#long and short part of my life

[lyctorism]

going insane thinking about the paralleled relationships of palamedes’ fondness for harrow and camilla’s fondness of gideon. and their respective simularities! harrow being jealous of gideon mooning over dulcinea. camilla being jealous of palamedes being in love with dulcinea since he was 8. camilla being fond of gideon after realizing gideon also has a melodramatic necromancer. palamedes and harrow’s “necromantic pissing contest”. gideon and camilla’s love of swords. palamedes “I'm the greatest necromancer of my generation”, harrow “like hell you are”. palamedes suiciding detonating himself to take out cytherea. gideon suiciding throwing herself on spikes to send harrow full lyctor to take out cytherea. palamedes “i miss harrow terribly” sextus. harrow “i can’t envision a universe without you in it” nonagesimus, camilla “life is too short and love is too long” hect. gideon “you’ll know what to do” nav, palamedes “she knows what to do” sextus. crazy! crazy insane! thinking about them

[dykedvonte]

Honestly I see Jimmy's refusal to put Curly out of his misery less about his weird feelings of envy or his delusions but the fact Curly is all but stated to be a shield to Jimmy from his actions and people seeing the worst in him.

The only characters that Jimmy really interacts with one on one before the crash are Curly and Anya, two individuals he has wildly different relationships with. It's likely that Curly really did most of the talking between them as the pilots and the rest of the crew as staff. They didn't know of Jimmy's more reprehensible behaviors cause they never really had the chance to and Jimmy is subconsciously aware. If they had disliked him more than Anya would have told Swansea earlier or even Daisuke when things got really bad.

It's why he takes the immediate opportunity to blame Curly; He's the shield. He's saved Jimmy's ass more times than he can count and more times than Jimmy would ever admit. Even when he can't really do it anymore, he mentally shields himself from his own faults by putting Curly between them. Letting Curly die puts too much on him because he doesn't know how to function without a safety net.

In the end Curly only lives because Jimmy needs the idea that Curly will inevitably make things better to stay alive, meaning Curly has to live, no matter how much it pains him to do so.

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 7

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Soap flashes in and out of consciousness, his body trembling as he alternates between fever and chills. He's vaguely aware of when they pull into a garage, the already-dark night turning pitch black as the door closes behind them. Ghost gently pulls him from the car and Gaz and Price throw his arms over their shoulders as they half drag, half carry him into what looks to be a safe house kitchen. They lead him through the house and lay him on the softest bed he's felt in years.

He passes out immediately.

When he wakes, it's to the thin light of dawn creeping around the curtains and hushed voices behind him.

"Stop worryin'," Ghost says. "Gaz will be fine."

Soap has his back to the room, but from the closeness of Ghost's voice, he gathers that Ghost is in the bed with him. Price's gruff voice replies from somewhere on the far side of the room.

"He's been gone longer than expected."

"Because we weren't sure exactly when the contact would arrive. And without comms or phones, we're operatin' in the blind. He'll be alright."

Price grumbles. Soap shudders as a chill sweeps through him, and an involuntary whine escapes his lips. It's worth the embarrassment, though, when Ghost's warm body sidles up to curl around his back.

"Alright, Johnny?" Ghost murmurs.

"Cold. And hot. And... fuck. Just want this to be over."

"You and me, both. Gaz is working on getting you more saline bags. We grabbed what we could from the hospital, but you're about to run out."

"Wha' 'bout you?" Soap slurs as the heat of Ghost's body pulls him toward oblivion.

"Right as rain. Go back to sleep, yeah?"

Soap hums and drifts off again. The next time he wakes, it's to the scent of something savory wafting through the air. His stomach growls, and behind him, Ghost huffs a laugh.

"You awake or just gurglin' in your sleep?"

"'M awake," Soap mumbles, turning to face Ghost.

A long tube snakes out from under the covers, and Soap realizes Gaz must have returned with the saline bags while he was sleeping. He must've made a supply run as well.

"Any news?" he asks as he gingerly pushes himself up to lean against the headboard next to Ghost.

"Nothing worth mentionin'. We're here until Laswell thinks it's safe enough to move again. She's narrowin' down the possible traitor or traitors, but it's slow work."

Soap just nods as Ghost turns and hands him a bowl of rice and chicken covered in a mild sauce. Another growl from his stomach interrupts the quiet of the room, and Soap gladly tucks into the meal. When he finishes, Ghost takes the bowl and sets it off to the side.

"More?"

"No' right now."

A quiet permeates the space between them, but it's not uncomfortable. Ghost gingerly adjusts himself against the headboard, and then softly, quietly, he moves his hand to rest over Soap's on the mattress. 

The touch shouldn't feel so mind-shattering. He's been sleeping in Ghost's arms for two days now and even kissed him. But something about the way Ghost's warm hand curls around Soap's feels like the most significant thing to happen to him since Makarov stole him away from the 141 and broke him.

The quiet lingers. Soap breathes through the pressure in his head and turns his hand, slotting their fingers together. The world slows to the faint beat of a pulse against his fingers and the rise and fall of Ghost's chest in his peripheral vision.

"Don't know what's goin' on in that head of yours," Ghost murmurs, "but I wanted to make sure you know... nowt's changed for me when it comes to you. If you feel different—"

"I don't," Soap interrupts. "Feel different, I mean. If anything, I'm probably gonna be a clingy bastard for a long while."

A pink tongue darts out to wet Ghost's lips. It strikes him then that Ghost isn't wearing a medical mask any more. Soap turns to study Ghost's profile, and Ghost nods, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"S'alright with me, Johnny. If we're bein' honest, I'd rather not let you out of my sight ever again."

Soap nods and leans over, resting his head on Ghost's shoulder. "Fine by me."

The soft pressure of lips against his shaved head is almost as good as the warmth of their fingers tangled together.

---

It takes a week to wean Soap off Makarov's drugs, but to his frustration, the withdrawal symptoms don't abait much: headaches, chills, irritability, and worst of all, hallucinations. They're mild — just blurs of motion in of the corner of his eyes or vague figures hovering in shadows — but it's enough to be dangerous, especially when they're being actively hunted. Luckily, Ghost is always there to reassure him. Gaz teases them about being attached at the hip, but he can see the underlying concern when Gaz looks at him.

They all look at him like that, though. Like he might disappear on them. It's fine, though, because Soap pretty much feels the same way about them.

He's still waiting to wake up in a pile of his own excrement and find that everything was a dream.

Ghost's wound is also improving day by day, and he's started mild exercises to keep up his strength. Soap joins him when he can, desperate to stay strong. Desperate to be able to fight. 

He can't go back. He won't. 

They have their own room, but in spite of Soap's bravery with their first and only kiss, he decides it's best to let Ghost take the lead any anything further, especially considering Ghost's wound. They curl up together each night, becoming more comfortable invading each others' spaces, but Ghost keeps his hands limited to the non-erogenous zones and his lips confined to soft kisses to Soap's head, forehead, or occasionally the corner of his mouth. Soap reminds himself of Ghost's words — that nothing has changed — and tries to be content.

The days pass slowly, and they're all going a bit stir crazy by the time Laswell wakes them before dawn and tells them to pack up. They obey without a word. The house is already clean — they've been treating it like an op where they could be called away at any moment, and it pays off. Within ten minutes, they've got their personal items packed, the fridge contents packed into a cooler, and as many surfaces as they can reach wiped down for finger prints. It won't stop a detailed search, but it will slow their enemies down if they find the place.

Ghost and Soap move as a unit, piling into the car in their previous positions. Gaz and Price swap out so Price can drive. Laswell continues to be closed lipped about everything from her spot in the passenger seat, and whether it's because she suspects listening devices or just doesn't think they need to know, he can feel the tension rolling off of her as she turns around and hands each of them a gun and several clips.

"I hope we won't run into trouble, but I'm not taking any chances. If we're separated, RV at these coordinates." She rattles off a series of numbers, and Soap repeats them in his head to solidify the information as Laswell continues, "And trust no one but each other. No old friends. No family members. Anyone outside this vehicle is suspect. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the three echo in unison.

Laswell nods, turns back around, and closes her door. The interior light switches off, leaving nothing but the dim light of the dashboard as a bastion against the darkness.

Soap stares at the soft glint on the barrel of the gun is in his hand.

His palm curls around the grip, finger placed carefully away from the trigger. His heart beats in his ears as the garage door opener grinds into motion, the slow dawning of morning light permeating the space.

The gun in his hand gains shape, hard lines mixed with gentle curves revealed by the growing light. A whisper of reflex, of ground-in instruction, urges him to flip off the safety, curl his finger over the trigger, and eliminate his targets.

He sucks in a hard gasp and shoves the gun at Ghost.

"C-c-c-annae have it. Not yet."

Ghost doesn't even blink as he leans forward and shoves the gun in the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. "More for me. If somethin' happens, you stick to me like glue, right Johnny?"

Soap feels Gaz's eyes on him, but it's Price whose gaze collides with his in the rearview mirror. "Alright, Soap?"

"Y-yeah. Stick to Ghost."

It takes ten minutes for his hands to stop shaking.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 >>

[shuuenka]

It's been awhile, couple hundred of years.

Give or take.

It's not that bad, Cyno.

Just a bit of ache. A bit of yearning.

Ah, and missing you for all of the eternal life I was cursed with.

Selfish desires of the heart that was once moved.

[elfsyellowflowerzart]

take two of yesterdays little doodle, using the ref this time

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[mrthology]

Now that the servers have been gone for a while, why didn't you and @ashilrak allow discourse and discussion of the negative aspects of the books? You could have kept it in its own channel for those who didn't want to see it. There are endless errors in the books regarding mythology and more that should be discussed, even if you don't like it. Criticism is a valid part of fandom, and you both prevented that in large servers as bigger authors.

ashilrak has their anon off, but this is for them as well.

Great question, here you go!!!

[smilesrobotlover]

I really wanted to draw the fam so here they are :]

[boxwinebaddie]

hey uncle nina do u happen to have that one para where u talked abt how jersey couldn't say ily during sbst and stan was like super sad abt it? i tried looking for it on ur blog but i can't find it</3

t-the...

tHE DIVORCE PARA???>?@?@?@?3/2/

YOU WANT THE FUCKDISNFN DIVORCE PARA????!!!?!?!

noooooOOOOOOoOooOo!!!!!!!!! :'(

i......Siiiigh.

goddamnit, guys. what happened to 'we hope you heal, uncle nina!' wAS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT I DIED ONCE??? I GOTTA DIE TWICE?!

but....because i love you very much, i will link it for you.

edit: oh god, i am reading it rn and it is soooo rough, i'm am so sorry. cringe. goofy aa. oof. later today, i might reopen it and just so we can suffer i will have it start mid sbst ( which, assumes i can write the smut which, no promises ) and then have it end with ravenstan leaving ( fuuuck lmao, like that fight does not even end there, we're in H-E-L-L holy shit ) because i hate my life but...anyways....

without further ado,

Please Enjoy The WORST

( and i do mean THE /WOOOORST/ )

Part Of Your Day...Maybe Your Life.

-uncle nina, who is going to request a lobotomy at her doctors appointment to forgot the divorce happened.

[hdusa]

hey what’s your favorite jojos part also do u fw fugio (the ship) :3

I think 5 takes it but 4 is very closely behind I’m actively rewatching it right now and god I love it so much. Also I think that is an interesting ship choice me personally I haven’t really shipped any characters from JoJo other than like actual relationships within the show.

[thebirdandhersong]

Okay y'all it is over it is done the conversation has been had he knows I love him we are still friends I have cried my eyes out properly I have laughed again my heart will keep on hurting for a while but it is FINISHED

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #30: Preparation

Masterlist

content: no warnings :)

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was a lot like planning for a vacation, but more stressful. For Heather, at least. Her packing had the frantic, frenzied pace of a burrowing shrew. She came up with a list of things to bring: clothes, food, money, a weapon—better safe than sorry, she told him—coats, water, more food? Toothbrushes, soap, sedatives—she wouldn’t offer an explanation for this one—buy gas, gloves, boots, and so on.

Jackie certainly wasn’t taking this any more seriously than a vacation. He hadn’t gone outside in a while, and besides that, he hadn’t left the vicinity of Heather's house for several months now. He found himself curious as to what it’d be like. Had the world changed at all while he was gone? No longer was he privy to the knowledge free men took for granted. News never reached his secluded life. He wouldn't know if there was high water coming or if the Swedes landed on the sun.

Like Heather, he also packed a few things. Nothing impressive. A new book from Heather’s shelf—something by Oscar Wilde about a portrait—alongside his clothes, a pencil and paper, the dollar bill he'd taken from Matthew, and one of Heather’s old backpacks to carry it all. 

On the second day, she also handed him a heavy, black wool coat. It went a few inches below his hips, and was studded by brass buttons all along the front. 

“I think it looks good,” she offered.

It did look very intimidating in the mirror. He pulled the coat off and shrugged. Petty things like vanity no longer appealed to him. There was no time for such luxuries. He could remember being invested in his appearance, long ago. He missed being able to care about stupid things. He missed buying his own clothes. Heather’s fashion sense was okay, but it wasn’t the same.

There was also the matter of the cop, with his warning of returning in two weeks or so. Evidence was key, and they needed it gone. With a gallon of gasoline and an old firepit in the yard, Heather burned the tapes, the cassette recorder, the polaroids of Jackie’s open chest and exposed organs, hell, even the ropes. It all went up in flames, went black and curled around the edges, until there was only a pile of ash and char. She cleaned the blood off her tools and gutted the house of stains from the inside-out. 

The third day arrived with a flurry of snow outside. The intensity of the sun was wholly unfamiliar to Jackie, and it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. They shoved their luggage into the back of the car. Jackie was happy to learn that he could sit in the front.

“What?” she said when he let out a sigh of relief. “Did you think I’d keep you in the trunk?”

He laughed at this, but it was an uneasy smile he wore. It was hard to tell with her. What sorts of things she found ridiculous, and what lines she wasn’t opposed to crossing. 

Still, things were generally okay. He was safe. He was out of the silence, out of the isolation, and he felt okay. He felt happy. Before this, his happiness was brief and based on whatever small luxury could distract him. Maybe a painkiller, maybe a break from the tests. But his happiness now was more of a pervading contentment. It was a constant, heavy high in his heart, felt in the far edges of his soul.

Although he had found it redundant, Heather had an idea with strings of thread. Before they left, she taped up a string near the front door, and also to the hallway’s entrance. This, she informed him, would reveal if anybody had come in and searched the house. The thread would snap easily when someone walked through it. It wasn’t clear what the benefit of this knowledge was, if she would go to jail either way, but it seemed to calm Heather down a bit.

The wind scratched at Jackie’s face when he stuck his head out the window. The flecks of falling snow pierced his skin. The cold stung his eyes, making them water. He didn’t care. The feeling of movement and freedom was exhilarating. Heather started the car with a jerk of the gear shift. And off they went, out of the house, into whatever lay behind the highways and empty roads.

He rolled the window up after a while, then turned to her. “How long are we leaving for?”

“Three weeks.” Her grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to nearly bruise. “Longer, if we need to.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. Stop asking me questions, I’m going to be sick.”

Indeed, her expression had not shifted from dull panic. There were dark circles under her eyes. Something played on the radio, but the melody was too quiet to recognize. She turned it off with a small, barely noticeable frown. 

Jackie left the subject alone and leaned his face against the window. This was the best day of his life, he thought. 

The sky was starting to turn black. They left the house late, to draw as little suspicion as possible. Streetlights shone like cat’s eyes on the sides of the road, streaky and long with motion. He thought he saw a few people, passing by, their faces blurry and indistinct. There were trees, pines with bristling needles, bare birches, old oaks. Snow stained the sidewalks in shades of dirty white. There were one or two other cars, but not many. Maybe it was a holiday. Maybe it was Christmas.

“What’s the date?” he asked.

“I told you, stop asking—” The tension eased from her shoulders, but only slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Well, he could wait. He was good at waiting. Jackie wondered how long he had been waiting, locked down there—it could have been weeks or years, and he would never know. But that was behind him, now. That was in the past. He could file it away with all his other bad memories. There was no point in dwelling on it. He had lived, and he would continue to live, and that was all. It was nothing to worry about.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

@creppersfunpalooza

[bereft-of-frogs]

so the 'Qimir/the Stranger is actually [ insert high republic character here ]' theories have started to escalate, Imri was one thing, today I saw someone suggest the Stranger is Cohmac and I laughed out loud.

But also sure. The Stranger is Cohmac. XD Why tf not. Except for all the, you know, 'humans don't live that long' and 'their descriptions and official character art do not match Manny Jacinto at all' 'it doesn't actually make sense' but people keep countering that with 'energy transfer' so I guess Qimir really could be anybody.

Wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if it was Azlin Rell. Fucking Azlin. That would be SO funny if he energy-transferred himself into Qimir to live another hundred extra years, to continue being the worst. It would be so funny. Absolutely no one else would find it funny but I would personally find it absolutely hilarious if 'scenic route guy' is Qimir

[the-arcade-doctor]

SILLY BILLY LYRICS BUT IF JAY WROTE THEM I'LL MAKE THEM SAY HOW PROUD THEY ARE OF ME THEY'D HATE THIS STATE THEY SEE ME IN CURRENTLY LONG LIVE JAY L O N G L I V E J A Y

[whitherwanderer]

.

Y'know I probably would have modded a lot more like I do in other games if it didn't feel like an arms race to become the MOST beautiful, the MOST unique, the MOST hyper-appealing.

Sif is literally written to just be okay-looking. Solid 5/10. Which means I have no use for a large swathe of mods except for nice hands and maybe some neat clothing mashups.

I don't need her to be the most gorgeous 43-year-old woman who ever lived.

I need her to be mediocre and to deserve good things anyway because that's my fantasy. You know?

[daisychainsandbowties]