#not as long as the previous one

[ghostingtheconflict]

Prologue:

Breaking The Bank: Part 2

(The C.C.C apoligizes for any inconviniences about glitches or misplacements you may find reading. We are working on fixing issues as we speak.)

Ah, sunny days with a nice humidity and clouds for shades in the sky.

A perfectly nice day by all means but why does it feel like something is wrong ?

Maybe Charles forgot something ?

Headset ? Check. Keys ? Check ? Personal stuff like ID and Money just in case of anything ? Check.

Huh. Weird, he actually got the pen he promised to return to Calvin too. So what could it be ? What was missing ?

Maybe he'll remember later while he checks for any new assigments or missions with the General. He usually does by that point, either that or he forgets completely about it.

Oh well no time like the present am i right ?

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Elsewhere. A man wakes up in cold sweat from a recurring nightmare. Although 'recurring' might be a exageration.

Dmitri has been having weird dreams for a while in his life. But nothing too noteworthy of anything. But today was different.

Today he saw a nightmare of his complex in absolute shambles. It was far too real for it to be paranoia or the likes.

He remembers exactly the last time he had a similar dream. One so real that it manifested in reality. One at the beginning of his time as a warden.

And at the center of it all was the same person of before.

This will not do. This will not stand. He needed precautions Now.

He gets out of his bed and starts to walk to his office. The guards already used to some of his whims pay no mind and continue their job. Good.

Grigori as well was already working (or maybe the man hadn't gone to sleep) and simply looked up from his desk as he saw his boss approaching.

"Another one ?" Grigori states.

"Not just any. Him again." He saw as his eyes morphed into shock in an instant, before quickly going back to a more neutral, albeit worried expression.

"What did you see in it Dmitri. Is it any worse ?"

"Not just worse. My life will be in ruins if we don't act." Most normal people would assume by this point that the warden wasn't someone that was. Ok. In the head. But not with Grigori. The man had witnessed and experience a lot over the years working for Dmitri. He had been there for the first incident. He wouldn't leave his post now.

"Than we will have a long talk on what we must do. If you're dream has enough details, and i know it does. Than we may be able to spot any flaws in it as well that we'll have to patch to prevent the scenario." And indeed it will. They had a long night to talk through this somewhat prophetic vision.

One thing however was clear. They would not let Henry Stickmin do his little destruction as he did before.

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

Talking about the man, or rather the stick. Let's see what he is up to.

Henry had it under control a few minutes ago. Really ! He did !

So how the hell is he still exactly in the same spot and holding his arms up against the police like in the original timeline ??

This sucks. At least he got to see fun new options. Honestly he was starting to consider going back to Revenged and die before this happened. Even if he doesn't know what he or maybe the C.C.C broke to do this.

But oh well. He doesn't Need to go to prison right away after all. He coooould go back and check the other 3 fails before going foward again anyway.

He wonder what he should choose.

Breaking The Bank: Concluded

Rank: Here Again ?

Bios: 0/??

Achivements: 0/??

Try from beginning ? Next

Ċ̵̞.̷͍͊C̸͙͛.̷͇̀C̵̨͆ ̷̘̄a̵̟͝p̵̛̙ǫ̴͝l̶͈̓i̸͈͠g̷̛̝ȉ̶̢ž̷̮é̶͜s̷̘̉ ̶͈͛f̷̬͋o̸̩̒r̵̂ͅ ̴̭̅a̵̘͋n̴͓͘y̷̧̿ ̵̰͌i̵͔̚n̴̳̓c̴̰̆ȍ̶̰ṋ̴̈́v̶̱͐i̷̪̍n̵͍̆ȉ̷̝ë̵̹́n̸̙͂c̸̗͠e̴͔͝ ̵̲̒y̸̭͂o̵̫̕ǘ̴͙ ̸̠̆m̷͖͌ą̷̑ŷ̶͇ ̸̥͘h̴͈̔a̸̱͂v̶̨͛ȇ̷̱ ̶̪͌w̶̺̌h̸̨͆i̴̛̙l̶̯̑e̷̻̔ ̷͓̈́ạ̶́r̵͉͋c̴̣̄h̸͖́i̶̢͝v̴̪̐î̶̜n̴̠͛g̷̤̈́ ̵͙̇y̸͇͒o̷͉̿ū̸̱'̸͎̎r̸͎̅e̸̳̍ ̶̤̄p̷̖͗r̶̝̅ǒ̴̳g̴̣̕r̴̟̆e̷̗̒s̸̙͋s̴̤͝.̴̮́ ̴͚̽W̴̪̌é̵̩ ̸̯̀a̸̘͊r̵̩͛e̴̙̊ ̶͓̓w̸̡͑ò̴̠r̶͓͂ǩ̵̳i̴̬̓n̵͓̋g̶̃ͅ ̸̠̚o̷͓͐ǹ̵̦ ̵̦̇f̷̋͜i̴̞̚x̴̝́i̶̮͂n̷͕͝ḡ̵̰ ̷̯̍ä̶͔́n̵͍͂y̷̼̌ ̶̄ͅi̶̛̼s̷̲̀ś̸̱u̷̢͛e̶̩͂s̴͕͝ ̶̮͝a̸̞͑s̵̫͊ ̷̩̀w̵̧̍ê̷̟ ̶͓̽s̸̨̃p̷̪̃e̸̯͆a̸̟̍k̴̬̓.̷̡̔

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[yakichoufd]

Scott doesnt know how to hold a cat

[araneapeixes]

Uh Oh....the ladies have entered their 4th pint stage

[kaiserouo]

(prev | next | first)

got a corpus engineer on board

he really likes warframes

[hermit-frog]

[remindertoselfto]

@gumworthweek 2024 Day 6 - Glasses / Trenchcoat

Finally got around to drawing the glasses prompt! I think Gumshoe would look super cute in glasses, and I think Edgeworth would agree. I have no further comments.

[sualne]

croco art

[arthursfuckinghat]

Sometimes I think a lot about Arthur's old journal, the one he had prior to the game's events that got burned in a fire, and how Arthur went a long time without a replacement.

He wrote that he missed writing and drawing, more than he thought he would.

The journal is a wonderful tool that allows us see through Arthur's eyes and how he deals with things, it's one of his healthiest coping mechanisms, so it makes me wonder what those journal-less months were really like for Arthur.

Whatever and wherever the fire was, the time spent up north in the Grizzlies and travelling down from it, Dutch nearly buying some land but getting spooked by the law, new people joining them, and then the gang spending months in the wilderness before moving to Blackwater - it all sounded like a hectic time. But he never wrote about how he felt, he just wrote about what had happened.

Yet, he said he missed writing and drawing. He missed it. He had the itch to write and draw for ages, but he couldn't.

Maybe he struggled with the chaos of those few months without a journal to empty his frustrations and thoughts into, maybe he saw so many things he wanted to draw and it aggravated him that he couldn't, maybe he was slightly more irritable than usual with everything that had pent up and having no means to release it, and so on.

I just think about it a lot.

Especially if you took the journal out of the main game, you'd be taking out a huge portion of the story and the insights we have into who Arthur is as a person too. It's impossible for Arthur to not write in the journal, even if you never open it. It's a vital tool that helps define him and show us how he moves through the world, how he copes with the world.

So if Arthur had his journal taken away by a fire all those months ago and went a long time without, what would he have been like?

[varpusvaras]

Jason gets his new ID card on a Thursday.

It's somehow simultaneously completely unremarkable, and also making his head reel. It's not even the first new, official ID card he has had in his hands - he needed one for the licence, after all, so he'd got one then - but it's still new in every way possible.

Jason turns the card around a couple of times, just to make sure that it's real. It is. New and shiny, with his own face looking back at him from the front. His face is also somehow the same old and completely new at the same time. It is very much him, in the picture, but Jason feels like he is looking at his long lost twin brother rather than at himself. His hair is freshly cut, completely black. His skin is tanned more than it has been in years, from spending a lot of time under the California sun during the past few weeks. He is wearing a light blue button-down shirt, one that Jason wouldn't usually never be caught in publicly.

It is him, still.

Jason is pretty sure he shouldn't have gotten neither of his new, official state-issued ID's so fast, or gotten everything else sorted out so quick either, but Roy has his own ways of doing things. This is the one time his previous government-connections came in handy, he had said after Jason had said yes, and then he had kissed Jason on the forehead and told him not to worry about it.

Jason had let Roy take care of it all. Doing things for others is how he shows affection, and Jason had felt that Roy had needed to take care of Jason even more than Jason had needed Roy to take care of him. Not that Jason is complaining about it. He still feels a bit untethered, and most things are taking entirely too much out of him, either physically or mentally, though Jason is not sure which is which most of the time.

Not that it really matters.

He finally turns his eyes away from his picture to what is written on the rest of the card. His birthday is correct, for once, since this is an official card and not a fake one for whatever purpose Jason had needed one over the years. His address is also on the card, and Jason cannot help but feel a sense of elevation for it. It makes him feel a little stupid. It's an address (Roy's address, their address, Jason officially lives there too-), not a new name or anything like that.

Jason is not really sure if he can look at the name on the card and not immediately combust on the spot, if the address is making him feel this way already.

The ring on his finger feels heavy. Jason takes a deep breath and moves his thumb where it had been covering the rest of the text.

Jason Peter Harper.

It's his name.

It's him.

Jason reads it again. Then again. Then again once, twice, three times more.

Jason Peter Harper looks at him from the picture while he does so. Jason's head is really spinning, and he forces it to stop, hard.

It is him.

He is Jason Peter Harper.

He is the man in the picture on the card.

That's him.

The door opens and closes in the hallway. Roy comes up to Jason when Jason doesn't answer to his greeting.

"Everything okay?" He asks, as he gets to Jason's back.

"Yeah", Jason manages to get out from his mouth. "My new card came in."

"Oh, already?" Roy says. "That was fast. Let me see?"

Jason lifts the card up a bit, so Roy can read it over his shoulder. From how close Roy is standing to him, Jason can hear the small, gentle stutter in his breath as he reads the name. It isn't like neither of them had not seen it already, written like that, since it is in other forms they had filled out, but apparently, it is still making Roy feel just as much things as Jason does.

Jason hopes that it never stops doing that for either of them. Or at least, not for a very long time.

He needs something to last.

"Nice name you got there, Harper", Roy says, and Jason swears that he can almost feel Roy's smile on his skin. He then feels Roy's body pressing against him, warm and strong and solid. Roy wraps his arms around Jason, his head dipping down to rest on Jason, and Jason turns to look at Roy's hands and at the mathing golden wedding band he has on his finger.

"You're mine", Roy says against Jason's shoulder. It is what he has been saying, ever since the clerck at the City Hall had put their name on the paper, singing their lives together. You're mine, you're mine, you're mine, and no one can say otherwise.

Jason had needed to hear it.

He still does.

Jason looks up at the card. It's strange, how a little piece of plastic can tell everyone who he is.

Jason breathes in and closes his eyes, just feeling it all.

His name is Jason Peter Harper. He's alive.

His name is Jason Peter Harper, and for the first time since he died, he thinks he can be happy.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[felassan]

.

[puppyeared]

meow

[thefloatingstone]

I remember Garrus complains a lot in the third game when you take him to an ice world but I forgot he would complain about this even in the first game.

Put on a sweater, bird boy.

Liara profusely apologised after the mission thinking she had made some MASSIVE social mistake and overthinking it until she was in a state of anxiety. As is ME1 Liara's way.

[beaulesbian]

ONE PIECE ep. 1109 // ch. 1076 - Luffy & Lucci

[robinsceramics]

Harlequin Fox in progress! (reference image: Harlequin, as played by Vaslav Nijinsky and painted by Georges Barbier!)

image description: an unglazed fox with blue and red diamond patterns, including a "mask" over its face. its eyes are half-closed.