#like it actually is insane that you could focus your entire being on someone and reach them across all of time and space out of sheer want?

[dolliestfairy]

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝅄ֹ ׅ♡ ೀ ʚĭɞ ‌ིᨴּ ˒˒۪

(Crazy) Yandere [Nerd] Boy x Soft!Chubby!Fem!Reader ༢𓏲๋ ⊹ ֢

𔓘 Tw : Kidnapping, Extreme Noncon (y'all are strangers bro), Rushed Fanfic, Mentions Of Blood, Virginity-Take, Extreme Somnophilia, Stalking, Extreme Obsession, Impregnate, A little of Bondage, Seriously dude you're fucking with a crazy nerd boy who is a freaking stranger to you like y'all didnt know each other but this madman is really know you to the soul from all his stalking and stuff. this fanfic is quite the Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

𔓘 A/N : y'all.. this are f***king insane bro.. like this is kinda disturbing imo as a writer of this and also a lot of suffocating. Read at your own risk. me myself actually like the extreme yandere fics but this is still the prefix of it. stay safe while reading this because again; y'all are a stranger!! if a dark content yandere isnt your cup of tea then i highly recommend you to spend your shit at other blogs!! ty.

W/C : 6,4K for Stranger Fucking 💀

Currently thinking abt nerdy men who looks like they would shit in their pants when someone raised their voice at them, but the truth is; he's really really quite the strong. he's a nerdy man who arent shy at all (or maybe just a little) and he's simply just dont like to be bothered by anyone else. he's also a nerdy man who told himself countless time to just focus on studying and studying, and at the first moment; he actually manage to do it within his daily life, well until he met you.

You; plump, soft looking girl with chubby cheeks and doe eyes. you dont even know how much you affect him didnt you? arent you just dumb? walking there and then with such a tiny skirt that almost showed up your plump ass cheeks. walking down in the hallway with such dress that hugged all of your curves together perfectly. oh if only you find out how every night he would spend his time in his bedroom alone while his hand thrust his own cock up and down, thinking about you. he would be drown in his thoughts about how you would find out all his dark fantasy about you. but.. he do realize he shouldnt be doing this actually, no really, he should just be studying, but the soft laugh and those.. those whimpers terror you gave him just drove him to his edge.

And the fact that he masturbate about you when you both are clearly still stranger - is fucking crazy. he mostly had heard of how'd you talk, whimper and moan (wait.. how did.. he know?) and stuff like that while your own self being completely un guard around him. he swear to his thumbs he hated you for making him felt like this, i mean how could you?? a plump girl just trying to get into her daily life as normal as usual can make some nerd dude mad in love with her without her being aware at all?! he cant do this.. he cant do this anymore..!

And he really cant do it anymore. as he go to your apartement at midnight after finding out where you live. peeking through the window to what you were doing only to find you dressing in a short pastel rainbow dress lingerie with big bows placed in the back of your hair, dancing to some songs.. and oh my god he cant even explain how much he want to ripped those colorful dress lingerie off your body. he has no doubt at all that you have the most beautiful body he would ever sees in his entire life.

As he drown himself in his own thoughts until he heard a telephone ring -- it was your friend! your male friend! as you picked the phone up, talking with your friends, while he sees with his own eyes about the way you laugh softly at what-god-knows your friend was muttering to you. he doesnt and he would rather bury himself alive than admitting about the fact that he was really, really, envy and jealous. as he harshly breath at you, while all his body is literally focus with you. his eyes seeing you from head-to-toe, his ears listening carefully about the conversation you're having as his mouth try to resist to open it again because well um -- he is quite the drooling over there. that was it until you start to walk towards the front door where he was outside!!

As he sees you carefully, while hiding himself in the corner, and focused on the door handle you're about to open. until........

Until he quickly enough to put his arms and placed it onto your mouth, shuting you up until you passed out and bring you to your new home his home. as he open the bondage he placed at your mouth, and pinch your chubby cheeks until he sees your whimpering again. thats it! thats the thing that always drove him mad everydsy everynight. thinking about you whimper at whatever he was doing was like a holy candle for him. he then stood himself up, looking at your half unconscious body, and then start to strip you... to naked.

As he softly ripped all the dress lingerie you weared, and after he got the look at your boobs, he slowly put his hands up at where your nipples on, and start playing with it. while his eyes focused on your face, waiting the reaction he have been wait. and until then... you are moaning. honestly he have been thinking that he was in a dream that time. i mean -- he do have seen you moan by the way he always check on you secretly.. but he never except his own self to be the only one who could capable enough to hear your soft moan. as he sped up the phase of his hands playing your nipple, while his own other hand strat to undress himself.

And until he and your own finally completely naked. and... oh god to be damned. he swear he always sees you at some kind of whore while your other friend sees you just as an innocent normal girl, and he always have no doubt about his feelings That you have such an erotic body and at the end.. he was actually right. you do have a very very.. pleaseable body. as he placed his hands into your half unconscious body, lowering it until his hands touch your private part -- your pussy. he slowly but surely put his 3 long fingers in to play with you, and to be surprised or.. shocked even, that you are so so fucking damn tight! he even sure that your pussy is one of the most tightest thing he'd ever placed his hands on, as he quickly sped-ing up his pace at playing your pussy, watching you moan and whimper become one, he cant believe what he saw. you're literally still half unconscious! but yet you somehow still manage to bring out the sound he would die for with! at this rate he doesnt know if he wants to wake you up or just let you still be half unconscious so when you wake up, you're gonna have a some extra surprised with your naked body that has been covered with his cums. as he thinking about it while he placed his (quite big) cock at your pussy. trying to rip those tight wall of your pussy off. thats what he was trying to do until your pussy start showing a little drop of blood out of it.

Oh.. he get it.. yeah he actually get it. You're a Virgin arent you? oh.. such sweet cheeks.. well too bad yoi're going to give all of your innocents left as his own hands and dicks. the body of someone you dont even know at all. he actually felt (just a little) bit of guilt. but who cares anyway? you're literally still half unconscious! as he said it to himself while he tried his possible to pound your ass up at your fat pussy. going in and up in every corner. at first it was slowly, but then he start to change the position into a mating press just so the cums and the blood are still there. as he quickly but surely speeding his pace up like a mad man. at this rate he was at the edge of doesnt gave a fuck about the fact that you're still half unconscious but then he's also at the edge of shock and unbelief because of how you are still not waking up at his pounding.

And all of those pounding ends when his cock start to dried out with how your fat pussy suck all his cums and sperma in. pulling his cock out of your pussy only to see the view of the inside of your pussy, being drown with his cums. as his hands hold your body up just so all the cums he had restored isnt goung to spill. and until then he slowly put his hands down, letting your body down into the mating press position, watching your pussy spilling all of his cums like a fucking waterfall. (his cum waterfall) and then he placed his palm hands at your cheeks softly, while quietly muttering about how he would take care of you, and keeping you safe and that you wouldnt need to be scared of him (even after all his done to you) as he placed his other hand at your undressed belly, and then stroke it with such gentleness because he knew that right now, right at the almost-morning time, that you're going to be swellen with thousands - thousands of his sperm, and at the end of the month, he would see you placed your own hands at your bellies who at that time was full with his kid. oh how he cant wait... he just hope that you wouldnt be freaked out about the fact that you just found yourself in a unrecognizeable place with a literal fucking stranger who is now has placed a baby inside of you. yes, a baby -- his baby.

TSUKISHIMA KEI, ITOSHI RIN, MEGUMI, Itachi, Shikamaru, Nanami, Neji, Tobirama, Deku, KUNIMI, Muichiro, SEMI EITA, Konoha Akinori, Venti, XIAO, AL-HAITAM, Akaashi, KOZUME KENMA, & hatake kakashi.

did i forgeting anyone? insert ur fav!

Dolliestfairy's © Works. Do Not Repost My Creation at Any Platfroms Without My Permission.

[sunandflame]

Analysis: Rob Lucci as a Lover

Warnings: none

Word Count: 782

Pairing: Rob Lucci x GN!Reader

crossposted on AO3

On the surface:

Lucci is cold, composed, ruthless. A man who talks through a pigeon. Not exactly boyfriend material, right? But dig deeper—and One Piece does give us small, telling moments—and you find a character who’s far more layered than “cold-blooded killer.”

What the Canon Tells Us:

He nurtures and protects his pigeon Hattori, who’s been with him since childhood.

He’s shown subtle loyalty and protectiveness toward comrades like Kaku—even daring to ask a Gorosei member not to harm him.

After his defeat, his CP9 friends cared for him, and he accepted that help—which speaks volumes for a character like him.

So, he’s not incapable of bonds. He’s just extremely selective.

In a Relationship?

The Pros:

Loyal to the core – If he chooses you (and that’s rare), you're part of his tight, unshakable inner circle. He’d never betray you.

Protective AF – Lucci would kill or die to keep you safe. No hesitation.

Discipline & focus – He would take the relationship seriously. No games, no flings. He doesn’t waste time on what he doesn't value.

Acts > Words – He won't write poetry or bring you flowers, but he will make sure you’re warm, safe, and untouchable.

The Cons:

Emotionally distant – He won’t express affection easily. You’ll rarely get “I love you.” But he’ll show it in subtle ways—like remembering your habits, fixing something before you even ask.

Dominant energy – Not in a toxic way, but he does like control. You’d need to be either very easygoing or someone who knows how to stand their ground.

Work > everything – His loyalty to the World Government could override personal feelings. In a worst-case scenario, duty might come before love.

Not affectionate in public – You’re not getting hand-holding on a stroll through Water 7. Maybe a very subtle nod. Maybe.

And in bed?

Let’s be real: intense, dominant, extremely controlled.

He wouldn’t be reckless—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The hybrid Zoan form? If you're into primal, physical energy, chef’s kiss.

Not romantic, but deeply physical. Expect power, focus, and endurance.

But also a surprising gentleness if he senses that’s what you need. Not because he’s sweet—but because he’s observant.

Final Verdict?

Lucci isn't the kind of man who's ever going to sit you down and spill his heart with trembling hands and glassy eyes—that’s just not in his DNA. But he would show up in all the quiet, powerful ways that actually mean more than words ever could.

Like:

Fixing something broken before you even notice it.

Standing silently at your side when you're stressed—offering no comfort, just presence.

Keeping your favorite tea stocked in some hidden CP0 drawer, even if he never acknowledges it.

Brutally murdering someone who insulted you and then acting like "it was irrelevant"

Not saying "I love you," but adjusting your coat collar because it's cold out.

It’s acts of service disguised as cold professionalism—but when you really look at it, it’s him being vulnerable in the only way he knows how.

It’s not flowers and poems—it’s “I will annihilate entire islands to make sure you’re safe and warm.” Romantic in a war-criminal kind of way. 🔥

And deep down? He knows he’s not emotionally open—and maybe, just maybe, he hates that a little. But he also knows you see through the silence. And that makes him stay.

So nah, he’ll never cry into your lap and whisper his fears. But one day, he might let you rest your head on his chest… and Hattori won’t peck you away.

And that’s Lucci’s version of “forever.” 💀🖤

My very personal take on this: I am not sure if I am insane enough to really date him, because I know the combination between us would be toxic as hell, but …

It’s that dangerously cold on the outside but quietly tender to one little bird energy that just does something to the brain chemistry, right? Like—he could snap someone’s neck without blinking... but he’d gently feed Hattori a seed and tuck him into his little pigeon suit like it’s the most important thing in the world 😭💔

It’s pure toxic hotness. Like, he’s a walking red flag—but it’s matte black, tailored, and smells like danger and expensive cologne. You know it’s a bad idea, and yet... you keep staring. You know if you dated him, there’d be a week of absolute silence followed by one intense night where he shows up at 3 a.m. just to say, “Get in.” No explanation. Just vibes and vengeance.

And the worst part? You’d get in. 😭

So yeah, maybe it’d be mutually destructive, but at least you’d go down in flames looking fine and petting Hattori.

If that’s not peak ✨romantic delusion✨, I don’t know what is.

So this was round two! This was rather shorter than the first one, but I am still happy with it. I am definitely turning this into a series, so if you have suggestions or any requests, just let me know!

[crazylittlejester]

i don’t know if this is something Jojo is doing on purpose, or if it was an intentional detail but i grabbed and ran away with it, or if I’ve just completely read far to into things and entered the realm of just making shit up, but Warriors and his little crooked smile are so GODDAMN important to me and I am shaking him like a squeak toy (gently)

(big yap/analysis under the cut)

disclaimer, i just have a lot of thoughts, probably way too many thoughts, and 97% of them are about Wars so I might be insane, and what you’re about to read provided you’ve stuck around so far might be the equivalent of your high school english teacher yelling with tears in their eyes about how the curtains were blue to “symbolize her sadness”. also my apologies for weird spelling mistakes or oddly misspelled words, i am dyslexic 💔 but with that being said:

Warriors to me comes off as someone who’s constantly acting larger than life. He masks a LOT in front of the chain, he acts overdramatic and a bit ridiculous on purpose, and to an extent he just is a bit ridiculous, but his reactions to things are sometimes blow way out of proportion or are just larger than life in a comedic way where it just seems like he’s doing it intentionally. He comes across as a very extroverted, talkative person, and he seems like he’d honestly be a bit loud too (whether that’s who is REALLY is or what he’s REALLY like is a yap for another post). His (physical) image and the way his character/personality is perceived by others both seem like things that are not his CORE values or the things that mean the most to him, but they do seem to be at least a LITTLE bit important to him just based on how he presents himself and the way he acts. And to an extent, the whole thing with him caring so much about his looks is canon in LU, with that one sketch of him and Legend where he’s looking at his eye in a reflection of a shield and Legend says “alright break it up you two” being the first thing that comes to mind (which is in the post “Mirror Shield”, click the name for the link)

To me, from what I’ve seen and from my perspective, there are very few times we see an actual genuine smile from Warriors, and when we do it tends to be in moments where he’s not in the spotlight, he’s not trying to command the center of attention, and/or the focus is NOT on him. It tends to be moments where he just seems genuinely happy or at peace, and those seem pretty rare. He smiles a LOT, but the majority of his smiles seem big and flashy and performative, and not that that means he’s not happy AT ALL in any of those moments, but those smiles seem a lot more controlled and closely managed because he’s aware of the attention on him and therefore thinking about how he’s perceived. (I’ve made some posts in the past and I’ll probably make others in the future about how I think Warriors puts on this “Captain” or “Hero of Hyrule” persona because of how an entire war was started because a sorceress found him beautiful, and how he feels like him being just him isn’t really good enough for that and how he feels like he needs to fit in and look/act/seem like the legendary heroes he’s being compared to. He’s created this idea of what he COULD be and that’s what he presents to others, fake it till you make it and all that, but thats another yap for another day)

However there are these little moments where we see him smile, and the same one side of his mouth is pretty consistently always just a little bit higher no matter which way his head is facing (here’s a few examples):

@/linkeduniverse, from the 2023 monthly art, “January- Cold Sunrise”

@/linkeduniverse, both from “Dawn pt. 2”

And the thing that really started this whole headcanon of mine that his REAL smile is crooked was this specific part of Dawn pt. 2 where Warriors sees that Twilight is gonna be find for the first time after most likely worrying about him and being up all night:

That middle panel, to me at least, is probably the most genuine expression of a positive emotion we’ve seen from him this entire time. No one’s focus is on him, no one’s really looking at him, he doesn’t have the pressure of being the center of attention on him, and honestly even if that WERE the case, the genuine relief that hit him once he was Twilight was gonna be okay probably would’ve been enough to get a genuine smile out of him anyways. But the second he walks into the room officially, he kinda, for lack of a better way to put it, announces his presence and starts “acting” again (also from Dawn pt 2):

And while that same one side of his mouth does seem a bit higher and not very straight, it’s definitely more even than it was just five seconds previously

Now, acknowledging there is an art style, and that I also just might be insane, but Warriors’s smiles for the most part (when they seem controlled) appear to be a Lot straighter and more even to me than when it’s a more genuine moment and he doesn’t seem like he’s “acting” so much (and just a note: it certainly isn’t EVERY time, but in general, in moments like these his smile seems consistently straighter unless he’s just flat out smirking. and im not saying it’s PERFECTLY straight either, just noticeably more even). When he’s being more dramatic or intentionally obnoxious or the attention is on him, it really does feel like his smile is more controlled: here are just a few examples, obviously this isn’t every single time he’s smiled in all of LU

@/linkeduniverse, from “Swords”

@/linkeduniverse, from “Shady Escape pt 2”

@/linkeduniverse, from “Divine Dark Reflections pt. 8”

@/linkeduniverse, both from “Magic Sword”

am i looking too far into a little thing? probably. am i insane? yeah. but i just really love the idea that when Warriors is truly, genuinely happy, the part of himself that he tries to hide, the sweet and caring person he hides underneath all the dramatics, that true self he’s probably kept hidden away since the start of the war who’s been buried under insecurity and hidden because of the fear that who he is just isnt ENOUGH peaks through, and that person comes out through his happiness in the form of his smile. and yeah it does probably mean nothing and Jojo might not have done any of this on purpose, but i’m crazy, and Warriors’s crooked little smile is so so important to me *insert image of a guy crying face down on the floor because unfortunately i’ve hit the image limit*

[little-miss-fandom-freak]

Honestly, could i have the reader talking with Eric (Creature Commandos) and like, basically telling him that maybe the reason why he's been chasing after bride for 200 years is because she was 'made' for him and he's too scared that if he let's her go he won't find love anywhere else and that he needs to apply himself elsewhere?

sorry if it would be OOC, but I have had this thought in my head for days now and I need to do something about it

also, thank you for all your content, I really appreciate it

I actually LOVE this idea. Look I am a certified Eric hater but I'm a suckered for a good redemption arc. Little note; for the sake of the plot, the reader has the ability to teleport themself and others.

Also that last little bit really tugged at my heart strings a little bit, I'm so glad you like them 🥹

It happened again.

Eric found Bride and is trying to "rekindle their love"; which for some reason, meant extreme violence and brute force. Luckily, you were there to help Bride in her battle against him.

"Why must you fight this, my bride?!" He yelled with anguish as the two if you tried to make a quick escape. Eric had launched himself twords Bride, and he would've gotten a hold of her if it weren't for you quick movements. Eric had grabbed you instead, and in a split second the two of you were gone.

When the two of you arrived at wherever ir was you sent yourself to, Eric threw you off of him.

"What? Where am I? Where is my-"

"ERIC!" You yelled. The silence afterward was deafening. You sighed as you back hit the wall. Sliding down and holding your head in your hands, you looked up at the man. "Do you ever get tired of all this?"

"Tried of what?!" He stopped his foot. 'He's no better than a toddler.' You thought.

"Of chasing after a woman who clearly has no intrest in you!" You snapped.

He scoffed and crossed his arms. "She is very much interested in me! This little game of cat and mouse is all just foreplay for her."

You cringed at his words. "I feel like if she's done nothing but run from you since the day she was created, maybe its a sign thar she doesn't like you."

"But-but she was made for me!" He groaned. "She made to be my bride!"

"Do you not see how terrible that sounds?!" You asked, raising your voice. "Her entire identity is tied to you. She hasn't had a moment of peace, because of you! You have to see how insane you look; chasing after a woman who - despite being made to be with you - DOESNT WANT TO BE WITH YOU!" You sighed. "Why do you keep chasing her?"

Eric just stared at you in disbelief. "Be-Because.... I...." He didn't really know. He slowly made his way twords you, sliding down to the spot next to you. "If the woman who was made to love me, doesn't even love me... then... then will anyone ever will? Am I that unloveable?"

You felt bad now. You couldn't image how he felt; chasing after the same woman for 200 years, one that he was promised would love him, just for her to hate his guts and fight him on sight. What he's been doing still isn't right, but he wasn't given a chance to grow.

Sighing, you placed your hand on his knee. "There's a common phrase for times like this. 'How can you learn to love another, if you can't love yourself'. Maybe that's what you need, a chance to focus on yourself before you find a partner."

"But I've dedicated my entire life to being with her... how am I supposed to just forget about her?"

"You don't have to forget about her, maybe just try redirecting your attention." You thought for a moment. "First, I think you need a friend."

"Ah yes, like Richard Flag!" He said cheerfully.

"Um, maybe not him." You said carefully.

Eric frowned, looking back at his boots in thought. "What about you?"

"Me?" You were taken back by his statement. "Why me?"

"Well, based on the movies and television shows I have seen over the years; a friend is someone who helps you with your woman troubles, and makes you feel better about yourself after a breakup. I have technically broken up with my Bride, and you were here helping me. Is that not what a friends is?"

You weren't quiet sure, in all honesty you only broight him here to give Brude a chancr to get away. But the more you thought about it, the less it seemed like a bad idea. "Okay, sure. I'll be your friend."

A wide smile grew on his face. "Oh how wonderful! We will be like Joey and Pheobe from the television show Friends! Have you see it?"

"I have." You said with a little chuckle. You watched as Eric began to describe his favorite moment between the two characters, but you couldn't help but internally hope that your words actually stuck with him. To you, Eric wasn't a horrible man. He was simply a child trapped in a man's body, a child who wasn't given a chance to learn or grow.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I hope you enjoyed this and if you have anything you would like me to personally respond to, message me or put it in my ask box because as of right now, Tumblr won't let me respond to comments :)

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Weird (M, cold)

Do you ever get such an insane urge to write something that you literally can't focus on anything else until it's done? Well, that was me with this fic lmao. HI here I am again, back with another Greyson cold fic bc I live to write the same thing one million times over. It's a big cold-denial drama-fest, my personal favorite lol. In it, Greyson gets sick on an important day and tries like hell to deny it. That's basically it! If ya read it, I hope you like it. It was a fun write.

CW: Male cold/snz, contagion, light mess, cold denial. I think that's it, it's pretty light for me lmao.

5K words under the cut. As always, I'd love to hear what you think! <3

Weird

Every year, Greyson looked forward to one event and one event only: Five Boroughs F&B Weekend.

Elliot’s, for being a small stand-alone, did a good number of events every year – from charity galas to full festivals, Elijah was near-obsessed with getting the restaurant in front of as many people as possible. Most of the events were, to put it lightly, complete and total nightmares; they didn’t provide you with food, or they gave you students to ‘help out’ which just slowed the entire process down. Once, at a huge New Orleans festival, Greyson had to cook 1,000 mini sliders on someone’s literal backyard grill. After that one, Elijah promised Greyson they wouldn’t do any more out-of-state events.

But the Five Boroughs weekend was always a fucking blast. Chefs all throughout the city got together to come up with their weirdest, chefiest dishes and the guests who bought tickets were the type of people who actually appreciated food. Not to mention the fact that there were three after parties – one for each night of the festival – with open bars that only closed when all the booze was completely gone. This would be Greyson’s fifth year at Five Boroughs and absolutely nothing could ruin it for him.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Reed said, backing away from his boyfriend. Greyson didn’t lower the can of Lysol he was pointing at Reed until the other man was clear across the living room. “Far endough?” Reed near-shouted from the Greyson-mandated fifty-foot berth.

“Honestly, I don’t think it is far enough,” Greyson said, spraying the can into the surely-already-infected air. “Maybe you should sequester yourself in your office.”

From the far side of the room, Reed deadpanned his boyfriend. “Are you fuckigg serious?” he asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “I don’t even have a couch in mby office. Also, you already slept with me last ndight so…”

“I didn’t know you were sick last night.” Sprrtz, a spray of Lysol as Reed took a step forward. “You didn’t tell me you were sick last night.” Sprrtz.

“Could you stop with the fuckigg Lysol?” Reed asked, annoyed. “I’mb like half a mbile away from you.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Greyson shrugged. Before setting the can down, he gave one final spray in front of himself, a curtain of disinfectant mist that settled on the tile in a sticky puddle. Reed pulled his hand down his face, leaned into the wall, and sighed.

“This isn’t very ndice, you kndow,” he said. “I’mb always ndice to you when you’re si­ihh – hhITSZCHH-ue!” Reed snapped forward into his palm, then grimaced at the mess he’d apparently made. Giving his boyfriend a watery glare, he sulked to the bathroom in search of tissues. Begrudgingly, Greyson followed behind, grabbing the Lysol bottle on the way.

“I never claimed to be nice,” Greyson said, making eye contact in the bathroom mirror with Reed. From behind the tissue, Reed rolled his eyes.

“You are ndice,” he said, throwing the tissue into the tiny garbage can. “I mbean, ndot today. But usually.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh, let his boyfriend out of the bathroom. “Babe, I’m sorry,” he said, following Reed to their bedroom. “I’ll make you tea, I’ll bring you meds, whatever you need just… I cannot get sick for this event.” Reed, who Greyson knew understood where he was coming from, despite the pouting, gave a curt nod. He shivered then, an involuntary shake that gave him the appearance of a child left out in the cold. Poor Reed, Greyson found himself thinking; very little was more miserable than a cold at the height of summer, a time when his boyfriend should’ve been drinking spritzes on a patio while writing his latest review. He’d been running himself ragged at a new job with the New Yorker as their resident food writer, and it was a great gig but the man definitely wasn’t getting enough sleep, or enough sun, or – ironically – enough food lately, so of course he’d picked up some nasty bug. The timing certainly couldn’t be worse; with three days until Five Boroughs, Greyson was not only obsessed with not getting sick, he was also wildly busy prepping for the event. Reed had probably been coming down with something for days, and only now had Greyson noticed. Fuck.

Greyson set his teeth, lips pressed together, caught between the worst rock and the shittiest hard place he could imagine. Sighing, he set down the Lysol bottle and turned towards the closet that held the winter blankets they’d put away months ago.

“What are you doigg?” Reed asked. Greyson gestured to the bed that Reed was perched on the side of with one hand, the other cradling a fleece down comforter.

“Get in bed,” he said. “I’m only exposing myself to you for the next two minutes, so you’d better make it count.” Reed smiled a little; coughing into his shoulder, he burrowed beneath their thin summer quilt. Greyson unfolded the comforter and spread it across the bed. Against all his instincts, the chef cupped Reed’s face in one hand and kissed his forehead. “Tea?” he asked. “Your majesty?”

***

Something was off about Greyson.

It was day one of the Five Boroughs event – what was essentially his Superbowl – and he just seemed… weird. Quiet. Un-Greyson-like. Elijah had been with the chef for this event every year, and every year he was bouncing off the walls, unable to stop talking, and packed into the van two hours before they even had to leave. This year? Not so much.

“Chef, are you almost ready?” Elijah called from the front office. Greyson was in back with Matt, still, at twelve-oh-five, prepping the scallop sashimi they were presenting at that evening’s walk around event despite the fact that Elijah told him multiple times they had to leave right at noon. When no answer came from the back, Elijah groaned and stood. He’d throw on an apron if he had to, get everything sorted and packed for Greyson, whatever it took to get them out the door. C’mon, Grey, how long does it take to put some fish in a 100 pan?

“Grey, are you ready? We have to go,” Elijah called as he walked towards the back kitchen. Again – no answer. “Are you even back here, where the fuck-”

“I’m here, I’m ready,” Greyson called as Elijah rounded the corner. The chef put a lid on a final pan and pulled his hair to the top of his head, securing it with a Sharpie as he regarded his boss. “Sorry, just… running behind today,” he said, stacking the pans. “Matt, help me get these into the van. Please.”

The sous chef nodded and grabbed a stack of pans, while Elijah gave Greyson a confused look. “What?” Greyson asked as he moved past Elijah to get to the back dock.

“Nothing,” Elijah said, following behind them. “I just – are you okay?” he asked, prompting Greyson to glance backwards before placing the pans into the van’s trunk.

“Yes?” Greyson said, raising a confused eyebrow. “Why?”

“You’re acting weird,” Elijah said, crossing his arms. “And not like… normal you weird. Are you not excited for the event? This is usually like Christmas morning to you.”

Greyson pressed a hand into one of his eyes and rubbed for a moment before deciding how to answer Elijah. “I’m good,” he said, finally. “Just a little tired, I guess. I’m excited, I just need an energy drink or something.”

Elijah nodded. Let it go, he said to himself, though he was having the hardest time doing it. Something was weird, he could feel it, and Elijah knew to trust his feelings. “We can stop at a gas station or something on the way there,” he said, prompting a nod from Greyson. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Let me just grab a fresh coat, give me five,” Greyson said, pushing through the back door of the restaurant before Elijah could protest.

“...okay,” Elijah said as the door closed in his face. He turned to Matt, who was also strangely quiet today. “Did something, like, happen with you guys?” he asked. Matt looked up at Elijah and shook his head.

“No, boss,” Matt said. “All good.”

Elijah nodded, unconvinced. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks, Matt. Will we see you at the after party tonight?”

Matt smiled a little. “Maybe,” he said. “Depends what time I get out of here.”

Just as Elijah was about to answer, Greyson burst back through the door, buttoning up a new chef’s coat. “Okay, let’s roll. Fuck, it’s hot out here, why the fuck do they have this thing on the hottest day of the fuckin’ year?” He grumbled, slamming himself into the front seat next to Elijah. The GM said nothing, just nodded to Matt and closed his door. Turning the engine over and glancing briefly over at a sweating Greyson, he backed out of the alleyway. Something is off, he thought again as they drove away. What the fuck is his problem?

***

From the moment his feet touched the ground that morning, Greyson knew he’d caught Reed’s stupid fucking cold.

His head ached, his throat burned, and the buzzing deep in his sinuses, he already knew, was going to be an issue. Before Greyson could sneak out of their bedroom, he snapped in half with a volley of forceful, painfully-stifled sneezes. “NGTZCH! Hh-ITZCH! NTSH!”

Behind him, Reed tutted his sympathy. When Greyson opened his eyes, the tissue box that had adorned Reed’s side of the bed the last three days was at his side. Just shoot me, he thought, sniffling.

“Bless, babe,” Reed said, placing a hand on Greyson’s shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

At the care, the concern, the immediate knowledge his boyfriend had of his illness, Greyson felt himself bristle. Pulling away from Reed’s touch, Greyson pushed himself to his feet. He turned to regard the other man, hoping he didn’t look as miserable as he felt.

“I’m fine,” Greyson said, tossing the tissue box back to Reed’s side of the bed. “Keep them. I’m not sick.”

Reed cocked his head a little to the left, confused. “Okay,” he said, coughing into his hand and pressing himself to a seat. “Sorry? I mean, good that you’re not sick, obviously. Sorry for assuming.”

Greyson grunted, annoyed, and headed for the bathroom without another word. Immediately, he turned on the shower to the hottest setting he could handle and submerged himself. Fuck you, body, he thought, scrubbing his hair. We are not getting fucking sick today. He leaned into the water as it hit his back, then turned to press his face into it, hoping it might loosen the congestion he could feel building behind his eyes.

Tonight was night one of the Five Boroughs festival, and of course it was the night that Greyson had signed up to cook, to make a thousand portions of a dish and smile at guests all evening. To work all day and then drink all night, as was tradition – the first night was always the best one, the one that the celebrities and Michelin-starred chefs from around the country showed up to, and only the chefs who’d done the festival multiple times before were asked to cook for it. It was the first year Greyson had been asked to cook for night one of the festival; it wasn’t going to be the last.

When the hot water finally ran out, Greyson begrudgingly turned off the shower and stepped onto the cold bathroom tile. He regarded himself in the mirror; at the moment, he looked fine. The worst part about the start of a cold was how shitty, how run-down and exhausted he felt – the best part was that unless he said something, he was fairly sure no one could tell he was sick. The chef combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and patted cologne on. If he wasn’t going to feel well, he was at least going to look good. He scoured the medicine cabinet as well, swallowing as much Dayquil as his body could handle without gagging. That’ll have to do, he thought, quietly replacing the medicine.

Dressed and secretly medicated, Greyson left the bathroom in search of coffee and a clean chef coat, ready to get out the door before Reed could fully assess him. He opened the cabinet where they kept the coffee beans, and when he closed it, Reed’s face appeared.

“Jesus Christ,” Greyson said, jumping at the sudden appearance of his boyfriend. “What’re you, sneaking around the house now?”

“No, I’m not sneaking around the house, weirdo, I wanted some coffee too,” Reed said. Greyson noticed that – annoyingly – Reed sounded markedly better than he had the past couple of days. Apparently, the old wive’s tale about passing along a cold making someone better held true – at least in this house.

“Oh,” Greyson said, pouring the beans into the grinder. “Yeah that makes sense.” He sniffled a little then, an involuntary action that made Reed raise his eyebrows. Greyson said nothing; just filled the coffee pot with grounds and started the machine.

“Are you excited for tonight?” Reed asked, thankfully avoiding the subject that had already set Greyson off once this morning. The chef shrugged.

“I’ll be excited when it starts,” he said, rubbing the back of his own neck. “Still a lot of work to do this morning.”

Reed nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “Is it still okay if I come tonight?” he asked as Greyson poured coffee into a thermos. “I mean, is my name still on the list and everything?”

“Mmhmm,” Greyson hummed. “Yeah. It starts at seven.”

“I remember.”

Greyson grunted again, closing the top to his mug and grabbing the pressed chef’s coat Reed had left for him on the back of one of their bar stools. “I gotta get going, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss Reed’s cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Greyson,” Reed stopped his boyfriend just as the chef was about to head out the door. “You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well, right?”

The thunk of Greyson’s heart into his stomach was so intense, he was surprised Reed couldn’t hear it across the room. Normally I would, Greyson thought, though he wasn’t sure if that was true – he thought back to his time with Collin, all the times he was ill or upset, all of the times he reached out just to be tossed aside in return, then pushed the thought away. Reed wasn’t Collin; Reed actually gave a fuck about him. But he couldn’t miss this event, this day that he waited for all year long. Whether he would or he wouldn’t under normal circumstances, for now, Greyson gritted his teeth and lied to his boyfriend.

“Of course I would, babe,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

***

“If this is how you’re going to act all night, I’m going to kill you by the end of this thing.”

Looking up from the plates he was arranging, Greyson gave Elijah a furrowed-brow look. “What are you talking about?” he asked, annoyed. The GM closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.

“You’re being fucking weird, Greyson,” he said, punctuating both fucking and weird by slapping a hand onto the setup station between the two of them. “You’ve barely said a single word to me all afternoon, and everything you have said has been you being annoyed with me. The fuck did I do to you? I feel like I’m in a fight with a fucking wall.”

The chef pressed his lips together, his face betraying nothing. Elijah took a deep breath in through his nose; this was supposed to be a fun day, and though he knew he was being petulant – childish, even – in demanding Greyson enjoy it, he couldn’t help himself. They so rarely got out of that fucking restaurant; they really ought to be enjoying themselves.

“Do you want a beer or something?” Elijah asked before Greyson could say anything. “Help you loosen up? Are you nervous about the whole being-here-night-one thing?”

Greyson swallowed compulsively, gave a little wince. What was that? Elijah thought, but before he could mention it, Greyson spoke up.

“Yeah,” he said, turning back to his plates. “A beer would be great. Thangks, Lij.”

As he went to walk away, Elijah’s ears perked up. Was he…?

“Are… are you sick?” the GM asked, turning back to face the chef again. Greyson’s face flushed.

“Ndo,” he said, congestion lacing the word. Greyson cleared his throat quietly – though loud enough for Elijah to hear – and shooed his boss off with a hand. “I was promised a beer,” he said, attempting a smile. Elijah chewed his bottom lip, but nodded and walked towards the bar. An illness really would explain everything – the annoyance, the quiet, the lack of enthusiasm – but since when did Greyson hide being sick from Elijah? Maybe when they first started working together, back before they knew one another – but now? Now Greyson would walk into the office and cough directly into Elijah’s face just so he wouldn’t be alone in being sick.

Maybe he wasn’t, then; maybe he was just in a bad mood. Greyson hadn’t mentioned anything going on at home with Reed, but Elijah knew his friend’s boyfriend was working a lot lately, and Greyson certainly didn’t do well when someone he loved didn’t have time for him.

As he arrived at the bar, Elijah smiled at the kid standing there, who handed him two shitty light beers from a cooler behind him. Handing the kid a twenty, Elijah turned on his heels and headed back towards their booth, silently wishing that Reed would be able to make it to the event tonight. Maybe that would get Greyson out of his mood.

When he returned, two beers in hand, Greyson was facing away from him. “Here’s your beer, princess,” Elijah said, placing it on the serving-side of their booth. Greyson didn’t turn. “Hellooo, did you hear-”

“NGGTSH!” Greyson’s whole body shuddered, the sound he made both choked and desperate. Elijah wasn’t sure if it was a sneeze or a sob or a laugh or something else entirely. He raised an eyebrow, picked the beer back up, and walked around to the other side of the booth, where Greyson’s hand was pressed against the bottom of his face.

“Bless you…?” Elijah said, handing his friend the beer. Greyson grabbed the beer with his unoccupied hand, roughly rubbing his nose back and forth with the one he’d just sneezed into.

“Thangks,” he said, chugging half the bottle on first drink. Elijah gave Greyson a look. “What? I’mb thirsty,” the chef said.

“Uh huh,” Elijah said, sipping his own beer. Without thinking, the GM reached up to touch Greyson’s forehead – an instinct, after all their years spending nearly every day together. Greyson stepped back to avoid the touch.

“Don’t touch mbe,” he near-growled, pointing the bottle at Elijah. “I’m already hot and in a shit mbood. Don’t piss mbe off by mother-henning mbe, too.”

Ah, Elijah thought, pressing his lips together and lowering his hand. “So you are sick,” he said, taking another sip of his beer. Greyson rolled his eyes.

“I’mb ndot sick,” he said, convincing no one. “I said I’mb hot. Because it’s fucking hot in this fucking conference roomb because it’s fucking hot outside. Okay? Yes, I’mb annoyed. I’mb trying to keep a hundred pounds of scallop cold on a hundred degree day. I don’t wandt to feed Thomas Keller or fuckigg Zendaya or whoever shows up to this thing tepid sashimi. So I’mb in a mood. But I’m ndot sick, and I’m ndot acting weird so please just drop it, Lij. Okay? I’mb – NGTZCH!” Greyson directed this poorly-stifled sneeze into his elbow, sniffled wetly immediately after. Elijah sipped his beer.

“You were saying?” he asked as Greyson stood to his full height again. The chef chugged the rest of his beer, slammed the bottle on the table, and pointed at Elijah.

“Fuck off,” he said, “and go get mbe some mbore ice.”

This time, Elijah didn’t prod further. He put his beer down, raised his hands in front of him as if in surrender, and said, “Yes, Chef,” before turning to walk towards the conference center’s kitchen. As he filled a bin with ice, he could feel his teeth grinding together in frustration. So much for a fun day out.

***

Whatever it was Greyson usually found fun about this event, he couldn’t for the life of him remember.

He was in the fucking weeds; he hadn’t sliced enough scallops back at the restaurant because he was too busy dipping into the bathroom every five-fucking-minutes to blow his nose, and now he was so behind that people had started skipping their booth altogether. Elijah, for all the shit Greyson had given him earlier, was the only one pulling his weight on their two-person team; he was stood at the front of the booth laughing and chatting with guests, while behind him Greyson sliced and plated to order like it was his first time ever doing a festival.

Eventually, he pulled himself out of the muck and the wave of guests slowed to more of a river, and Greyson was actually able to look up from his food and survey the event around him. There really were a ton of recognizable faces out there – from Food Network celebrities to institutions in the industry, it was a who’s-who of food-famous people that Greyson was embarrassing himself in front of. The chef ducked under their booth, the three seconds of rest he’d given his body apparently enough to get it to rebel against him immediately.

“NTSHH! Hh-! IGTSZCH!” Greyson attempted, once again, to stifle the sneezes into submission, succeeding only in making his own head spin. God, this was getting old. From behind him, Elijah grumbled a bless you under his breath; Greyson set his teeth to keep from snapping at his friend.

“You sound awful,” Elijah murmured, not turning towards Greyson. “You’ve sneezed like ten times in the past five minutes.”

“Mbaybe if you weren’t counting the ambount of timbes I’ve sndeezed, I wouldn’t sound awful,” Greyson muttered, standing. “Ever think of that?”

“I think, maybe, if you just let yourself sneeze like a normal human,” Elijah said, glancing over his shoulder, “you wouldn’t have to sneeze so many times. Hmm?”

Greyson rolled his eyes and turned back to the food. “I don’t have timbe for this conversation,” he said, plating another portion and handing it to Elijah. “Leave mbe alone.”

They continued like that for another thirty minutes or so, speaking only when Greyson had food for Elijah – food behind – or when he had to duck under the table – bless you, Chef – until finally, Reed stepped up to their booth.

“Reed!” Elijah exclaimed, stepping out from behind the booth to hug Greyson’s boyfriend. Greyson, preoccupied by plating, didn’t turn around.

Side-stepping the hug as graciously as possible, Reed gave Elijah an apologetic smile. “Lij, it’s so good to see you. Sorry, I would hug you but I’ve had a bitch of a cold all week. Wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

At that, Greyson bristled; for a moment, he stopped in his tracks. Fuck.

“Ohhh,” Elijah said, turning towards Greyson just as the chef peered over his shoulder at the other two men. “So that’s where he got it.”

Reed’s eyebrows knit together, confused. “Where who got what?” he asked. Beside him, Elijah gave Greyson a sidelong look.

“Grey?” he asked. “Did you have something you wanted to tell us?”

As if it wasn’t humiliating enough to be slicing his scallops basically to order, wasn’t embarrassing enough to have to turn guests away because he was so damn slow today, now Elijah was going to out him as sickly to his boyfriend in front of a gaggle of famous chefs. Greyson’s head throbbed in time with the music being canned in overhead; he whipped around and got as close to Elijah as he could without touching noses.

“Do you really thingk,” he whispered, voice low and husky, “that now is the timbe for this conversation?”

Elijah was unphased. “I really do,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve been an ass all day. You’ve sneezed yourself hoarse, and you very clearly have a fever. I think the least you could do is fucking admit that you’re sick.”

Just as Greyson was about to snap back at Elijah, Reed walked closer to the booth and addressed his boyfriend. “Babe?” he said, worried. “Shit, did I get you sick?”

The gut punch that was the upset in Reed’s voice nearly knocked the wind out of Greyson. He looked so sad, so genuinely concerned, that the chef immediately forgot what he was going to say. “I…” he started, before having to dip back behind the booth for the millionth time. “HTSZCHH! NGTSZH-uh!”

“Well,” Elijah said from above him. “There’s your answer.”

Rubbing his nose on the back of his hand, Greyson stood and turned to face his boyfriend and best friend. “I’mb okay, honey,” he said, ignoring Elijah completely. “It’s ndothing.”

Before Reed could reply, a new wave of guests made its way over to Elijah and Greyson’s booth; immediately, the drama between the two of them was forgotten as they once again took up their front and back of house positions, making and passing out food. By the time Greyson was once again out of the metaphorical muck, Reed was nowhere to be found. While Elijah was busy schmoozing a guest, Greyson pulled out his phone to see a text from his boyfriend.

I’m sorry I got u sick :( I wish you would’ve told me, baby. I could’ve at least brought you some medicine.

Guilt and shame tore through Greyson’s body as he clicked his phone back off. I’m such an ass, he thought as he returned to plating. Such a fucking stupid ass.

***

“So, when are you planning on admitting it? Because I’m honestly starting to get annoyed.”

Elijah handed Greyson a glass filled to the top with bourbon as he got back to the booth they had snagged the moment they got to the afterparty. Grateful, Greyson snatched the glass with one hand, while the other flew to his mouth.

“NGTSZCH-uhh! Hh...HRTSCH-oo!” The rough attempt at a stifle nearly spilled his drink, and lead to a fit of sticky coughs; Elijah grabbed the glass back from his friend, held it until Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand and sniffled, fruitlessly. Shot the chef a knowing look. “Alright,” Greyson muttered, taking the glass back and knocking back half the bourbon. “I’mb fuckigg sick. Happy?”

“Mmm. Happy? No, not particularly,” Elijah said, sipping his own drink. “But certainly satisfied.” “Whatever,” Greyson said, rolling his eyes. “You’re an ass.”

Elijah barked out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “An ass who’s always right.” Greyson huffed out a little laugh, too, careful not to laugh hard enough to start coughing again. “You gonna admit the other thing, too?”

Greyson raised an eyebrow. “What other thing?”

“That you were being a dick today. That you were, in fact, being weird.”

Another eye roll from the chef, this time one that ended in a wince of pain. He rubbed an aching eye with his palm, musing. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess I was.” Greyson sighed, before slamming the rest of his drink. “I just… this is the only evendt I really care about. Y’kndow? I wait for it all year. And tondight was supposed to be...different. Better than this.” His second palm met his other eye, rubbing until Elijah started seeing stars on his behalf.

The GM blew air through closed lips, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Grey,” he said as Greyson finally pulled his hands from his eyeballs. “I know you were really looking forward to this. I mean… shit happens.” He shrugged at Greyson, whose head was perched on his hand, elbow on the table. “It was still a great dish. No one complained. Despite your best efforts, it was technically a successful event.”

Greyson laughed in earnest, punctuated by more coughs. “Thangks, Lij,” he said, grabbing Elijah’s mostly-full drink from his hand and slamming it before his friend was able to comprehend what was happening. “Can always coundt on you to mbake mbe feel better.”

“You dick,” Elijah laughed, elbowing his friend. Suddenly, Greyson stopped laughing, turned away from Elijah.

“Huh-!” he lifted an elbow to his face and pitched forward with little warning. “HuhhETSCHHH-ue! HUHHESHH-ue! Hh-! Hh...HRRSHHH-ue!” Finally, after an entire day of trying to hide it, Greyson let out three painful-sounding, throat-scraping sneezes. “Fuck,” he said, attempting to clear his throat. “God, I feel like fuckigg shit.”

Elijah tutted his sympathy. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you also sound and look like fucking shit,” he joked. Greyson choked on a chuckle.

“Least I’mb consistent,” he mumbled. “God, I have to go hombe and apologize to Reed, too,” he groaned. Elijah furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why would you have to apologize to Reed?” he asked.

“I lied to himb,” Greyson said, pulling a hand down his face. “He asked if I was sick this mborning, and I lied to his face.”

“So you have to apologize to Reed for lying, but not to me,” Elijah said. Greyson gave him a pointed look.

“Correct,” he said. “I actually lied to you just for the pure pleasure of it. The thrill of the gambe, as it were.”

This time, it was Elijah’s turn to choke on a laugh. Just as the two men recomposed themselves, Matt – who apparently did have the time to make it to the afterparty, despite his non-answer to Elijah earlier – snuck up on them and slid into the booth. “There you guys are,” he said, placing his drink on the table in front of him. He glanced at Greyson’s sallow face and grimaced. “Did you finally have to admit it?” he asked his boss.

Once again, Elijah burst out laughing. Greyson, not nearly as amused, deadpanned his sous, grabbed the man’s drink, and for the third time that evening, chugged. “Hey-!” Matt protested.

“Mbatt, you have ndo idea the evening I’ve had,” Greyson said, slamming the glass onto the table. “Ndow go get your ailing boss andother fuckigg drink.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but scooched out of the booth and headed towards the bar nonetheless. When Elijah finally recomposed himself, he regarded Greyson with bemused concern. “Do you really think you should be drinking so much… sickie?” He asked, elbowing his friend once again.

“Hondestly, boss,” Greyson said, rubbing his nose, “I do. I really, really do. HGTSHHH-ue!”

[sullina]

genuinely insane that diet culture poisoned people will insists that, if they don't diet, they'll just "eat cake all day" or some other type of sweet candy

because... that's not how it works

like, if you completely give up any sort of dieting and go for intuitive eating (meaning: listening to your own body and giving it what it craves), you're probably gonna be eating "unhealthy" at first, because you've been denying your body something it desperately needs.

For one person, that can be sweets.

For another, that can be fast food.

Just imagine literally anything that could potentially deemed "unhealthy" by diet culture, and someone is gonna crave just that once they start intuitive eating.

But back to my point No one is gonna be eating "only cake" if they don't make a conscious effort to monitor every little thing about their diet, because that's not how the human body (or any living body) works. It's your body's job to keep you alive and well. This includes your diet. Your body knows you can't live entirely off of cake. It's gonna crave salty things, too, not just sweet stuff. And by "salty", i mean, like, an actual meal.

And believe it or not, but vegetables? Can be fucking amazing. On the condition that you focus on making a meal that tastes good instead of being "healthy". Believe it or not, but you're gonna benefit more from a vegetable medley that tastes fucking amazing, than you're gonna get from the same vegetables but raw and unseasoned. I'm not kidding, how much you enjoy your food has a real and measurable effect on how many nutrients of said meal you end up absorbing.

Another benefit of intuitive eating I've personally found is that I'm much more willing to try new things, especially new vegetables. Like, I'm seirous, just listening to your body and trusting yourself to know what you need, like how every single living being, including humans, have been surviving for literal millions of years, is actually really good for you. Cutting out entire food groups, because some """health official""" being paid billions of dollars to say that it's unhealthy and what you REALLY need is their company's product, is NOT good for you. At all.

[lilsisdyke]

anon who asked about your ass being raped. Since you had it happen multiple times I think the most memorable one is a good starting place

i mean... obviously the first time was quite memorable. it's the one that fucked me up for life <3

my cousin was kind of a stalker when we were kids. hed always find ways to touch my breasts or steal a kiss or watch me undress etc etc but he was friends with my unhealthy stoner friends and we would hangout a lot. fast forward to this one party, yes? he says he'll drive me home after so I can just get as high as I want. when we're going back, he parks in the middle of nowhere and makes me suck his dick. for a long long while. he also pulled me out of the car and was about to rape me when some shit lot up in my head and i offered him my ass instead. he gets insanely horny at that (we were both virgins) but he comes right when he's starting to push his dick inside my anus and well I ended up convincing him to just go home already.

shit fucked me up if course. i would abuse alcohol and get high at all times. spent entire months without seeing him or hanging out with our common friends until one of them convinced me to go over to his house for a small gathering. cousin wasn't supposed to be there be he popped by when they told him I came by. i was drunker than ever in my life. he started groping me with everyone around, as if he was claiming that I was already his. at some point he's bragging about how he fucked my ass and that I offered it to him. no one believes him so he says he's going to demonstrate.

so there I am, about five male friends 'round me, none of them stopping my cousin when he bends me over on the floor and starts to put his fingers in my ass. i was v into some of those friends so when they all started collectively groping me it felt v v nice. got fingers in my mouth gagging me, my nipples twisted and pinched, my soaked labia parted and photographed... and then my cousin actually penetrates my ass. with everyone cheering him on, taking pictures, getting excited. he doesn't fuck me long, but he comes a lot in my ass. everyone wants to see what he's left inside me. I think I remember them saying someone wanted to be next, and that got my cousin a lil possessive so he started pounding my ass again so no one could do it.

i was wasted through it all. but. in the morning, I wake up sore and with faint memories of what they'd done to me all night. i still feel slightly soft and open back there. my cousin was sleeping next to me, and when he wakes up the first thing he does is start to finger my ass again, making fun of how easy I am and how slutty my ass is. this time, I consciously open my legs for him. i let him fuck my ass first thing in the morning, and I end up liking it. it isn't rape anymore. he doesn't come much, but he climbs up my body and asks me to lick it off his softening dick (he just pushed it into my mouth before I could even answer) and that makes him hard so he pounds me into the mattress one last time.

i don't go out neither with him or our friends again. i only ever see him during Xmas anymore, and now fortunately he's married so his focus is entirely somewhere else. but still. that is the guy who raped me in the ass as many times as he could through my adolescence. wish I didn't have to see him anymore.

[ingravinoveritas]

It's days like today that make me want to leave this fandom. Policing others to make yourselves look good is in complete opposition to the message GO tries to convey, IMO.

Thank you for your level headedness and patience on dealing with the people who piled on you with their negativity.

Here's hoping we can make it to the s3 release without anymore of this BS.

(Grouping together for ease of answering.)

Anon #1: Thank you very much for your kind words! I truly do appreciate it, though I don't feel like I did anything extraordinary or special. I was just appalled at the chaos that was unfolding in the fandom and how some people seemed to be encouraging it or even using it for their own self-serving purposes.

The interesting thing about a situation like today is how quickly it caused some people to show their true colors. You mentioned a pile-on, and that is exactly what happened--starting in the comments on my post where I had originally shared the concept art, with people attacking me and calling me a "disgrace" when all I was trying to do was make sense of the insanity and misinformation that was flying around. More than that, it was a comment that was completely out of order and unnecessary given the context of the situation.

Not long after this, I was told that someone had actually made a whole callout post about me. The post was made by someone who is part of a group of people who run a blog dedicated to harassing and sending abuse to me and others for the better part of a year now, and while I will not link to it (though it is in the tags and can be found if you search for my blog name), the content of this post involved telling people to harass me into taking down my post.

But the thing is, dozens (if not more) blogs posted the same photo that I did. Other blogs posted every single one of the concept art photos. I posted exactly one photo...and yet it was my blog that was singled out, by name. If this callout post was purely about defending the artist or GO, that would be an entirely different matter. But to single someone out like that is to put the focus on them and make them a target. So it seems to me that in this case, defending the artist/GO was nothing more than a convenient excuse for this person to show what a "good" fan they are by attacking a "bad" fan who they knew they could get others to easily go after.

And as you said, Anon #1, that is very much the opposite of the message that GO espouses, so it is ironic and unfortunate that so many people seem to have missed it.

As to your comments, Anon #2, the first thing you said is exactly what several other folks have said to me today. That if the person who contacted GON is a colleague of the artist whose work was "leaked," why would that person not just directly contact the artist (or a supervisor, a producer...hell, literally anyone other than a fan account)? There is no logical reason why someone who works on the show would reach out to a fan account (and as you said, one with a significantly smaller reach than FYGO) if the goal and intention was to get the pictures taken down.

And again, regarding the fever pitch to which discourse rose around the possibility of GO 3 being cancelled, I will echo a sentiment that I read on Twitter earlier, which is that it is frankly ridiculous to think that Amazon would cancel the show over concept images...but not over the SA allegations related to NG. In no way is this meant to diminish the seriousness of those allegations, either, but only to illustrate that if Amazon was dead-set on cancelling GO 3, they had more than ample reason to do so long before now.

None of this even remotely passes the smell test. It just doesn't. And the fact that so many people have been afraid to ask questions or discuss this openly is deeply concerning, because there is nothing wrong with asking questions. If you are genuinely worried that your friends or other fans will go off or get upset with you just for disagreeing with them or for saying "Hey, this seems weird to me, I'm not sure what to think"...are those really the people you want to be talking to? Just something to think about. So yes, I'm with you, Anon #1, as I also hope we can make it to the GO 3 release without any more of this drama. I know how easy it is to get caught up in everything, but if people would’ve just stopped and thought critically about these things for five minutes today, maybe a lot of this could have been avoided...

[thelaurenshippen]

question about my favourite tbs character: did you intend to write damien to seem borderline or did that just come about unintentionally? i have BPD and holy shit damien reads as SO borderline to me it’s kind of insane. there’s that entire final letter in SFP, but the line “i think maybe i’m supposed to hate all of me” hits so, so close to home for me. maybe i’m not as self destructive as damien, but i do understand him. he makes me feel so seen and maybe that’s a grim thing to say given his behaviour, but… damien absolutely reads as borderline to me. his unstable relationships he manages to sabotage intentionally or unintentionally, his barely-there sense of self that balances on the fact that he thinks he’s this horrible monster, his impulsive decisions that somehow never work and always bite him in the ass, his intense mood swings, his genuine terror of being abandoned to the point where he will beg someone for even a scrap of love as soon as he’s not immediately hated, and the part about not knowing what wants are his or what wants deserve space — maybe he’s a villain and historically, BPD is used as a villainous trait, but damien doesn’t feel like a moustache twirling, witch cackling, murderous and irredeemable villain to me. he just seems like someone who’s made of bad decisions and ruined relationships. he seems like someone who’s in a lot of pain and doesn’t know how to live with himself so he constantly searches for someone to fill this massive, emptiness inside him that won’t ever be filled because no one taught him what it felt like to be whole — not until he kidnapped met mark and predictably enough, that relationship crumbled to dust. damien hasn’t had much, so he holds onto things and people so tight that they end up getting crushed between his fingers and somehow he loses everything he gets even though he could have anything he’d ever wanted. maybe i’m completely misinterpreting damien but i do absolutely love him and he’s SUCH a well written character. i could easily talk about him for hours to anyone who will listen.

sorry for waxing poetic about damien in your ask box but i love him so much and who better to vomit my thoughts about him to than the person who wrote damien, right?

I love that you love Damien!!! I really love him too, and it means a lot when people relate to him or see him as more than just a mustache-twirling villain because he is more than that. he's someone who makes the same terrible decisions over and over again, someone who has been corrupted by his power, and who wants connection but doesn't know how to get it. that doesn't excuse any of his actions, of course, and he's not irredeemable, because no one is, but he would need to be way more active in his own redemption to really get there. he's a very complicated person and it means a lot to me when people appreciate all those complex, human dimensions.

all that said, I'm always glad to hear that people headcanon any characters with anything they feel like they share, but I've written very few characters with specific conditions. even though she's never actually technically diagnosed (Dr. Bright does not do traditional diagnosis), Sam has anxiety and a panic disorder. I have those diagnoses myself, so I feel confident in saying that's what she struggles with. the other major one would be Frank's PTSD - I knew he had PTSD from the get-go and always wrote him with that in mind. but, of course, that's not to say other characters don't have diagnosable PTSD, just that I haven't necessarily thought in those terms with a lot of characters.

in general, I don't find it particularly useful for my writing purposes to get formal with how I'm thinking about my characters and their mental health. I focus instead on how they feel, how they behave, their relationships, etc. and because of who I am and who I have in my life (which includes people with BPD as well as bipolar, anxiety, depression, PTSD, autism, adhd, etc.), a lot of traits of various conditions pop up here and there. a professional psychiatrist might be able to look at my characters and the DSM and match things up, but that's not my expertise nor particularly useful to me personally!!

but again, I love headcanons! I have my own relationship to the bright sessions and its characters, but from the moment I released the first episode, they ceased being mine. they're yours to do with what you choose!

[niinnyu]

What JJK characters do you think would fit the most in a TMA AU and what entities would they serve in your opinion?

Fascinating question because I've actually thought about this before. Not in these exact terms, but more because TMA does a lot of things really well that I'd expected to see in jjk (before gege got tired of their own story after s1 came out lmao).

I'll talk about characters i find interesting enough to talk about, and since the fears technically blend into each other I think I'll allow myself to assign characters multiple fears (in descending order of their focus ig)

Spoilers for both TMA and JJK ahead ofc

Yuuji- The Web, The Eye (the archivist): (no, not only because hes the protagonist). Dude's entire life has been orchestrated [The Web] right from his conception and has barely ever had a say in how his life went. Also whenever sukuna took over his body he's had to watch every terrible thing he's done using yuuji's body without usually being able to intervene [The Eye]. He's also a [The Lonely] character who has never been able to have normal relationships with friends/family and never been able to save anyone except 1. And has had to kill and destroy directly and indirectly [The Desolation, The Slaughter,] while parts of himself have been ripped apart like his heart and fingers [Flesh]. His entire arc with Mahito is [The Hunt] coded with literal hunting/wolf imagery too. He's died and come back [TheEnd]. He believed he's unworthy of return to jujutsutech after shibuya and a danger with sukuna constantly being a parasite [The Corruption]. Him being in hiding and training between dying and the sister school tournament could be [buried] because I'm sure that'd have been claustrophobia inducing for someone like him. Whatever yuuta did with gojo's body could count as [The Stranger] (but idc about that because it led to nothing for/from yuuji and it'd have been much more interesting had yuuji had a dynamic with kenjaku instead but I digress). Vaguely, Junpei could also count for [The Stranger] with the situation he created in his school. I'd say [The Spiral] is more Yuuji inflicting on others, the way he seems to have this effect of creating false memories with people (Todo, Choso) and while it was ignored I do think that was a part of his Domain (which is why when he has a full domain expansion with Sukuna in the final chapters he has more control for it to be lucid, but it's still based off memories). An archivist.

Megumi- The Lonely, The Dark: i mean it's pretty obvious. His entire moral compass rides on people who are important to him (Yuuji, Tsumiki) but he never sees himself worthy of being around them. The Dark since his CT uses shadows lol. Also hints of The End for both tsumiki and yuuji and also himself.

Kenjaku- The Web, The Corruption, The Stranger: i mean.. if you know kenjaku you know exactly why. I put the stranger last because it was crucial to their plan only in Gojo's case, after which they just didn't care to tell people that their name is not infact Geto lmao. The Web being their first Fear is important to me because that what's what makes them different from the other antagonists and I wish it had actually led to something they actually stood for (this is one of the many things I believe tma does insanely better because Jonah *chef's kiss* despite jonah's reasoning not being deep at all, IT WORKS flawlessly)

Sukuna- The Flesh, The Slaughter: wow a cannibalistic mass murderer getting assigned the flesh and the Slaughter? Who could've seen this coming?! Probably with a hint of lonely, but i found his relationship with Uraume specifically why he wasn't, even if uraume wasn't a power-rival and even if the story was pushing that narrative.

Geto- The Desolation, The Lonely, The Slaughter: His entire world view crumbled as he started slowly losing his faith in the system and his role in it (+ his ct is very corruption), and losing bonds with the people important to him [The Desolation and The Lonely], leading to him killing and burning his entire village [The Desolation, The Slaughter] and his subsequent views that non-jujutsu sorcerors not being worthy of existence [Slaughter, Extinction]. His cult fits well with the desolation too.

Gojo- The Lonely, The Eye, The Vast: Turns out if you put a guy on a pedestal no one can reach, the guy be lonely. The one guy who pulled him down to a more grounded achievable pedastal, giving him a taste of companionship and then leaving doesn't help[The lonely, the vast]. The Eye because 6 eyes (it works well because 6 eyes literally just allows him to see, what he does with the sight is upto him, the power itself does no comprehending lol), the vast also because of his DE.

Maki- The Hunt, The Slaughter: Huh, wonder what happened to the Zen'in clan.. hmmm.

Mahito- The Flesh, The Spiral, The lonely: Have you seen his power and DE? Flesh and spiral right there (almost literally). Lonely more in terms of inflicting because his dynamic with Junpei reminds me of Peter Lukas and Martin. The isolating and making him feel important but only with his own help, slimy manipulative stuff (perhaps a bit of Web in there too if you see onky from junpei's pov) but he's doing it purely out of the joy for chaos.

Rapid fire:

Nobara- the flesh (sorta? Body horror ig?)

Shoko- the end, the lonely

Nanami- the end (? Since haibara?)

Tsumiki- the stranger, the end

Hanami- corruption

Jogo- desolation

Yuuki- for her gravity power could be buried, but vast/dark for the black hole. Maybe a bit of Web, but she had no real intentions while vaguely pulling strings per se.

Mechamaru: the Web (both for his ct and how he himself was manipulated/manipulated into manipulating). Maybe even some stranger.

Higuruma: very vaguely in seeing a failing system, but Corruption, in the more literal bureaucratic way as well lmao.

[yanderes-galore]

Could I Request a yandere arkhamverse harley quinn concept? -🎂

Sure! Writing Harley Quinn could be fun :) This felt a bit everywhere but most of my fics are me just letting my thoughts flow without planning so I hope you enjoy ^^

Yandere! Arkham! Harley Quinn Concept

(Primarily Arkham Knight)

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Manipulation, Anger issues, Grief, Kidnapping, Drugging/Gassing, Breaking and entering, Forced companionship, Delusional behavior, Clingy behavior.

Harley could work as a romantic or platonic.

Like... as a platonic she seems like she'd be really bubbly and act like a friend.

A psychotic friend but... somewhat of a friend.

As a romantic she'd be about as obsessive with you as she would be with Joker.

One thing that Arkham/Injustice Harley share with each other is their independence from Joker.

It's just that they deal with it differently.

Injustice Harley becomes a hero after the death of Joker.

While Arkham Harley commits to crime in the name of Joker.

This version of Harley actually gets more insane at the passing of Joker instead of better.

Harley would be a very dangerous yandere in general, but this universe may just make her worse.

Her obsession with someone new most likely starts sometime around Arkham Knight if she sees you in a romantic sense.

If she sees you in a platonic sense I imagine it could be whenever but for now I'll focus on Arkham Knight.

Harley is a yandere who feels she needs to be dependent on her darling.

If she sees you as a friend/ally then she sticks around you as she feels you'll ease her through her grief.

Which is strange as if anyone else tries to ease her grief she snaps at them.

Here's some backstory between you, up until Arkham Knight.

The friend route would make more sense if you "knew" her when Joker was alive.

Harley no doubt first had platonic feelings towards you, that's how her yandere traits would start due to her being with Joker.

She stalks you for a bit then breaks into your home.

She acts like you two are friends and is really bubbly and overly excited towards you.

While you barely know anything about the crazed woman who keeps breaking into your home, she feels she knows everything about you from just watching you.

No doubt spills about you towards the Joker.

She tells him she's found a new friend and that they simply must be involved with their plans.

Your "friendship" with Harley is very one-sided.

She somehow manages to find you and even drags you with her places.

At least once you've been a hostage for one of her and Joker's plans.

The entire time she's acting like it's a fun thing for you two to do.

"Mr. J said I could bring you to meet him~ I bet we'll have so much fun!"

You did not.

Despite your fear and forced compliance, she trusts you and soon you may even get used to being a target of her strange obsession.

Hell, maybe soon you convince her you'll be her "friend" if she just visits and doesn't pull you into any of Joker's plans.

She agrees... and never leaves you alone.

You and Joker are the ones she loves the most.

So when she loses Joker, her beloved, she only has one other person to cling to.

While you contact the police and Batman of Harley's obsession towards you, Harley realizes she needs the comfort of her beloved friend.

It's at this point Harley can stay a platonic yandere or split into a romantic yandere.

Harley would hunt you down, even if you moved.

When she does? She'll send her goons to pick you up and drag her to her little base she's made for herself.

It disappoints her that you may no longer be in your old home, but she'll find you.

You don't need to hide from her!

The moment your conscious you look so confused.

Only to see Harley staring with a grin.

"Hey there! Been awhile, hasn't it? Safe to say I think I've missed you...."

Harley would use her darling as a coping mechanism.

Like an old friend, one you never wanted, she sobs and rants about the loss of Joker.

The whole time you're tied to a chair and hoping Batman comes fast enough.

Then over time she'd shift the topic of her rants to you.

She rambles to you about how you've always been there and how much fun you two have had in the past.

Then maybe the conversation dips into romantic territory... her mentioning how she feels things for you without even meaning to say it.

The idea of her having romantic feelings towards you strikes fear in your gut.

Unfortunately, it's not your say if she has romantic intentions with you or not.

If Harley continues to just see you as a friend then she plans on making you her second in command.

Even if she liked you as a crush she'd take a similar route, although it changes over time.

She's physically clingy and often wants her darling beside her.

Harley would also find some sort of "fun" nickname to call you all the time, smiling the whole time.

If Harley held romantic feelings towards you... imagine if she tried to make you her new "Joker" in this universe?

She may try to get her hands on Joker blood, gas, or even some chemicals to force you into her new love.

Oh, Puddin'... you may be unwilling now, but she'll show you that you can be wonderful for each other.

Harley in this universe truly can't forget about her Joker.

She also adores you.

Why should she have to choose between the two of you?

Why doesn't she just have both?

Harley in this universe definitely seems like she'd brainwash and drug you into the next Joker.

The moment she sees traits of him in you melded with your normal personality, she's in love.

Ohhh, now she has you both!

She's never been happier!

While you're panicking as your personality feels split due to Joker... Harley is holding you and kissing you with happy giggles.

"Oh you're everything and everyone I love! Now I have you both once again... we... I can be happy again!"

By this point something is telling you to reciprocate the affection but you struggle with what to do.

Harley becomes fully dependent on you after this, simply happy she has her two loves in one.

Maybe you'll even let the whole Joker personality take over?

Then you'll be a ruler of crime.

This isn't a life you wanted.

But as the Joker's presence within you grows... you begin to enjoy it.

Then maybe you'll begin to reciprocate Harley's feelings.

Then you'll be everything she's ever wanted.

"I love you, Puddin'...!"

[marichild]

i miss bothering you on discord so i'll bother you here. you know. like an asshole

you post so much link click, it's being adopted as a in law-fandom. tell me abt it. what's so good about it

you could neverrrrr bother me to the point of being an asshole nina ❤️❤️ bother me forever and ever ❤️❤️❤️

oh my god. sits up. rubs hands. okay so basic rundown of link click:

a photo studio owned by cheng xiaoshi and he runs with it his perhaps-foster-sister, qiao ling, and his best friend, lu guang. the photo studio runs as normal but they do a little something extra secretly: they accepts requests from customers to use photos to visit the past and do miscellaneous tasks.

lu guang has the ability to look into a photo and see what happens 12 hours onward from the shutter clicking; cheng xiaoshi can travel back into the past via pictures and inhabit the body of the person who took the picture.

now what makes it so compelling. the joking answer is YAOI—

genuinely though, when I truly consider why I love link click so much, three things come to mind: the supernatural bullshit going on used as a plot device to tell the stories and emotions of the characters instead of being the sole focus; its ability to make you care so so deeply about even side characters that are all crafted w so much love and passion; the queercoding that's definitely there between lu guang and cheng xiaoshi, but also that what's between them is more important than any label.

there's best friendism, there's boyfriendism, then there's a deep sort of trust that's unlike anything else. there's the reassurance that they're both equally as insane about each other. they can and will die for each other and it's—that's a whole thing on its own. etc. it's about the mundane moments in life framing your entire existence; it's about growing up lonely and abandoned and finding someone who doesn't pretend you're not annoying and a lot, but rather, embraces those things and says he'll stick around for as long as he can. "I told you, didn't I?" he also tells you you're an idiot regularly and nags you and never speaks about himself ever, he keeps things from you but you trust that he'll tell you eventually because he's never purposely led you into soemthing that puts you in danger. he thinks about you first, unconditionally. you listen and act for him.

okay shiguang aside—

the relationships in link click intrigue me forever. every character is crafted with so much thought and precision and makes you question and think about so so much forever. regardless of if a relationship has a label on it or not, often, it's about how they play off of each other, why they're in that dynamic, that kind of thing. it's also very good at making you care about every single character. I'm not joking about this one. I mean I can think of one exception but.

there's a lot of horrible things that happen. exteme cases of bullying, suicide; extreme domestic abuse, patricide. and regardless of the supernatural powers they have, its a tool to progress the plot with much focus on the characters instead. link click, like bsd, for example, doesn't really stick to hard rules for abilities; there are rules and then there are nebulous areas where it's not that important or at least will be explained later.

on a more technical level—the story writing for link click is also amazing actually. there are bits that definitely can be improved upon, but the foreshadowing isn't even like, super obvious. it's like from the start they've been writing with all the reactions and details one would expect to see because of [x] plot point. except they don't tell us what that plot point is, so you watch back ans you're like wait what the fuck. hello

funny descriptions of the main cast:

eternally stressed sleepy cat. insert the "puppy want a break from it all" meme but replace it with kitty.

abandonment issues puppyboy who belongs in a sports anime. also known as the loml

landlady who will kick your ass without hesitation in a skirt. probably needs to get drunk like. right now. she deserves a raise.

anger issue-d serial killing pink popsicle wholl bite you for showing pity to him

very sad pink popsicle who has no autonomy over her life ever (<- how do u even make this funny.)

misogynist who thinks he's the rightest most progressive guy ever. he probably thinks he's not transphobic too

world's worst police captain who Also deserves a raise probably

possibly cannibalistic redheaded freak who likes telling people they look tasty

and his walking HR violation of a blonde puppy situationship employee

adrenaline junkie genderfucked (to me.) control freak whose hat seems to get bigger and bigger each season and official art.

this has gotten really really long but. skdkdkd. I'm not sure if I've even done a good job of explaining but: you asked what's so good about link click, and here's what I think!

[turtlecleric]

Trapper!Raph >:)

CWs: violence, blood, bear trap injury, talk of death, including a known cycle of repeated deaths over time, gruesome, gory, and creepy things, feelings/thoughts of hopelessness and being resigned to death/pain, uhhhhhhhh horror vibes?? Based on the Trapper character and entire premise of Dead by Daylight

-

The mists are thick tonight. Thicker than usual. You can barely see fifteen feet ahead of you, and the darkness beyond seems almost tangible. Like some great cage in all directions. Even if you were to scale the impossibly high walls surrounding the estate, you feel like you would still slam into solid black if you ran far enough. Sometimes it feels as if the darkness itself is what's keeping you here, in this insane loop of death and suffering and fear. Maybe the darkness is just as alive as you are. A sentient, ancient being that feeds off of your anguish and terror.

A silly thought, maybe. But part of you believes it's the truth. 

It's so quiet here. Unnaturally so. Your shallow breaths and light footfalls feel like blaring alarms in the eerie silence. You know you need to watch where you step - always, always watch where you step - but you can't help glancing around every few seconds at the trees surrounding you. You can't shake the feeling that he's nearby, watching. Like he can see through this oppressive fog somehow and he's just waiting for you to lower your guard before he makes his move. 

Focus. Listen. 

You hear a generator. Somewhere to your right, you think, and it sounds like it's well on its way to being finished. So close to being done, actually, that you hesitate. You can't hear anyone working on it right now. Surely there's a reason that whoever started it didn't finish if it's that close. Maybe he found them and he's chasing them away. 

Or maybe it's a trap. That's his whole thing, after all. Traps. 

…But the generator sounds so close to being done. And you only need two more to escape this wretched place - at least until the darkness drags you back in.

Breathe. Focus. Keep going. 

You didn't think you could get more tense than you already are, but apparently you can. The fear is a constant, choking thing, but it's especially strong now that the trees are starting to thin. So strong that you're sick from it, that you can barely breathe through it, but you keep walking. Carefully stepping among the gnarled tree roots, one eye on the ground and the other on your surroundings. It's just trees and mist and darkness in every direction. Everything looks the same, like you're walking in circles, but the sound of the generator is getting louder, so you know you're going in the right direction. 

A shout in the distance has you gasping and stumbling over your own feet. It's not close, but it's not far enough away for you to feel safe, either. You push away the tightness in your lungs and keep walking, even as a longer scream tears through the air. 

He's caught the last of the others, then.

You consider going to save the person. No doubt they're being carried to a hook. You're not sure why, but usually that's what happens when you're caught. You've been thrown onto one plenty of times before. The pain is indescribable - having a rusted, metal hook shoved through your shoulder, your own weight dragging you down as you hang there and pray to a god you no longer believe in that one of the others will be brave enough to pull you off before you're consumed by those terrifying tendrils that come from the sky. 

Your chest aches just thinking about it. 

A third scream sounds, and you get that distinct feeling you always get when someone is hooked that confirms your theory. Maybe… maybe you should-

There. The generator. You were right; it's almost finished. The pistons are moving quickly, the rickety thing so loud that it sounds cacophonous in your ears. Shouldn't take more than a minute to get it done, and then you only need one more to power the exit doors before you're free.

You'll finish the generator. Then you'll go save that person. Yes, that's what you'll do. 

You glance behind you, looking for a hint of that terrifying mask he wears somewhere among the trees. You're being paranoid - that scream was too far away for him to suddenly be close enough that you could see him - but you keep scanning the treeline anyway. You notice a hook nearby and feel a phantom pain in your shoulder. 

Come on, focus. Keep walking. You're almost to the gen-

Something snaps. Sharp, intense pain flares in your lower calf, and you try not to make a sound, you try, but a jagged shriek rips out of your throat anyway. You fall to your hands and knees, your heart in your throat. Thoughts splintering, your fingers reach toward the source of the pain and find metal. 

You've stepped in a bear trap.

Stupid. Stupid. Always watch where you're stepping when it's him, you know that, that's the number one rule and you've broken it. Stupid from fear, getting ahead of yourself, you've stepped right into one of his traps - and he definitely heard you. He always does.

You try to shift your weight so that you can get a good grip on the top of the trap, but even moving an inch has you crying out and freezing in place. For a long moment you can only shake and whimper and try to breathe. Every twitch sends shooting pains through your leg, waves of nausea and dizziness making it hard to focus on anything aside from the pain. 

Still, you've got to at least try to get free. He's almost certainly on his way. You need to get free and run - but fuck, fuck, you can't even see straight. You don't think you'll ever get used to how much it fucking hurts. The surreal, lightheaded feeling. The way your very bones seem to tremble. It hurts. It hurts. 

It'll hurt no matter what, you tell yourself. And it'll hurt more if he gets his hands on you. So you shift, inch by inch, and you grip the top of the trap, and you try to focus past the sparks dancing in your vision. 

The teeth of the trap have embedded themselves deep into the flesh on each side of your lower calf. Blood gushes between the teeth, soaking the fabric of your torn pants and making both the metal and your fingers slippery. 

Fuck.

You take a shuddering breath and try to adjust your grip. You just have to pry the trap open. You've done it before, and you can do it again. It's simple. Simple, but not easy. 

You can do this. Focus. Deep breath. Pull.

The teeth start to pull away, and more blood gushes out. Your ears ring, an intense dizziness making your vision blur even more, your arms shaking from the effort, and - you lose your grip. The teeth hadn't even fully retracted from your skin, but you can't help letting out a choking sob as the trap snaps back into place. Fuck, it hurts. Your chest heaves, your whole body trembling as you moan pitifully through the pain. 

You can't do it. You can't get out. Too weak, too tired, too stupid. You're trapped, you're trapped, you're trapped-

And then. You feel it. That unnatural, inexplicable something that tells you he's close. A sound, a feeling, like your own thundering heartbeat, but so much more. You look around, frantically searching for that telltale red light that accompanies him everywhere, wiping desperately at the tears blurring your vision, probably smearing blood across your face in the process. It doesn't help you see any better - only makes the smell of copper that much stronger in your nose. Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, and helpless dread settles in your stomach like a stone. 

It's him. The Trapper.

You take in the hulking figure. The slow, lumbering gait. Just his silhouette is enough to make you freeze like- well. Like prey, caught in a trap. Normally you'd be scrambling to pry the trap off, desperately trying to get away, but… not this time. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or maybe you're just tired of fighting a pointless battle in an endless war that's impossible to win. Either way, instead of trying to free yourself, you watch him stalk closer in a daze.

The monsters in this place are all unique. Some look just like humans, while others are so horrific it makes you nauseous just thinking about them. The Trapper, though… he's something in between. An enormous humanoid… turtle? You think so, yeah. With spikes jutting out along his arms, his shell, his long, thick tail. He wears a filthy pair of overalls, frayed at the edges and covered in dirt and viscera. His spikes have poked through them in several places, as well. His mask, a horrific, grimy thing that was once white, covers all of his face except for the eye holes and the opening over his mouth that's twisted into the shape of a grotesque smile. The cleaver he carries is almost the size of your entire torso, and you can see blood still dripping sluggishly from the blade. 

He's getting closer. Slow and steady, as always. You've never seen him run - and isn't that strange? That you can sprint for half an hour without stopping, and somehow he manages to keep up with you the entire time? That's odd. Then again, everything about this hell is odd. You can't remember the last time you ate or drank anything, yet you feel no hunger or thirst. You've died countless times, yet here you are. 

You're not sure why these are the thoughts fumbling around in your head. You're not sure why you're still just watching him advance. Is this what it feels like? To finally give up? 

The Trapper is almost upon you. Your heart throws itself wildly against your ribcage, begging you to run. Silly thing. Doesn't it know that there's no point? You'll die, and then you'll be back, and you'll die again. What's the point in even trying? This is what your life, if you can even call it that, is going to be like for eternity. Pain and fear and death. Over and over and over. 

Still, it screams. Run. Run away.

You keep watching him. The way the mist swirls around him is almost pretty, especially with the red glow that emanates from him, staining the ground in front of him a deep crimson. When he gets close enough for that red light to wash over you, you wonder if your heart might actually leap from your chest and run away without you since you refuse to listen. 

He's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. So close that you have to angle your head back to keep your eyes on his mask. His arm raises, and this is the part where you should look away. Or shield yourself, or beg for mercy, or- something. But nothing has ever made a difference in the past. Why bother? He'll strike you down and toss you over his shoulder and carry you to that hook you saw nearby. That's just the way it is, now that you're caught, and anything you do now will just be delaying the inevitable. 

So you watch. And you wait for the strike. 

…The strike doesn't come. 

He's just… standing there. Looming over you. His hand still holding that great cleaver in the air. Now that you're paying attention, you can hear his heavy breaths - unsteady, with the hint of a growl in each one - starting to come a little faster. 

That's… new.

You stare up at him. He stares down at you. After what feels like an eternity, the cleaver lowers, and he- he drops it.

What?

Never. Never. Not once in the entire time you've been trapped in this hell has a monster dropped their weapon. Even when stunned, or blinded, or while watching the last survivor sprint through the exit doors - they've always kept a firm grip on their weapon. You wouldn't have been surprised if the weapons were somehow bound to their hands, in fact. 

And yet. 

He moves, slow and steady, to settle on one knee. Even kneeling, he towers over you, the red light that seemingly comes from nowhere making you squint until your eyes adjust. You're still panting, little whimpers slipping out against your will. And he's just staring. 

What is he doing?

You glance from his mask to his hands. He's released his cleaver, sure, but those hands could easily crush your skull like a ripe melon. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he's tired of striking people down in the same way every time, maybe he wants some variety. 

No. You focus on his eyes. You've never been this close for this long, never been able to see what they actually look like beneath that mask. They're fully white - no pupils or anything - but you see… confusion there. Something tentative and unsure. Something you've never seen in a monster before. 

His hand reaches toward you, and a spike of panic has your next breath stuttering in your lungs. You wait for a blow, a bruising grip around your throat - but it doesn't come. His hand has three fingers, you realize. Not as though two are missing, no, but more like that's just how he was born. 

You're not sure why that's what you're focused on at a time like this. 

Two of his fingers brush over your cheek. His skin - scales? - are rough, but it doesn't hurt. He's… gentle. It's almost a caress, the way his fingers trail along your jaw. 

What is happening?

You focus on his eyes once more. The confusion you see in them is more intense now, and you can see the hints of his brow furrowing beneath the mask. 

Earlier you'd been stupid from fear. Now you must be stupid from blood loss, or just plain stupid, because in the next second you open your mouth to whisper. 

“Trapper?”

He inhales sharply. Blinks. And suddenly the red light is gone. Suddenly you see his pupils, suddenly that overwhelming something you always feel when a monster is near dissipates. His breaths come even faster, a hysterical undertone making you worry for him. 

This creature has killed you before. Why are you worried about him?

He shakes his head, a jerky, panicked motion, and pulls his hand away from your cheek. You could swear his eyes look almost - afraid. Darting between your bloodied face and your leg in the trap and the foggy woods that surround you both. His eyes settle on yours again, and you swear - you swear - that you start to see his eyes shine with tears. 

You don't have time to think too much about that before his hands shift to grip the bear trap around your leg and snap it open like it's nothing. Once again, you can't help but let out a pained shout between clenched teeth, the dizziness and ringing in your ears coming back in full force as more blood flows sluggishly from the puncture wounds. He doesn't even need to throw you on a hook, you think deliriously. He could just leave you here and wait for the darkness to take you, as long as no other survivors come along and help. But that's not an option, since the last survivor is on a hook right now. Even if they were free, there's not much time left, anyway, since you can already feel yourself starting to-

-

Motion. Dull, rhythmic thuds. Harsh panting, tinged with something like panic. Someone is carrying you, each step jostling your leg and turning your thoughts to static. It takes a few minutes before you remember. Before you realize. 

You passed out. That's what happened. Opening your eyes presents you with the blurry sight of the Trapper's mask above you and a starless sky beyond. 

Oh. He's carrying you. To a hook? But there was one right by where you were, why would he have to run to- 

He's running. He's running. 

You try to say something, but it just comes out a garbled mess. Even you aren't sure what you were trying to say. He doesn't respond, but he does glance down at you. His eyes are wild, but not in a way you'd ever expect. There isn't fury or bloodlust there. Instead, you see fear. Desperation. Guilt. Things you hadn't thought the monsters in here were even capable of feeling. You also realize that he's carrying you bridal style, cradling you close to his chest. Usually he just tosses people over his shoulder when he carries them to a hook. 

So many things that don't add up here, so many things out of the ordinary. What happened? What changed?

Where is he taking you?

You turn your head, looking in the direction that he's running. Your vision is still blurry, and you can't make out anything but vague shapes through the mist and darkness. Your head rolls back, and you catch the unmistakable sight of those inky black tendrils reaching down from the sky in the distance, twisting and curling until they breach the top of the treeline.

The last survivor. You'd wanted to save them, but if those things are descending for them it's too late. Not that you're in any state to lift someone off a hook anyway.

You're sorry. Fuck, you're so sorry.

You blink and suddenly the Trapper isn't running anymore. Instead he's shifting you in his arms. That was odd. Did you pass out again for a few seconds? You can't really tell, but you're distracted by the flare of pain in your leg that the movement causes. 

Focus on something else. 

Again you twist to look forward. You're shocked to see that he's brought you to the exit doors, and he's pressing a hand to the switch. You're not sure what he's doing, exactly - it won't activate unless all the generators are up and running. 

Wait. Why did he bring you to the exit doors?

You can't focus. Can't organize your thoughts. Can't even lift your head for more than a few seconds at a time. Surely you're close to bleeding out at this point. Maybe all of this has been some strange hallucination that your brain cooked up while you lie dying on the ground, still stuck in that bear trap. Sometimes the monsters do that - leave you there to bleed out. Sometimes they just stand there and watch you as the light leaves your eyes, guarding the area so that no others can help you. 

A faint red glow distracts you from your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the Trapper's hand against the switch, and you're shocked to see his hand glow red. It's not the same red that usually accompanies him, though. This feels… different. Just as strong, but more… pure. 

A blaring horn cuts through the air as the exit doors grind open. He shifts you in his arms once again and starts to carry you through the doors. You can see the dark, empty field beyond. Your path to freedom and safety, temporary as it is, sends a rush of excitement through you. Incredulous, you stare up at the Trapper as he kneels and carefully lowers you to the ground inches away from the edge of the little area that separates the walled estate in one direction and the open field in the other. Behind him, you can see the grounds of the estate starting to shake. Angry red lines crack the earth, and little tendrils of darkness start to curl up from the shadows. 

The Trapper is watching you. Holding you upright with a hand supporting your back. You try to blink away the blurriness, but you can't. Can't focus. Can't think. But you know freedom is within reach. You only need to crawl across the threshold and you'll be fine. It doesn't make sense, but as long as you cross the threshold you always make it back to the campfire. Even if you're on the verge of death, you make it back. 

And he's brought you right to the edge. As far as he can go. No monster has ever been able to cross the threshold. 

You must have finally lost your mind. He isn't holding you here, isn't trying to stop you from leaving, and yet you haven't moved. Not only is he still very capable of killing you, even without the cleaver he seems to have left behind, but you're also on a timer. Once the exit doors are open, there's only so much time before the darkness swallows anyone who hasn't escaped. It's a quick death, sure, but incredibly unpleasant. Just the memory of what it sounds like for your bones to crack and crunch inside of you sends a shiver up your spine.

But… this is all so strange. You're half convinced that you're dreaming. A monster showing any sort of mercy is unheard of, much less a monster helping you escape. Could this be another trap, somehow?

It's at that moment that you hear him speak for the very first time. His voice is a rumbling, scratchy thing that sounds like it hasn't been used in ages. Cracking at the edges and colored with something timid and pleading.

“Please,” he whispers. “Go.”

There are things you want to ask. Things you want to say. You didn't even know he was capable of speech until now. But you're running out of time. Every second that you delay is another second closer to death. Dying is never easy, never pleasant, but you seriously consider waiting it out just to get more time to experience whatever the fuck is happening right now. You have no clue how long you've been stuck in this hell, but it's been long enough that you've started to forget things. Like your mother's maiden name. Your address. What color your best friend's eyes were. And in all the time you've spent here, nothing like this has ever happened. You don't know if it ever will again. 

He nudges your thigh with his free hand. Gentle but insistent. You have to blink a few times to focus on his face - mask. Mask, it's a mask. You wonder what he looks like underneath it. 

It isn't until his hand closes around your wrist that you realize you had started reaching toward him. “Mask,” you mumble, hearing the slurring in your own voice. You think you might be dangerously close to passing out again. Somehow that fact doesn't bother you as much as it should. 

“It doesn't come off.” He clears his throat, releasing your wrist. “I've tried.”

That must be uncomfortable. Stifling, even. Does that mean he doesn't want to wear it? Who put it on him, then? And why?

His voice interrupts your thoughts again, but you don't quite catch what he says. Something about sorrow and meaning… or, no, that's not exactly what it was. You're drifting a bit, you realize. Having trouble keeping your eyes open. You feel him nudge you again, a little harder this time, and manage to pry your eyes open long enough to catch his gaze. You see tears there. 

Crying. He's still crying. 

Why do you care? 

You glance behind him. The grounds of the estate are almost unrecognizable from how warped they've become. You need to go. But for the first time, you're wondering what it's like for him. Does he wake up at a campfire once the trial is over, too? Is he stuck on the estate until the darkness whisks him off to another location with new victims? Does he even want to kill people? And how did he even end up here in the first place? You'd always thought the monsters were sort of - part of it all. Just like the dilapidated buildings and the black sky, something that was created just for the purpose of torturing you and the others you've seen between the short reprieves offered by the campfire. 

Was he stolen away from his life just like you were? Is he just as trapped as you?

Time is almost up. If you delay any longer it'll be over, and you can't stomach dying when escape is right here at your fingertips. So you lean, falling onto your forearms, and start to drag yourself over the threshold. 

Just before you're clear, you glance back. He's still there. Watching. Kneeling. You can't be sure, but you think he's… trembling. 

What must it be like? Watching you crawl away while he's stuck behind?

You swallow thickly, hesitating. You can't stay, and you can't take him with you, but you also can't leave without saying something. “Thank you, Trapper.”

The mask obscures his expression, but you see his hands tighten into fists. “Raphael,” he says weakly. Something in his inflection makes you want to turn back and sit with him until the darkness takes you. But you don't. “My name is Raphael.”

“...Thank you, Raphael.”

And you crawl away.

-

tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty @justalotoffanfiction @shakeyourtrees

[year2000electronics]

do you have any tips or suggestions for someone wanting to make their own oc story? your ocs and their stories are so insanely cool but i have no idea where i’d even begin to make one!

also happy y2kvr-versary ! late i know but it was still the ask blog that caused me to follow you and i’ve just stuck around for your other content after. :)

HMMMM lemme just spill a bunch of my thoughts all at once, this is just some stuff i personally like doing with my own oc stories! by no means is this a comprehensive list and i am not a professional!

1. accept the fact that you’re probably going to need minor/side characters. of course that isn’t always the case, there are story types that only focus on a handful of characters, but let’s use the reckoning as an example: even though i love all the characters there dearly, it’s about sinclair and his donning and subsequent subverting of the “mythological hero” mantle by taking on the vices’ challenge. montez and duncan, the other two archangels, are there to serve as a secondary antagonist in holy orders and bring some more life to the story’s world respectively, and That’s Okay. recognizing that not all your characters are gonna be the most specialest boys is a great place to start with structuring an oc story imo!

2. KEEP AT IT. the reckoning as it exists now didn’t truly come together until 2020, which is when the ask blog was made. cardine (the city the vices reside in) is such a key, important concept that drives the story along and the reckoning wouldn’t be nearly as good without it, and that only got introduced in one of the final drafts pre-ask blog!! reworks, practice with laying out the events, thinking and re-thinking of stuff and spending years with it is really good. it’s healthy. i mean a lot of great films and tv get ‘saved’ at the last minute from being terrible by one terrible concept being scrapped so revising and not being afraid to change things is your best friend

3. learn some rules. i’m of the firm belief that storytelling should be an all-access hobby for everyone, so you don’t have to read all of save the cat and then write out a full script or anything, but like. turn on a movie you like, or read a book you love. think about what they’re doing to convey primary themes to you. pick out the themes, actually, that’s good too. being able to pick up on themes that aren’t just being stated to you as if it’s dialogue from sonic heroes is a great teacher on how to subtly weave those themes into your story

4. don’t be afraid to break those rules! a lot of that stuff is great to pick up but at the same time they’re YOUR characters, and if you find yourself getting bored by playing too “by the book”, nobody said you can’t change how things work. for example, a lot of my oc stories have “villain protagonists” because i just really connect with the way ‘villains’ present themselves in media. if you find yourself fixating on a side character and brushing your main character aside? screw it! you can just make the story about them! what if a 7/11 clerk went on an adventure instead of the main guy!!

5. INSPIRATION IS YOUR FRIEND. WEAR IT ON YOUR SLEEVE. i don’t mean you have to publicly disclose every single thing you were inspired by, but the amazing digital circus is REALLY big right now, and gooseworx has told people IHNMAIMS and the raggedy ann movie were big inspos and she clearly loves those things because they uplift the work higher! (plus it gave people a new appreciation for those things) and, imo, understanding what inspires you and celebrating it is a lot better of a mindset than going into something out of sheer spite (like you’ll see a lot of people online making very inflammatory “i alone could fix a piece of media that had to go through an entire writer’s room as well as corporate mandates, gosh why doesn’t everyone just Make Things Good?” type posts on social media, and i find myself straying more and more away from that). best example i can think of are all those very ill-fated “original alien stories” that su criticals made back in the day that were even more confusing than the gems and everyone had to pretend that “of course it makes more sense for the aliens to be flowers, gosh, why didn’t rebecca sugar think of this? we’re so smart”. my point is hate and shame can fizzle out quickly but creativity is forever

6. and of course, always make sure you’re actually having a good experience with the process. fun, catharsis, importance, etc. if it sucks, you can literally hit the bricks. i say that with experience because before my original superhero story existed (iris of the storm), there was another (problem students). it was dormant as a story for a really long time because i had accidentally made a superhero story without any of the superhero tropes i loved, but i couldn’t just… delete it all! OH WAIT. YES I COULD. i started it all over and got rid of ocs that i was glad i made but don’t need anymore, and i’ve never been happier cos iris of the storm is actually fun for me.

BUT YEAH THATS IT. thumbs up

[nomorefstogive]

Path To Nowhere Headcanons: Langley

Good Evening ladies, gentlemen, and all things that lie between, and welcome to this newest display of our wanton insanity. While we work on updating our Genshin Impact story, A Guide To Mending Broken Wings, on Ao3, we have decided to have a bit of fun with something that is somewhat novel to us.

That being our attempts at headcanons, this one focusing on the SFW ones as we plan to make a second one to focus solely on the NSFW ones, without managing to make an entire damn fic out of each entry lol. In particular, we will be starting with our headcanons for the sinners of PTN, with all of that said, let us begin!

Ah! We will also be using a Female Chief when we mention the Chief in this fic, we hope this does not bother anyone, but yuri is a passion of ours and fem chief was practically born for being paired with all of the lovely and dangerous ladies of PTN. 

First up, we have the Silver Spider of Dis herself, head of the 9th Agency and wielder of a gun to make Alucard from Hellsing ultimate proud-

Langley: 

SFW Headcanons

1. Like Zealous-Box on Reddit, I believe she is actually a rather nice boss to work under, although I also see her having the mentality of 'These are my agents to bully and not yours' and as such will not tolerate any outside factors weighing down on them. Debt? She'll subtly pay off the one they owe. An issue with their kids' schooling? Welp, that school is under investigation now. And so on.

2. She has trust issues as a result of having been betrayed many times in the past. It's the reason she is so quick to put a 'Mark' on someone, so if they betray her she can put them down as soon as possible, however, it can also serve as a sign of trust to those who have proven themselves to her.

A way of saying 'I always have your back, so long as you don't double cross me,' as she could use the 'Mark' to find them if need be. Of the few people she trusts, the Chief is the newest to a very small circle and as such is under her watch.

3. The Chief is her 'Little Rookie,' and no one else's. She is their superior and she will not tolerate anyone else trying to poach someone who is hers from her.

If someone tries to give the Chief an order, she will tell the chief to ignore it, before she has a nice 'Talk' with the person who tried to order her rookie. Said talk may involve her cane and their skull becoming intimately familiar with one another.

4. She hates the Old Men who run Dis. She finds them to be both incompetent and Corrupt to the point she has many times fantasized about removing them and playing kingmaker to find suitable replacements for them, but the threat of Pharma and others keeps her from going through with said dreams, afterall it is better the Devil you know then the unknown ones. She is loyal to the city, not the suit-clad rats that run it.

5. She sleeps with her pistol under her pillow. She likewise has one on her nightstand, another strapped under the bed, and many more scattered all across her home. She even has her room at Minos, it is less a cell and more a room because the Chief has accepted they are largely running more of a rehabilitation center/halfway home/apartment complex at this point, outfitted with several guns of varying caliber hidden across it.

6. She treats her stay at Minos like a vacation from her superiors, and can often be found napping with her hat pulled down over her face and her cane over her lap, Lady Maria style, or doing any other number of things to help try and relax from all the stupidity she deals with daily.

7. She encountered Suspect R once, the event left her absolutely terrified of the woman to the point of suffering nightmares of the woman and her power for several months afterward, this being what led to her meeting Chameleon, who came to be her counselor.

To this day she is terrified of meeting the woman again, and fears that should that day come she may not be able to muster the courage to actually face her. What makes it all the more traumatic to her, is that R did not even try to fight her, she simply overwhelmed her by virtue of her sheer presence alone, and this has led to Langley fearing the idea of just what the woman is capable of if she actually tries to fight.

8. Like KhandiMahn on Reddit, I think that she does collect cute things, although I personally feel she collects things such as children story books and fairy tales and has a single stuffed animal that has been with her since childhood, where it was her only real friend, that she has kept well maintained all these years.

She cannot sleep well without her stuffed animal and would more than likely have a panic attack should it be destroyed. The Chief earns brownie points with her when they find it laying around in the washroom and patch it up before she finds them fixing it in their office, Langley almost begging them to give it back to her with the chief doing so and agreeing to not tell anyone else while Langley hold her old friend to her chest.

Needless to say, Langley threatens them to keep quiet despite what they have said and heads off to get some actual sleep, the chief smiling at their superiors' antics as she leaves.

9. She is not a morning person, at all. Her subordinates consider the idea of waking her up early to be the equivalent of walking into the Rust without a weapon and with a neon sign strapped to your chest saying 'Eat Me'. She is in fact barely coherent or aware until she has coffee in her, and is in particular quite fond of Summer's coffee, the one that keeps the Chief up for a whole day in the supervision incident, though it barely affects her.

10. She suffered a leg injury that makes her occasionally have issues with her balance while walking, hence her cane. She added all of the gizmos and gadgets it contains later on, and has recently had Summer update some of them. Among them being a taser-like function that packs as much punch as a cattle prod, an option to remove the handle, which is attached to a small pistol, and a needle filled with adrenaline with a separate one being filled with sedative.

11. She cannot stand spicy food and has a not so secret sweet tooth. In particular, she is quite fond of strawberry or blueberry flavored ice cream but also enjoys coffee flavored versions of the frozen treat as well. She has a separate freezer in her home that is filled with nothing but ice cream. Her subordinates know about it but are wise enough to not say anything because she frankly deserves it given all she has to deal with. 

12. She frequently has migraines and as such carries around a pair of ear plugs, a pair of sunglasses, and a bottle of aspirin, as strong as she can obtain it without going on the blackmarket, and has a special room in her home and cell that is outfitted with complete sound proofing and no windows. 

Her subordinates have come to recognize the signs of one beginning to form, and will work to get her out of whatever situation she is in and either back to her home or to somewhere she can ride out the oncoming pain till it passes. 

The Chief encounters her when one is forming and takes her to their office to rise out the pain with them pulling down blackout curtains and giving her a pillow to rest her head on as they go to leave, only for Langley to stop them and ask them to stay with her during it and until it passes. 

13. She is somewhat touch starved, but she has had bad experiences with physical contact from her childhood and from her struggles throughout her life, and as such is somewhat adverse to it. 

That said, once she feels she can trust someone implicitly, of which there are few, she will typically be the one to initiate contact, typically through light brushes against their shoulders or by threading their fingers together.

If she ever reaches the point of allowing for herself to embrace someone, or allow for them to embrace her, then it becomes readily apparent that she is quite clingy and will allow for just how touch starved she is to become apparent as she tries to maintain contact for as long as possible or initiate it whenever it is possible for her to do so.

It will be worse still if she has nothing to do, and she knows the one she is holding has nothing to do, in which case they had best be prepared for a lengthy stay.

14. She has something of a fascination with spiders, often pausing to admire their webs whenevers she gets the chance, or allowing them to scurry across her hand or nest in the corners of her home, she also has a terrarium filled with various breeds from harmless if annoying Jumping Spiders, to lethal Brown Recluse and Black Widow spiders. 

Curiously, even the most hostile breeds of arachnids seem to be somewhat docile in her presence and also seem to display something akin to obedience to the Silver Spider of Dis, perhaps owing to an unknown attribute of her Sinner Power or for other unknown reason. 

She is particularly proud of having managed to get her hands on, and subsequently raise, a Female Goliath Bird Eater that she has named Spook, it is unknown if the Spider is normal or not, as it has lived for almost 10 years past its life expectancy and has shown remarkable intelligence. 

All of that said, the chief most certainly did not appreciate it when Spook landed on her shoulder while visiting Langley, the ensuing scream could be heard well across the Bureau and most of Dis.

15. Her driving is…let us just say it is something that necessitates boeing both soundly buckled in for, and having made sure that your last will and testament is in order, as Langley tends to pay less attention to speed limits and traffic laws, than she does on getting where she needs to go fast.

There are many reasons her agents trip over themselves to drive her somewhere, and most of them are owed in part to the sheer amount of accidents she has caused over the course of her time behind the wheel. 

16. She has a somewhat odd relationship with Tetra and Bai Yi, as she has hired the 2 to do jobs for her, and by extension the 9th Agency, before and while she has had many complaints about Bai Yi’s antics in the past, she cannot help but admit that the 2 are among her most trusted independent contractors for when she needs something done outside of her own jurisdiction. 

She occasionally provides them aid by subtly having charges against them revoked, or by having them bailed out of sticky situations, though she always expects them to repay her in some way once she has done so. 

17. She has something of a rivalry with Eirene, the two often being found playing chess against one another and speaking, though few of those who have managed to find them during these games are able to understand just what it is they are speaking about. 

This rivalry also manifest as Eirene going out of her way to purchase assets the 9th Agency is interested in, be it structures and companies, or hiring individuals they were interested in recruiting and then using them as leverage to force LAngley to play further games with her both at the negotiating table and at the chess board. 

18. She has a fascination with Crache and has her eye on her as a potential recruit for the 9th, her ability to effectively control shadows and to appear out of nowhere having the potential to make for not only a lethal agent but perhaps also someone that, if taught correctly, could become a greater legend than even herself in the fields of espionage. 

For now though, she is content merely monitoring the girls growth and ensuring she continues to develop along the right paths, occasionally she will provide little tests and challenges for the girls ability as well as subtly raising the education level of her tests to see her strive to grow, but outside of that she is keeping her hands off of her for fear of a certain nurse catching wind of her interest.

She despises needles and someone with a gun that shoots them is as such quite a bother for her to deal with. 

19. She once attempted to deal with Nightingale’s work out of curiosity for just what the adjutant has to deal with on a daily basis, she promptly had a small mental breakdown after the first hour, crashed from an overdose of caffeine near the third, had another mental breakdown near the fourth, and upon seeing just how much was left gave up and fled to her cell.

She has since made it clear that no one is to speak ill of the Adjutant, be they Sinner or Agent from the 9th or otherwise, any person who can handle that much bullshit and not lose their minds deserves not only the highest of praise, but also whatever the hell else they want or need, whenever they want or need it. 

20. She has a personal stamp made in the image of a widow like spider with a hypercube on its thorax that she uses to stamp all of her documents with, she once attempted to add a webbing design to it…it did not work like she thought it would and resembled more solid circle of ink than anything else and so she tossed the web and went back to the simpler spider design.

21. Her main gun is called the “Silver widow”, she has several spares with similar names, from a sniper rifle called the “Black Widow”, to a shotgun called the “Brown Recluse”, she has likewise had each of the weapons inscribed with the design of the spider they are named after, her main gun bearing the only custom emblem out of the lot with it being her own spider symbol, a widow like spider with a hypercube in place of an hourglass on the thorax. 

22. She shares a feeling of fond exasperation for the Chief and her usual aids, Hella and Hecate, as while they do get results, their methods tend to be…rather unique and occasionally very entertaining to watch and or hear about, but she is also somewhat wary of the most unlikely of the two Sinners for her own reason. 

She sees the Chief as something of a protege, though it could also be argued she seems to have a borderline romantic interest in them, or perhaps it is the growing bond between them simply showing just how lonely she truly is behind the mask of the leader of the 9th.

Regardless she tends to go out of her way to keep an eye on the eccentric Chief of Minos, occasionally going out of her way to aid them from the shadows or protect them from the various elements of Dis that just seem incapable of grasping just under whose protection they are.

As for Hecate, she finds the quiet and artistic girl to be somewhat pleasant to be around, always silent unless she is spoken to or needs to speak and always sketching she is one of the very few to have encountered Langley while she was having a migraine and not earned a bullet between the eyes as she closed the curtains of the room they were in and gave her a pillow to put her head on. 

When she asked why she helped her, Hecate merely looked at her and tilted her head before saying; “You have been kind to the Chief, and the Chief says I should help people if they are in pain, and you looked like you were in pain. Is that not a good enough reason?”

Langley will deny to her dying breath that she gave the young woman a head pat after she said that, and Hecate herself will be strangely quiet on the subject, though there will be a faint glimmer in her eyes at the memory. 

Since then, she has had something of a soft spot for the young woman, typically it is one shown by making sure she is alright upon returning from a mission or by encouraging her to grow beyond her current state of being, typically by arranging tests for her or challenging her to chess, she can proudly say the young woman is showing progress in her growing education.

As for Hella, one would expect her to despise the feral gremlin of Syndicate, what with her foul tongue, disrespect for authorities, and penchant for causing trouble wherever she goes, but in truth she finds her to be quite entertaining as all it takes to cause a spectacle is to say the right words to wind her up and then point her at something as she watches the fireworks. 

She also harbors a grudging respect for the young girl, as at one point she found herself confronted by Hella in one of the many hallways of Minos, the Syndican casually leaning against a wall as Ninety-Nine leaned against the wall across from her.

She had been intrigued from the moment she saw the oddly calm and composed look in the little gremlin’s eyes as she pushed herself off the wall and walked towards her, stopping in front of her and looking up just enough to meet her eyes as she spoke up in an oddly calm voice.

What followed was something she did not expect, the little B-Rank Sinner meeting the eyes of the Spider of Paradiso, an S-Rank Sinner with a kill count in the hundreds if not thousands, and telling her that she didn’t trust her, nor did she like her authority over the Chief, but she would tolerate them.

But if she betrayed the Chief, if she betrayed them or hurt them in anyway…well Ninety-Nine’s fist striking the hypercube reinforced wall with enough force to cause cracks to spider web across the wall and dust to fall to the ground as she pulled her mutated hand out of the pit she had born through it with one strike finished her sentence. 

The display was met with her aiming her pistol at the younger Syndican fast enough neither could blink before the cold metal was aimed at her forehead, the taller Syndican snarling as her eyes began to burn crimson as her power began to surge, only for Hella to do something that caught them both off guard.

She laughed.

She looked Langley dead in the eye, and she laughed as she lifted up her hand and pulled the gun flush against her forehead, the cold steel meeting her skin in a frigid kiss as she unblinkingly met Langley’s gaze.

“Go ahead, pull the trigger you eight legged Eastside bitch. We both know you don’t have enough bullets or strength to keep me from coming back before you can put Ninety-Nine down, and how long do you think that fancy cane will keep us back huh? Think a taser and a few knives and a little pea shooter are going to stop us for more than what? A few minutes? An hour? Doesn’t fucking matter, eventually one of us will break it, then what? How long will you last with that bad leg of yours? I give you about 10 minutes before one of us breaks it again, and this time you won’t have anyone to save you. So go ahead cow, put one between my eyes, I. Fucking. Dare. You.”

As Hella spoke she had reached her hand up to grip Langley’s wrist and begin to rest her smaller, yet more heavily calloused hand, over hers and begin to push down on the trigger finger after she thumbed the hammer back, never once breaking her gaze as she and Langley kept meeting each others eyes. 

Langley could feel Ninety-Nine’s gaze on her as she moved closer to her sun’s side, her posture telling Langley that the moment she squeezed the trigger, she would be fighting the brute up close and personal and she doubted even a round from her gun would stop her.

And so, she pulled her gun back and gave an amused chuckle to the young woman and her hulking companion. 

She looked down into Hella’s eyes and offered her a simple nod of understanding as she holstered her gun and began to walk away, the pair letting her pass with their peace said, though she soon stopped to call over her shoulder to them.

“I’ve known some of the best FAC soldiers and Agents in my life, and none of them have even half the guts you do brat, I look forward to seeing how you’ll turn out, little girl from Syndicate.”

Since then she has kept a close eye on the little gremlin, all the while wondering just what is truly going on in the head of the little B-Rank that had the guts to stare her down like that, because now that she has seen a glimpse of what lays behind the facade of a brat, she can’t help but wonder just what kind of beast stands beside the Chief. 

23. She is bi-sexual, but prefers either females or feminine or effeminate looking males, she is also one to very much wear the pants in any relationship, though she will have her softer moments, especially after a long day of dealing with the bullshit she deals with and her leg beginning to ache on her.

All she will want after visiting her partner afterwards, is to have her leg massaged while she closes her eyes and gets some sleep as she dreams of the day when she finally snaps and sets her paperwork on fire. 

24. She can be quite protective of those she has grown close to, and even more so in regards to those she considers friends or potential partners. Expect the Spider’s web to be thoroughly wrapped around these individuals as she maintains near constant surveillance of them and those around them.

Any fool going after them will have not only the Spider herself after them, but all of the 9th gunning for them as well, because their boss has earned those few treasured individuals after all the shit she has been through and anyone that tries to take those that make her happy from her, had best start digging their grave, cause whatever gods they worship have washed their hands of them. 

And that is about all for the Headcanon we have for the silver Spider of Paradiso at the moment, we may come up with some more in the future but for now this is where we will be ending this little chapter of this mess. 

Till next time, take care and stay safe everyone.

[loz-the-noob]

I find Marie’s body language in Return of the Mammalians really interesting because I can use it as Momrie propaganda BECAUSE it’s a really great physical representation of a side of her personality we don’t get to see that much in the game.

There are only a couple of instances this can be applied to in Return of the Mammalians but because I’m bored and desperate, I can stretch it to three, with a fourth scene where I think it could be improved.

Hold on to your tentacles! You’re probably going to think I’m insane after this.

I can’t believe you actually want to read this.

So, the first example I have AND the one that inspired me to write this mess is the scene during the construction of the uh, the machine thingy (does it have a name?) where Callie leaps at Marie to hug her in celebration of completing their task. And I MEAN leaps. We can’t see the whole of their bodies but judging by the suddenly acquired height difference, Callie is completely off the ground at this point. Given that the scene ends in a freeze frame, we don’t see the full force or speed of the hug-tackle either, but what’s clear is that Marie is prepared for it. Just to give myself a bit of focus because I have NO idea where I’m going with this; if the Marie-is-a-Horrible-Cousin Truthers whose splatoon knowledge ends like 6 years ago are correct, wouldn’t Marie have gone ‘Ew. UGH. CAL *hair flip* why are you TOUCHING me?’ or something? Or at the very least be completely unprepared to catch her? And that’s the thing! She doesn’t just hug her back - she CATCHES her. As shown by this here low quality image vv

Marie’s arms come up under Callie’s in a scooping motion. She is fully aware of her cousin’s physical recklessness and is completely prepared to catch her and keep her safe. I mean, the fact that Callie trusts her enough to just… fling herself at her is telling enough.

Alrighty. Next point GO!!

After Cuttlefish (I don’t like calling him that. Let’s call him Craig) after Craig gets Sucked Dry by That Bear, the Squid Sisters seem… mildly concerned, which is probably to keep the upbeat and comedic feel of the game while sacrificing a little emotional realism (coming back to this later!), but after they see he’s fully conscious and capable of floating by himself for some reason (?) everything’s Suddenly Fine Again. Except the world being in immediate danger, obviously. But here’s the thing (did I say that already? Well, there are 2 things)! For the remaining portion of the game this side of the end credits, Marie is just… holding Craig. As afore mentioned though, he can float. She doesn’t NEED to be holding him but she just is. Whether that’s because she’s happy to see her grandfather safe or whether something inside her soggy little brain saw something smaller than herself and told her to protect it is a mystery, but either way, that is some quality… body language… there…(again, lost my point. Weirdly, whenever I think about someone being held by Marie, I seem to lose focus. Huh.)

Anyway, here’s a picture of Marie holding Craig. Look at how she’s trying to engage him in something he could easily be left out of. Does this image not bring you joy???

Moving on briefly from all the Marie-talk, let’s talk a little Callie. I’m honestly thrilled about what they did with Callie’s body language in this game. She’s full of energy and quite hands-on, which is exactly how I expected her to be, even though this is pretty much the first time we see her physically interact with other characters in the entire Splatoon series. It just feels right.

It completely makes sense that Callie would spend the majority (why did that just autocorrect to Major Titty. Why.) of the pre-boss cutscene literally hanging off Marie’s arm, and the awesome thing about that is that Marie doesn’t pull away or look irritated by her cousin’s constant GRIPPING and SHAKING of her arm at all. I don’t know about you, but if I had someone attached to me like that while I was trying to think of a master plan, I’d be pretty annoyed. Unless, of course, it was Callie. I’m getting off track again here. My point WAS that Marie is so, so chill. I hate it when people try to portray her as angsty because she just… isn’t.

What all this body language shows is that Marie is a supportive, nurturing well of patience and ANYONE THAT SAYS OTHERWISE WILL BE FED TO THE BEASTS.

Which is WHY I think that during the scene where Craig is slightly rehydrated by the Captain’s tear, it would make way much more sense to have Marie reach out a hand to touch the Captain’s shoulder, or at least do something other than freezing there with an expression reminiscent of a damp, shocked cat. Now that Nintendo seems to have got their act together a little in terms of cutscenes, it would be nice to have more examples of characters (Marie. Marie is characters) using their body language to visually convey the finer points of their personality which may have been overlooked by some people *cough cough* Marie Trut-💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Struggling to find the point of this ‘argument’? So am I. What even is this? I’m not reading it back before I post it, that’s for sure. Gnight.