age.) doll was held back in school after her parents died, so essentially she's stuck at uzi & lizzy & thad's . "grade" level despite being much older. lizzy ; 23 thad ; 23 (they're twins but maybe thad's younger?)

[ganondoodle]

need help for rewrite

so ... im still stuck trying to decide who fits what sage role best, mainly its a tie between purah and monk miz kyoshia for the role of spirit sage, current plan is that the spirit temple is located beneath the forgotten plateau and is accessed via shrine of life/the DLC dungeon from kyoshia but its broken and leads into the temple

purah pro

female character in a mostly male cast in the sages roles

tech enthusiast = tie in with mineru

kinda hinted at in the game to be a sage but then isnt (imo)

possible tie in with josha so she actually gets something to do

possibly fun companion for a dungeon

con

already gives link his shiekah prosthetic arm and its abilities + upgrades

doesnt seem that spiritual all things considered

what would her ability be?/would a guardian laser fit her??

doesnt seem to have any magical capability without her tech (then again does mineru?)

monk kyoshia pro

hes cool :)

very spiritual

would be a very unexpected choice

located right where the temple starts

can do a guardian laser just like that

having a floaty mummy monk in the sage meeting would be kinda funny

possibly having funny interactions with koga as he/the yiga seem to take after the original shiekah alot before they were split (plus my HC of koga having been a monk from the same time as well ... should they know each other ..??)

con

he was a DLC character

another male character, making zelda and riju be the only sages

duplicated moveset with koga, what would be the most logical ability to gain from him and in turn whats more iconic for koga? (as in AoC tho non canon koga does a laser thingy too, would be neat to pick that up here, then again kyoshia and koga both teleport like nobodies business)

lore clash bc he should know too much, he could tell everyone whats going on robbing away alot of the mystery (and if not mentioned, is there a good excuse?) plus would render alot of the research into new tech useless bc he might know all of that .. unless being monk doesnt mean also knowing the tech ..

possibly less fun companion for a dungeon

additionally, zelda mainly being the sage of light (perhaps the time thing being just an inate thing the shiekah arm can do bc its a more developed version of the stasis rune) could also mean she could do a laser attack as we see rauru do, then again the moldora attack is not part of the rewrite so if ever used by rauru its when he and ganondorf fight one on one in one of the new memories which brings up the problem of what would be the most logical ability to gain from either, is the teleport the yiga do not a little .. to little impactful for someone like koga? also kyoshia can do the same, again a moveset overlap and .. if it was purah instead, what is her ability (same problem with paya, she doesnt have any ability either .. tho i could imagine giving you a shield like sidon does in canon and change sidon ability to be something healing related bc of mipha?)

if i took kyoshias ability to make clones of himself as an ability (since you dont have the sages running around you in the rewrite) as a distraction tech and battle support, would it fit koga more to have a laser attack or the teleport? i kinda like the idea of giving zelda the laser attack bc she rarely gets an overly offensive role

more thoughts, if it was kyoshia, couldnt he just waltz around with you all the time bc he doesnt have any leadership roles he needs to furfill? or perhaps he cant leave the area of the shrine of life, hes a mummy after all, would that be a good excuse? (thought about impa too bc it would be cool to have an old character kicking ass in the main team, but after giving her role to paya she doesnt have any reason why she wouldnt be able to tag along everywhere too)