#socks are only moderately better

[canisalbus]

Who's more likely to be able to stand a full day in toe socks? Vasco seems like he would think they're funny, but Machete has the Endurance of a daily heel wearer so it's a toss up to me lol. There's also toe socks that look like fingerless gloves (I think they're more doggy toe friendly)

I'm going to go with Vasco here, he might indeed think they're funny. Machete is very particular about what he wears and how clothes fit and feel, something as unorthodox as toe socks might Upset Him Greatly on a sensory level.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gearing up for the stat boosts

MDZS Disco Elysium AU Part 3 (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4)

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 4: market day

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You've heard a lot of people say that the honeymoon period only lasts the first few weeks of marriage and that after that things can start to get complicated. But the rule didn’t seem to apply to you.

Maybe it was because you two were young and enthusiastic, because you were too busy missing him to think about arguing, or maybe it was just that you really were made for each other.

You often tried to steal as much time as possible from your husband’s demanding job because being an FBI agent often took him away from you, and sometimes having a few domestic moments was all you both desired.

Grocery shopping was one of those activities that really made you feel like a married couple, and it saved you many trips to the store for food.

“Which do you prefer? Soy or almond milk?”

“Soy has phytoestrogens and more health benefits in moderate amounts. Almond is for people looking to maintain weight, and although it’s healthy, it’s low in protein.”

“Soy, got it,” you said with a small smile at his intellectual response.

Every time it was grocery shopping day, your job was always to push the cart and grab an item or two within reach, but most of the time, Spencer was the one in charge of selecting your groceries. After all, he had a pretty extensive knowledge of the benefits of each food. He always wanted to take care of you, and since he was often away, one way he could do that was by ensuring you were well-nourished.

“Look, I found some tea,” he announced happily, making you look away from the yogurt section in the fridge to pay attention. “Lavender, passionflower, valerian…”

“For your insomnia?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, dropping the boxes into the cart “And some mint and lemon for you.”

“You know me so well,” you smiled sweetly, leaning on the plastic handle, letting him gently caress your cheek.

You two had known each other for so many years that there were details about each other you knew by instinct. You knew his favorite brand of coffee, how he liked it with a specific number of sugar spoons, that you needed to buy him two sets of socks because he always liked mismatched ones, and you knew the exact spot on his head to stroke to help him fall back asleep after a nightmare. He knew you hated wearing shoes indoors, that you had a specific way of sleeping, and that you hated the smell of cinnamon. There were so many things you did as if they were second nature that it seemed impossible to list them all.

The truth is, people at Spencer’s work were quite surprised to find out that not only did he have a girlfriend, but that you were getting married. The event was private, very intimate, and not at all pretentious because that wasn’t your style.

You both had no problem moving into a new, slightly more spacious apartment, now that everything was doubled. But you were managing it quite well, to be honest.

You continued strolling through the grocery store, staying close to your husband, and then remembered you needed some bread. You pushed the cart over and stood next to a woman who seemed to be in a dilemma, staring at two loaves of bread as if trying to analyze which was better.

“The best one is that one,” you said, hoping not to make her uncomfortable. She looked at you confused, so you decided to speak again. “It has less sugar and the necessary carbs for good nutrition. There’s a study about it; it’s true.”

“Oh, sweetie, I wasn’t looking for the healthiest, just the one with the best quantity and price. It’s for my kids. Those children could eat an entire loaf in a day, and I can’t afford that.”

You laughed honestly and gave her a look of understanding. She was a bit older than you but not old enough to be considered elderly.

“I think you’re right.”

“I love my kids, but I won’t lie… sometimes they drive me crazy,” she confessed, and you both laughed again.

“Darling, do you want me to make pasta for you this week? Rossi taught me a recipe that…”

He trailed off when he noticed you had company, and for some reason, he suddenly felt shy.

“That’s fine, love. We can eat whatever you want,” you replied kindly. “I already have something to go with it.”

You winked at him when he noticed the wine you had tossed into the cart, and then he smiled and went off in search of the necessary ingredients.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Husband,” you corrected her. There was a strange pride in saying that.

“Husband! Oh, that’s so sweet. How long have you been married?”

“We’ll be married for four months next week.”

“Young love, so beautiful,” she sighed, as if nostalgic for a time that now seemed too far away. “And he helps you with the shopping?”

“I help him, actually,” you laughed. “He’s the one who selects everything. Before we got married, I had the worst eating habits, and he hated that. So we try to eat better now.”

“Marriages are so different now,” she said, and upon hearing that, you expected to endure a conservative speech and internally dreaded it. “My husband never joins me for things like this; he’s not even interested. In this and in much more, to be honest. And it’s nice to see that girls nowadays can have these kinds of relationships. You know, where they’re supported.”

Somehow, that touched your heart, and suddenly you wished you could hug the woman, but you held back. Then, you looked over at Spencer. He was in the vegetable section, apparently comparing two bags of spinach. You could recognize him in a crowd without a doubt, with his slouched posture, his messy hair (freshly cut, by the way), and his peculiar formal attire.

You had always appreciated having the man in your life, even when you didn’t have a romantic relationship, but you had never stopped to think how lucky you were that he had decided to love you.

“I’m glad too,” you said in what was barely a whisper.

You didn’t say anything else. The woman said her goodbyes kindly, and you just smiled at her, too busy gazing at the man with loving eyes. You stood there watching him, and when he approached, he couldn’t help but notice your strange expression.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just had a very revealing conversation with that woman.”

“Huh, yeah?” he hummed, dropping a collection of items into the shopping cart “And what was it about?”

“About you,” you answered casually, lifting your hands to place them on his chest and then sliding them to his cheeks “Talking to her reminded me that you’re the best husband in the world.”

Carefully and affectionately, you stood on your tiptoes and planted a loud kiss on him. Spencer laughed as his cheeks blushed, returning the favor with a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know if I am, but I try.”

“And that’s why I love you,” you confessed sweetly.

And then, it was Spencer who felt lucky.

[luveline]

If we're still doing dad thoughts- I'm always thinking about kbd!Steve and how wonderful he is. The whole family sitting cosy in the living room and Steve just giving his family heart eyes because he loves them all so much 🥹🥹

thank you for requesting <3 kisses before dinner au, mom!reader

Steve lets out a sigh of content. He feels like a kitten falling asleep over a bowl of cream, or a little boy the night after Christmas. He feels content, in every sense of the word. He had no idea he could feel this happy doing nothing. 

You’re on your stomach. Finally home from work and with no chores left to do, you’ve stretched out the big green puzzle rug and unboxed Avery’s newest one thousand piece jigsaw. The edges are coming together slowly, the constant plink of pieces as you sort through them colour by colour lulling rather than grating. Avery lies opposite you in the same position. She might be Steve’s physical replicant, but she’s your copy now. She’s even perched her hand in her chin the same way you have, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips in concentration. 

Wren is awake yet perfectly happy in Steve’s lap. She’s had enough cooing for this evening, babbling as the cartoon mermaids on the TV begin to sing a big musical number. Dove sings along, nestled under Steve’s arm. Many of the words are foreign to her. She swaps them out for nonsense sounds. 

Bethie sits on one of Steve’s socked feet eating pretzels and clapping when the cartoon sea creatures clap, her hair tickling Steve’s knees whenever she moves. It’s the calmest night you’ve had for a while. What’s better is that, besides you and Avery, everybody’s had a bath, and so all that’s left to do tonight is have dinner and go to bed.

You’ll wait until the morning to shower, decked out in your pyjamas, Avery’s hair swept into a protective style to prevent any tangles or knots. 

He can’t really put his finger on why he feels so happy. Perhaps it’s because, at the end of the day, this is everything he’s ever wanted. He doesn’t need the finer things or even the moderately good things, but he has them. He has a nice, clean home (though it’s fit to bursting now with the newest arrival). He has a wife who he loves, and who loves him. He has his four daughters, their pet fish, and a best friend four streets away who he can see whenever. It’s more than he ever thought he’d get, once. 

“Dad,” Bethie whispers. 

“Yeah?” he whispers back, voice filled with a mischievousness that makes Bethie smile. 

“Why are you smiling?” 

You turn to look at him. “You are smiling. What’s funny?” 

“Nothing,” he insists. 

Dove turns under his arm. Her toddler face is pretty much identical to her baby face, the only difference being her mouth full of baby teeth that she hasn’t quite mastered talking around yet. “You are smiling,” she says, like this is a problem to be solved. 

“What’s so bad about that?” he asks. “It’s a good thing, smiling. You guys should try it sometimes.”

Predictably, every girl looking at him is immediately glaring at him. Well, for a moment, but then Bethie cracks and smiles shyly. “I smile all the time,” she argues. 

“You do. Not my cranky pants,” he says, giving Dove a gentle shake. “We don’t like smiling, do we?” 

Dove, despite herself, grins at her dad’s affection. Maybe she’s forgotten you’re home, but she wraps her arm around Steve, careful of Wren’s face, and smiles into his shirt. “No,” she says. “We don’t.”

He kisses her head, sharing a private look with you from over it. 

Avery doesn’t glance away from her puzzle. “I love smiling.” 

“You’re so good at it, that’s why,” you say. Steve hums his agreement. 

“Yeah, you’re beautiful!” Bethie says. 

Avery pulls her head up, then. “Thank you,” she says, sounding surprised and delighted at once. “You’re beautiful too, Beth!” 

“I’m pretty like mom.” 

“And I’m like dad,” Avery says, nodding. She smiles exactly like Steve would as she says it, driving her point home efficiently. Her lips curve up and her almond eyes thin, sparkling with love as she looks between Bethie and Steve. 

“We’re handsome,” Steve says. 

“Handsomely beautiful,” you say. “Ave, did you know handsome used to be a word only said about girls?” 

Avery shakes her head as you delve into an explanation. Bethie crawls to the jigsaw circle to listen. 

“You’re handsome,” Steve says into Dove’s forehead. 

“I am beautiful.” 

“Yes, you are. You’re all so pretty, ‘cos you get your good looks from me.” He laughs. “And a little bit from your mommy, too. Mostly from me.” 

Dove hears the laughter and it catches like a yawn, her giggles peeling as she falls backwards away from him and into her nest of pillows and blankets. “You’re happy,” she says with a big smile. 

“I’m so happy I could cry,” he says. He grabs one of feet to squeeze her toes. “But I’m getting sick of the mermaids, honey. Can we watch something else after this? Maybe something with real people?” 

“Maybe.” With Dove, maybe tends to mean no. 

He shrugs, adjusting the arm that secures Wren to his stomach carefully. She’s peering up at him curiously. “I can’t win them all, can I?” he asks her softly. 

She smiles and gurgles something unintelligible.

“No, you’re right. It’s just mermaids. We’ll live.”

[ittybittykittyfingers]

Winter Clothing Tips

I wanted to make a friendly and detailed list of stuff I've learned from living in a cold climate.

(Note that I do not have vegan-friendly options- suggestions with links to a vegan product's efficacy are welcome)

This stuff is common knowledge where I live but it occurred to me that it might be useful to someone if I laid it all out. I'll be updating this list if I think of more.

I absolutely adore winter and want to help you love it too! Cheers! List below.

• “Cotton kills!" You see, when cotton gets wet, it will suck warmth from your body and freeze on your skin surprisingly easily. Use wool in place of cotton because when wool gets wet, it will still insulate you.

• Know how to layer! Counterintuitively, having layers of thinner, high-quality materials is less bulky than having a single jacket or pair of gloves/socks. Plus, it has the added bonus of being able to be taken off and switched around according to your needs.

1. Base layer - this is the layer that touches your skin. You want this layer to be light, flexible, and moderately form-fitting. This layer's job is to be moisture-wicking. Sweat evaporates, even under layers, so you want something that will move it away so you don't feel the cooling effect. You also just don't want moisture on your skin. Real silk is recommended.

2. Mid layer - this layer can actually be as many layers as you want. I rarely need anything more than a knit merino wool sweater, but accommodate yourself. This layer does the brunt of the work of keeping you warm. Real, non-blended wool is recommended, but really any wool will be miles better than most anything else.

• make it a priority to keep your center warm. Many people choose a vest as a mid-layer as it keeps bulk off of your arms and keeps your middle toasty.

3. Shell - this layer keeps the warmth in and the elements out. Many people go for waterproof shells so they can be worn all year (i.e. rain jacket). Shells have little to no insulation and usually have a hood. You want the shell big enough to always cover your underlayers, but not so big that it bunches up. I don't have a material to recommend here since anything truly waterproof and tough enough to resist puncture will do. It can actually get hot under there so consider whether you might want a ventilation hole for your arm pits. There are plenty of options. Know that any shell which says it's both breathable and waterproof is lying (unless it's a super fancy item, like $300 fancy). Sometimes, a water resistant material will be better for you than a waterproof one. It depends.

• socks, socks, socks! A pair of silk foot liners paired with a good pair of wool socks will keep you comfy all day. Make sure your winter shoes/boots are a bit too big to accommodate the extra space that multiple socks take up. Make sure your socks are taller than the top of your boots. You want the socks sticking out from the top. I like to layer my foot liners the highest, then the wool socks a bit lower, than the top of my boot lower than that. You can always fold the top of socks to make them a comfortable height. (Pro-tip: do not use ankle socks! They will bunch up)

• The above logic should be used for gloves too. You'll want to make sure your shell gloves are waterproof but thin enough that you are able to use your hands. Again, the name of the game is staying dry.

• Waterproof, non-slip boots are a must. You don't need to get fluffy or insulated boots if you use my sock tips. This saves money too because now you have boots to wear all year instead of just winter boots. I'm a fan of Gore-Tex with Vibram soles.

• If you do a lot of walking on pavement and such, get a pair of crampons! There are tons to choose from. They're awesome. They'll have you confidently walking around a frozen driveway with ease. Crampons are these rubber and metal things you strap to the bottom of your boot. They often use either spikes (only recommended for seriously rough terrain) or coils that lay horizontally under your foot to increase traction.

• Speaking of footwear accessories, consider getting waterproof gators. Common wisdom is to tuck pants into your waterproof boots to keep them dry. Sometimes, especially if the snow is deep enough, snow will get trapped at the top of your boots where your pants are tucked in anyway and it'll start dripping into your boots. Gators fix this issue. They're these... they're like shin guards that go all the way around your ankle and up to your knee. They cover the area where your pants meet the boots and will completely prevent snow from getting in. (Pro-tip: if you get ones that are also puncture resistant, they can be used in nice weather too to prevent ticks and protect against snake bites. They're perfect for tall grass. I use mine all year.)

• Scarves are often overlooked but they can make a huge difference. You'll want to find a way to tie them that is comfortable for you. There are plenty of guides on the internet for that. I've found that extra long scarves tend to be the most useful. I like to stuff the ends of them into my layers for extra coverage wherever I need it. Plus, it's easier to tie long scarves.

• Get a good hat that also has ear flaps. I like ones that have space above my head so that a warm air pocket forms, keeping my head comfy. Or you could get a pair of earmuffs that go around the back of your head to pair with your hat. You can use the hood of your shell to protect your hat if you need to, so focus on comfort and warmth for the hat rather than it being waterproof or especially durable. I tend to like alpaca wool for hats.

• Sunglasses can make a difference since blinding light glares off of the snow.

• Before you go out in the snow, put one of those foldable clothes drying racks in your bathtub. Leave a watertight bin by the door you'll be coming in from. Lay a towel at the door if you don't have a good/big enough doormat. You'll be dripping water and littering the floor with snow and ice when you come back inside. Wipe off/ shake off as much snow from your person and knock your boots on the lip of the doorframe before coming inside (this logic works for cars too). Put your wet clothes in the bin. Change into whatever you need to. Bring the bin with you to the bathroom and hang up your articles on the clothes rack to dry. You can keep your boots in there too, just make sure the clothes aren't going to drip into the boots. If you want to get fancy, you can buy a cheap boot dryer to keep in the bathroom.

• Once you get inside after being out in the cold, remove your jacket immediately. It'll take you longer to warm up inside if you keep wearing your outdoor clothes.

• Quick buying tip- if you end up visiting somewhere that's cold a lot, be sure to check out a wealthy location's Goodwill and thrift stores. I've found amazing brands like Patagonia, Kool, and Spider there for cheap!

• TL;DR If there's any one thing I would want to impress upon you, it's that materials matter. You could be wearing 4 cotton sweatshirts and still be cold or you could wear one marino wool sweater with a rain coat and be toasty and comfy.

[butmakeitgayblog]

What the fuck?! Why are your anons such masochists? I wanted to hear about Sal’s hobbies and favorite things to do and someone asked for all dogs go to heaven?! Goddamnit.

🥺

I can give you all that stuff ya just gotta send in in the asks babe 👉👈

So for the record, Sal's favorite hobby is eating. He's really good at it - some say Olympics level talent, but he was never interested in going pro. Man's can snarf down half a bowl of the kibble, fruit, vegetables, raw eggs, and meat medley she makes him in the time it takes Lexa to go and refill his water bowl so he can drank after. She freezes peeled seedless whole watermelons in summertime for him to gnaw at in the backyard, and he can demolish a small 2lb one that's frozen solid in under an hour. Truly impressive. He is intimidated by no plate of food.

Except the ones mom says he better not touch 😔

After eating he likes taking walks*. He is a show dog after all, by his own estimation at least, which means he absolutely deserves to regularly be shown off. His wiggly butt and goofy ass face attract a lot of attention from the neighborhood kids, so going on their slow, ambling morning and evening walks is just the best time because then everyone gets to see him and pet him and perhaps enjoy an only moderately! slobbery kiss🥰 (he's very giving with his time in that way, you see)

After that he loves napping. World class napper. He's got it down to a science honestly. Let him sneak one of his mom's socks from the hamper and curl up (as much as a mountain can curl up at least) on the couch next to mom, and he's out like a light. Will not wake up until he hears the crinkle of a snack wrapper (see hobby one), or mom starts groaning very meaningless, unnecessary things about how her pinned down legs are asleep and 'how do you always manage to end up half on my lap' and also 'my God, Sal, how are you this big??' Questions that really have no answers and thus will forever be mysteries to the universe, so he just politely ignores them and stretches out more and goes back to sleep again.

*car rides will suffice too

[bakugoushotwife]

Threads of Fate 2// s. gojo x fem!reader

a/n: a short cute dialogue loaded chapter mostly from gojo's perspective to bridge the gap!! prepare for the next chapter to be a lil crazy!

wc: 3.9k

chapter one // chapter three

series masterlist

chapter two playlist

Your energy field was already detectable on the training grounds. He hates that the dorms are so close. Feeling the warm hum of your electric energy roused him from the only peace he had—sleep. You were puzzling him. He usually understands everyone upon first meeting, and until now, Suguru had been the only person able to squeeze past his barriers and surprise him. He was different, of course, his support and ability to tolerate the Gojo clan’s star certainly landed him a spot as Satoru’s closest friend. But you…you show up to Tokyo with some sort of comprehension of who he is and what he is capable of, yet your confidence remains unwavering despite it all. You were brand new and all alone, you overpowered him in front of his sensei and his best friend without a sweat. He had never been beaten before. He managed to take it like a champ in front of you to not add to your satisfaction, yet it was all he thought about. He couldn’t escape your visual ability, and if you can simply repress his ability to use infinity then you would always win.

But instead of anger or the desperation to get better, he feels ridiculously intrigued. The way your energies reacted to each other was like nothing he’s ever seen before, sparks of red and green flying around you both just from the simple brush of shoulders. It had changed him, the feeling of what he could only imagine was your energy seeping into his. It was warm, it felt like it was choking him in a way, but it was enjoyable all the same. Enjoyable? It was bothersome. That’s more like it. He wonders if his eyes could adapt to yours, then he could block your attempts. Or maybe he could postpone your activation of them somehow, make you fight him hand to hand…

“She’s already out there training…” Suguru mumbles tiredly, his bunk right across from his own but much closer to the window. 

Satoru scoffs. He knew that already. He wonders if you could feel his presence too, and what you were thinking about yesterday. He decided the possibility of this being an innate technique of yours was slim to none. Though he didn’t know why your cursed energy stopped in your head at the time, his Six Eyes still alerted him to the weirdness of it. Of course it was later revealed that you have your own special eye, but the rest of you seemed relatively normal. He surmises that the natural effect you have on each other is not under your control after all. Though he’s still not sure what to make of it, and that alone freaks him out moderately. 

“She needs it.” Satoru says, extending a long and sinewy arm to feel around his bedside table for his glasses. His other hand rakes the sleep off his face, revealing his annoyed features. 

Suguru smirks. “You got your ass waxed yesterday, are you sure you don’t need it?” He teases, leaning against the window frame to watch your graceful form move along the training dummies, using various weapons to hone in your accuracy. 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his wire frames up his nose and giving his best friend a dissatisfied look. “You’re pathetic.”  

“What, because I can recognize power when I see it?” Suguru raises a brow, his sleepy eyes still reflecting his amusement from yesterday’s events. 

“No, because you’re drooling over the chick already. I’m your best friend! Support me!” He whines, reaching for his uniform with a bratty sigh. 

“I do support you, I support the pretty lady too.” He chuckles, biting his lip as he watches you aerobatically move around with a bo staff. “Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about her ever since that happened…” Suguru dutifully called out.

Satoru clicks his tongue. “Only ‘cause she’s weird.” He pouts, throwing his socks at his best friend. “Just go propose already, this is ridiculous!” He groans helplessly. 

“I might.” Suguru chuckles, swatting the socks away and chucking them back at rapid speed. “If there wasn’t something interesting happening between you two already.”

The long and lean teen gasped at the insinuation and wrinkled his nose with disgust, huffing and tugging his socks on. “You’re mean! She’s so not my type.” 

Suguru snorted “I’m sure. Fine, more for me.” He chuckled, peering back out the window. He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure my efforts are useless though, she literally sparks around you. You get everything.” He slouches back into his bunk. 

Satoru didn’t know how to describe how that made him feel. He felt a pang of jealousy, but he didn’t know if it was toward you or Suguru. This was so annoying. He figured you’d be a pain to train with no matter what, simply because you weren’t him and not as talented. But since it’s become clear you’re just as talented, if not…stronger at the moment. The idea irritates him and excites him at the same time. He has shouldered the burden of being the Gojo clan’s Chosen One since his birth. It’s hard to be raised with the idea that you will be society’s greatest weapon, the only thing that stands between a great evil and humanity. The idea that he didn’t have to do that alone, or even have someone to help him during that time was almost too good to be true. He knew he had Geto’s support, and he was strong too, but everyone could tell it was different for you two. 

He raked his hands over his face. “Well I definitely didn’t ask for whatever this shit is.” He grumbles, pouting as Suguru also steps out of bed to get ready. 

Suguru chuckles to himself, looking at his lanky friend strewn over his bed in clear dread of sparring with you this morning. He had never been challenged in this way. Suguru was amused. As badly as he wishes he could be more of a challenge for the boy he loves, he doesn’t stand a chance at any real defeat of him. Maybe he was jealous of you for being able to do that so easily, or maybe he was entranced by you for it. He couldn’t quite tell. In any event, it was obvious that Satoru and Y/N were fated to know each other, for better or for worse. That would be determined. 

“Hey, maybe if you don’t brush your teeth this morning you can use that hot breath as a weapon.” Suguru suggests with a shit-eating grin. 

Satoru snarls. “You’re funny this morning. Save it for your girlfriend.’

“She’s your girlfriend, you’re the ones assigned to be together.” 

“Jealous?”

“A little.” Suguru kicks Satoru’s shoe as he pulls on his shirt, just in front of the snow-haired boy. “It doesn’t matter, she likes me more anyway. Do you have a plan?”

He holds his hand up and waves it side to side, as if to say yeah maybe no kinda. 

Suguru raises his brow. “So no.”

“So kinda! I was thinking if I can tire her out she won’t be able to use her weird eyes on me.” The boy defends, getting to his feet too. As he stands, he catches a glimpse of you meditating. You look so peaceful, not at all like the snarky American protege he met yesterday. You look relaxed too, notably unafraid. It almost gets to him. You don’t even have the excuse of being ignorant. You know exactly what he can do, and you know you can beat him. You confuse him, but he doesn’t hate it, somehow, despite how badly he pretends to.

Suguru seems unimpressed by the idea. “How do you plan to keep her from just…using them? She knows she can’t hit you until she has them on.” 

He hums, going to brush his teeth explicitly because Suguru made a remark about his breath. Suguru had a point. In that case, he would have to enact Plan B. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, toothpaste foaming out of his mouth. He will just have to take your attacks until your eyes drain your cursed energy. He’ll have to force you to use your second form on him, the much more painful version of your controlling cursed threads. He’s not sure how he’ll do that, but he’s sure he can figure out a way to force your hand. He would best you this time, and he wouldn’t take any mercy during this fight. He couldn’t let you walk around thinking you were invincible. He spits out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth out and finding his reflection once more. He was the strongest in the world. He had to remind you of that. His eyes steeled over with determination. 

“Are you ready Suguru?” He asks knowing full well the man was nowhere near ready. He steps aside, letting the other man have his bathroom time. Suguru hummed, brushing his hair. Satoru never really had to work on his appearance past getting the sleep out of his eyes and running a hand through his tresses. He didn’t think Suguru needed to work very hard either, though maybe the brush was necessary since his hair was past his shoulders. He shrugs, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest as he waits. 

“I have a backup plan.” He adds as Suguru begins his skincare routine. Satoru rolls his eyes, but doesn’t actively comment this time around. “I’ll just have to let her use her eyes and tire herself out on me. Don’t freak out when you see that.” He chuckles, knowing how sensitive Geto can be at times, especially when it relates to him. 

“Can’t you just put her in your Unlimited Void?” The other boy asks as he moves on to brushing his teeth. 

“Could, but I don’t have enough control over it. I could kill the brat.” He groans immediately, wishing that was a viable option. He had been practicing the finer details of his Unlimited Void, but as it stood right now, anyone that entered it would most likely die immediately. 

Suguru hums, clearly displeased by the arrangement. He wanted to see you come out on top, but he wasn’t keen on watching his best friend be brutally injured. From how Satoru explained your second form, Suguru was sure you’ve killed people before. He wipes his mouth and sighs, giving Satoru a dissatisfied look. “If you’re sure.” 

Satoru beams. “Never fear, Suguru! You know I can handle anything.” He says, clapping his friend on the shoulder, and striding for the door. That much was true, Suguru does know that Satoru Gojo can handle anything. He cherishes him for that, yet he didn’t want the boy underestimating his opponent. Satoru makes a show of flinging their dorm door open, almost forcibly carefree in the way he strolls to the training grounds. 

Your energy prickles his skin as he gets closer to you. It’s intense, it’s white hot and almost unbearable if it didn’t feel so good. It was addicting in some weird sense. He knows you feel him too, for when he rounds the corner he sees your eyes find him instantly. He smirks broadly; you narrow your eyes and grimace. Suguru just closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side as he grins and waves. 

“L/N-san! Ohayō!” He calls out, elbowing Satoru to say some sort of greeting. He doesn’t; he only strides forward with his hands in his pockets, a forced smirk adorning his features. You’re a better actress than he is, for you're able to walk closer to them, looking rather undisturbed aside from the light sheen of sweat coating your skin. The potency of your energy was too much for him to ignore, and he found himself craving to touch you. Not in any perverse way, though he wouldn’t necessarily be opposed, he just felt as if the feeling of your skin on his could possibly cure this intrusive energy field you’re affecting him with. 

You pop your knuckles and come to a stop just a few feet away from the pair. You keep your eyes trained on Geto, unable to predict yourself if you look at Gojo. You know that’s going to be an issue, considering the matter of your sparring and ultimate goal of training alongside him, but you’ve felt the vibrations of his energy all morning and you know the desire you have to get closer to him can only result in disaster. You’ve never heard of something like this before, and you’ve texted your brother to do some research for you. Until you hear back, you have to keep up this facade. You force a cocky grin to Suguru. 

“Oh please. It’s Y/N, you don’t have to be formal with me, Geto-san.” You assure him, smiling at the way his cheeks show his interest in you. 

“Then just call me Suguru.” He insists, and Gojo fakes a barf. 

After he’s done gagging, he rolls his eyes. “You two are disgusting. Please, stop making out in front of me.” He smirks, giggling to himself as Suguru’s eyes grow wide and you roll yours. 

“Oh whatever, I know you’d love to watch that.” You wink, still keeping your gaze on the flustered Suguru. He notes your confidence and decides to build on it, nodding his agreement. 

“Maybe if he wins this sparring session you can let him see.” He jabs you in the ribs, walking ahead to clear your training dummies away. Gojo’s nose crinkles at the tables being turned, and if he didn’t want to impress you and embarrass you at the same time, perhaps he would sulk about the remark, but instead he pretends to hurl again, ignoring the nasty flames of jealousy splitting his insides. Confusingly, he doesn’t know who for, once again, and he just feels silly and embarrassingly stupid. Why would he be jealous of such a thing? Meanwhile, the other side of him is wildly intrigued by the prospect. He can’t help but feel a sense of ownership over you both, though you’re brand new and annoying to him. Suguru was his best friend, and you were…his weird energy person. 

He begins to stretch, watching you do the same thing. You’re not very tall, and it’s clear that you’re probably stronger than you are fast, built curvy and compact like a wrestler or gymnast. You keep your hair tied up, you’re smart. In fights like these and the real cruel world, your pretty curly locks were only going to be a weapon. He thought Americans were dumb, and perhaps that was still the case. Though that meant he’d have to admit that you’re exceptional, and he’s not sure he can do that just yet. Feature wise, you’re his opposite. Ego wise, you’re his match. Power wise, he would find out soon. 

You disguise your gaze as you watch him. You were sure he devised some sort of plan to keep you from using your Quelling Eyes, though you had come up with many different angles to come after him with. If everything went according to your plans, you wouldn’t have to use your second form or Domain, you could stick strictly to your visual powers and First Form: Puppeteer’s Threads. 

It was mostly a sleepless night for you, unable to shake the consuming heat of his energy no matter the fact he was a floor below you and sleeping. Even out here on the training field, you couldn’t escape it. You watched the sun come up that morning in an effort to clear your mind, but everything was fruitless. Even as the air lost its chill and the morning sky became blue and fiery orange, all you could think about was the diaphanous blue eyes that grinned up at you, even after losing. You were right, looking at him made things much more difficult. It felt like there was a rope embedded in your stomach and he held the other end, tugging you toward him mercilessly. He gives you that enigmatic smile, lowering his black lenses to show you his glowing eyes. You figure that means his infinity is already hard at work, not that he wouldn’t turn it on as soon as the fight officially started anyway. 

“Ohayō, Dallas-chan.” He says, shamelessly looking you over. “You ready for revenge?”

You give him a matching haughty grin. “Luckily I don’t have to prepare for that.”

He chuckles at this, moving closer to you. In his mind, it’s hard to see anything outside of you. His vision with his Six Eyes was complicated. He could see Cursed Energy very well, and the outlines of figures, but sometimes he felt like he saw like a bat. He wasn’t able to make out features often, not while in use, but with you, that too was different. He could make out your smile and the twinkle in your eyes. He couldn’t resist the magnet drawing him to you, and it was clear then that he couldn’t hurt you. 

He didn’t want to. This realization softens his features a bit, and you’re taken aback. His energy thrums around you, it’s so palpable it starts to spark again, and it feels like your head is in a vice grip. As he gets closer, you almost want to step back to avoid exploding, convinced that’s what would happen if this pressure kept building. He was no better off, except the pressure felt clasped around his heart. He could feel every beat, the pulse sending his blood was notable as he kept walking. 

“I–I don’t know if you two should fight like this…” Suguru says, watching red sparks fly from Satoru and green ones from you, the two converging to make bright flashes of yellow light the closer you two got. It resembles lightning, and it bolts around the two of you, now just inches away from each other. 

Satoru nods. “I agree. I think we should look into this..” He suggests, amazed at the light show. Your eyes reflect the jolts of energy and your own awe, lips parted in wonder. Surely this was unheard of. He reaches his hand out to you. “Touch me. I have a gut feeling about it.” 

You look at his large palm, glancing up at his eyes as if you needed a final push. You had felt the same insatiable desire too, though you figured contact could go really well or…really not. 

You sigh, and nod, lifting your grip towards him. For a moment, the both of you bite your lips in anticipation. Suguru looks around nervously, noting the approach of your sensei. You shake, and Satoru craves the relief he knows will come. But Yaga interrupts, yelling loudly. 

“Do NOT touch!” He says, and you fall back a little out of surprise. Gojo looks dissatisfied, his hand falling to his side. He doesn’t know how to argue, and he certainly doesn’t want to beg for your hand, but the feeling he was fighting was growing so insufferable he had to do something about it. Yaga appears in between you, and that forces you two just far enough apart that the sparks die down. 

“What’s going on, Yaga-sensei?” Suguru asks, perplexed by the literal fireworks he saw happening before him. 

You, breathless just from the intensity, nod your seconding of the question. “Yeah, I’ve never seen or heard of this before.”

“It hasn’t happened for several hundred years.” The man gruffs, taking in the sight of the two of you. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “The two of you have a connection imbued into you from the gods. The two of you…are meant to be side by side.” 

Satoru’s eyes widen at this. He was certain of his own power, his own ability to endure whatever life threw at him alone. Though, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by this fated connection. “What does touching have to do with it?”

“Touching consecrates this bond, you two will boost each other’s abilities from then on, it’s stronger than Y/N’s connection with her twin.” Yaga explains, nodding toward you. “You’ll share cursed energy, you won’t be able to use your powers on each other, ocular or technique. And of course, you’ll be tied to each other for life.” 

“And if we don’t?” You ask, eyebrows raised in interest. 

Yaga tilts his head to the side. “The Ito won’t go away, it will continue to pull at you. But, it’s so rare…this has to be reported to the Higher Ups. They’ll want to see the two of you immediately.” Yaga shakes his head. He knows what to expect. He knows you’ll become a target here, too, and Satoru’s troubles will only grow deeper. 

The aforementioned man groans at the thought. “So what, I’m forever linked to Miss Americana here, and now we have to go before the Higher Ups to see if they’ll let us do what…literal fate wants us to?” He rolls his eyes and looks at you with a different glint to his eyes. He seems annoyed still, though not with you. Maybe he knows about this Ito that you’re so unfamiliar with. You know enough Japanese to get around, though you’re still regularly taking lessons, you still haven’t learned what this means. So you look up at him and shrug. He knows you don’t get it, but on this trip to Headquarters, he would explain everything and he would keep you safe from the Higher Ups’ wrath that’s sure to follow. They already held disdain for him because of his rebellious streak, he could only imagine how they would treat you. 

He looks over at you, and groans. It would be something stupid like this, you’re his freaking soulmate, basically. He’s not necessarily disappointed by this revelation, maybe annoyed yet again that he’s forced into a position that he doesn’t care to be in at this point. Maybe he had feelings for you that he’d been grappling with already, maybe he was being  childish by protesting, but he scrunches his nose up anyway. “An Ito? To the American? Is this a joke?”

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head. It wasn’t exactly like you had seen this coming either. Sure, you realized his beauty the moment you saw him but his personality was insufferable, and you know he thinks the same of you. Surely you would be at each other’s throats at every waking moment, not the truest form of allies that could possibly exist! You huff. “How’s this even possible?” 

Yaga hums, satisfied to see such a strong connection between the two of you, but nervous at the same time for what’s to come from it. “The powers that be must think the two of you need each other, and that the world needs the two of you. You two should get to HQ as quickly as possible, and remember, do not touch without their permission.” He says, nodding to the two of you.

“Can Suguru come with us?” Satoru pouts, not wanting to be left alone with a girl. He knew he was good looking, but he didn’t know how to interact with a beautiful woman, especially one that’s basically willed to be his. 

Yaga shook his head. “I have missions for Geto-san to complete on his own. This is a mission for two. Now get going.” 

The two of you match dreary sighs, and make eye contact. Your eyes narrow, and then his eyes narrow. 

“Let’s go–”

“Let’s get going–” 

Suguru snickers at the two of you talking over each other. He gives Satoru a knowing look and sighs. “Good luck, Dallas-chan.” 

tags: @aepinkoutsold @purpleguk @ddora-kken @naorizenin @enflamedmusings @getosbigballsack @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @staygoldsquatchling02

[uwukeres]

Re: Writing a massive CoD tea post

Disclaimer: I don't often write long posts on tumblr so my formatting may be way off here, so bare with me while I get my footing a bit. The original thread by @jazzybot4 that is (as of 24/7/23), on-going can be found here. This thread will be in response to all three parts, as I'm tired I've watching someone swing behind the genuine belief of misinformation. This post will primarily be in defense of @zyomih, as OP has made several claims against them that are backed up by little more than smoke and mirrors. jazzybot4 makes some points, such as the previous mod team mishandling some aspects of moderation, I won't argue with that; we were a small team that was fit to moderate a smaller server and not one that had over 1k members. However, where they lose me, and a lot of other folks is when they begin pointing the finger at @zyomih and saying that they are a "Generally unpleasant person, howling screaming tantrum throwing anti." who has apparently abused Leech (formerly known as Maggot-- I will more than likely alternate in between their names, as I knew them primarily as Maggot) and is heavily implied to have sent death threats, used a sock puppet to bypass blocks etc, etc. Lets start at the beginning, if you want to see the same handful of screenshots from the original twitter thread that OP reposts in every single part, use the link above. I'm tired of them rehashing the same two-three screenshots for their argument. Zyo's original posts can be found here (1) (2) and I encourage you to give them a thorough read through, and not just a light skim. (2) is where they first mention Leechknot, as can be seen below:

This is, and continues to be their only mention of Leech in the context of this drama. But, still the comments persist that Zyo is apparently disparaging Leech:

(Taken from the first posts comment section-- sort by oldest, and its the second or third response. This was in response to me asking when exactly in the first post they went word-for-word and proved-- anything really.) So lets take a look at their dm list on their main account:

This screenshot is their last interaction, which is dated June 27, 2023 which was the day of the server hand-over. They have exchanged no messages since-- and there are no deleted messages, as then there would be long-stretches where Leech was seemingly talking to themselves. Note: Leeches messages have been blacked out in order to not leak their private dm's. This screenshot was taken 2024/07/23 (Today) and is current with Leech's current profile picture. While I appreciate the faith you have in my friend to juggle several sock accounts to block evade/send death threats, its simply not true. Zyo has always been the type of person to say them directly. Lets make something clear, I'm not saying that Leech isn't receiving death threats at all; but I know for a fact that they aren't coming from Zyo. Yet still, Since you insist on being a pariah of truth and receipts (of which you don't provide yourself the majority of the time) here is their entire dm list from their only alt discord account (The 'Dart' dummy account):

This screenshot is, again, taken from 2024/07/23. The user on the top of the friends list is NOT another alt account, but a mutual friend. Their name has been blacked out for privacy. Something I wanted to highlight is the fact that NEITHER of these screenshots show any evidence of Zyo sending threats or any type of abuse towards Maggot. Moving on to the allegations that Zyo made and the latter half of comments which you ignore. You incorrectly identified what their main issues with the server are, and I'm assuming this is so you could strengthen your stance that Zyo is, for lack of a better term, full of shit.

Screenshot from the third post, and lets actually go line by line since you seem incapable of following the structure of your own posts. 1. "Hosting Illegal Content."-- This claim is made because the server hosts threads that talk, in detail about Rape and Sexual assault. These are not support threads, as it clearly states in the rules that there is no venting channels. There is no sexual assault depicted with these characters in the screenshot below, nor is there within Modern Warfare games with the exception of Ghosts comic backstory.

And, an accompanying list of those who were active within the top thread (Important note: Mod roles are defined by [Sgt.], [Lt.], [Cpt.] and [Cpl.]):

Which shows that mods were active within these threads. You are right, their unacceptable content list is well within the recommended list that Discord provides. However, underage nsfw has been shared there before:

--and that has a mod engaging positively with it. They are lenient when they come to their mod staff and their more well-respected members (AKA, those with a significant following.) An example of this is here, when a member is asked by a mod to not stream a game that may or may not have some SA undertones in it:

Which does imply a bias, which I don't think is fair to ignore. If you're going to base your entire arguement over accusing Zyo of acting in bad faith, its really pertinent to include the whole context, and not just cherry picking what does and doesn't work for your argument. I noticed in all of your posts, you've always neglected to approach the Underage aspect of the accusations. Which are, by the way, prohibited by Discord TOS:

I can hear the argument already, that members of the server are not trying to 'Normalize' child abuse. However, as the definition goes on to state-- "Do not post content or engage in conduct that in any way sexualizes children.... [in] any type of digital creation." Fanfiction, by law does count under digital creation. As well, if you look at the top of the screenshot from Discord, you can see the searching the phrase "Underage" yields about 55 results; if we assume that at least 5 of them are from mods asking for the content not to be there and at least one of them is dedicated to their unacceptable list, then that still leaves 49 instances of where the content was discussed in the server. 2. "Engaging in Censorship and Silencing pro-Palestine Activism."-- Once again, no, Zyo was not commenting on them silencing Pro-Palestine Activism. They stated (And their thread has been unrolled for a neater screenshot, the original can be found here):

Which is referencing this tweet where the mod-team asks @/aquasuperbat to remove their comment that Elliot Knight is a Zionist. Jazzy, you say in your first part that you will get back to these allegations later but you never do-- so for the record, Elliot Knight (Who plays Gaz) actively follows and has liked several pro-Israel posts on his twitter. A source is included above. Considering how exceptionally online most folks who are in fandom spaces are, Jellycakes more than likely went into it with the assumption that the original poster knew this, and still wanted to gush over him anyway. How does this relate back to Zyo though? From an outside perspective, the deletion of the comment made by @/aquasuperbat and the immediate deletion of the comment made by @/recentlydeceased implies that the mods are, in some aspects, uncomfortable talking about these topics. This is well within their right, however I'm not sure how they can adhere to the no-politics rule when they have allowed charity fundraisers for Palestine in their server. Is that not also inherently political? Or is it only against the rules when it goes against someone's favorite character? Musings aside, you also claim that 'Real' Silencing would have been mods outright deleting the comment without asking first. While not completely wrong, this also doesn't actually reflect what social silencing is; Silence Theory suggests that those who think that they hold the majority opinion are more comfortable expressing their thoughts and opinions. The mod team is comfortable with expressing that they don't want individuals discussing a current war in their server; their opinion holds the most weight since they are in a position of power; therefore their opinion is the majority. THAT is why the server comes off as being a bunch of Zionists, and why Zyo et al. took issue with the screenshots that were raised. So far, you have done nothing to disprove this fact. Rather your more comfortable with insulting them, calling them names and making baseless threats (ex. Threatening to go to the FBI for death threats Zyo has not made.). You've turned them into the architecture of a villain that you need to have in order to excuse the fact that Leech, for as good as a person as they seemed, still allowed Sexual Assault, Underage and suppressed folks who were Pro-Palestine. You attack their moderation style, for their organizing of a server that they passed along over a year ago. You call them an abuser based on what? Vibes? Because it sure as hell isn't evidence that you've shown-- and if it was as damning as your hyping it up to be, why wouldn't you show the evidence? You have constantly said that these accusations have no weight to them, when in reality it's just showing your lack of reading comprehension when it comes to anything over 100 words. Moreover, your moral posturing is laughable, embarrassing and screams of someone who wants to be the main character of a story that they were on the outskirts for. Take a step back, experience some whimsy in your life and accept the fact that you exist solely in a echo-chamber of people who are confirming your bias. I know you want to defend your friend, I get it, I really do-- I wouldn't be writing out this whole damn post if i didn't, but completing a character assassination on someone whose been mostly inactive in the cod fandom for the last year? Maybe I just don't get it because I haven't been active in the Cod Fandom for a while either, but I don't understand where you get off putting Zyo on blast for every small thing that they have ever done to apparently wrong both you and Leech. Just to reiterate: Zyo hasn't had any contact with Leech for almost a full year. If they wanted to get hateful on main, they would do it from main. They're not going to ban evade and hide behind a dozen different sock puppet accounts just to terrorize the lot of you. That's a significant effort for a dying server with a mod team whose views don't, and will probably never align with ours.

[octuscle]

The camera always adds 20 kilograms to your weight, Martin thought, as he looked at the new pictures on his employer's homepage. He had been proud to finally become a senior partner for business law at the firm at the age of 46. But it would make him even prouder if everyone who searched his name on Google didn't see pictures of a fat pig. Well, maybe that was the motivation he needed to finally do something for his health….

Currently, Martin was working four days a week on a project in Paris. His French was moderately good. Just like the English of the other employees in the project was moderate. Maybe it was quite a good idea to go to a gym where he was very likely to have to speak French. Not the gym at the hotel, not a big chain, he was looking for something smaller. And in the evening on the way to the hotel, a neon "Gym" sign caught his eye. Next to it, it went down a few steps. Why not, Martin thought. At least I'm unlikely to run into a customer or a colleague here.

When Martin opened the door, a gush of humid air hit him. It reeked of sweat. The air was filled with the groans of men lifting tons of iron, the slaps of gloves on sandbags, and a murmur of voices that was probably French but could have been anything else. He was appropriately nervous when he approached the young man at the bar, which Martin assumed was the reception desk. It was a difficult communication with hands and feet, but after a few minutes Martin had signed a contract. The young man, who obviously spent a lot of time on the training floor, asked if Martin wanted to start trial training right away. As best he could, Martin was about to counter that he didn't have any clothes to change into, when a training bag was held out to him. From a customer who had stopped paying his fees and whose locker we had to break open, said the young man, who introduced himself as Georgi. Well then, said Martin, and followed Georgi into the locker rooms.

Changing clothes was a challenge. Around him were only naked men whose bodies varied between wiry, sinewy and muscular. And each one was hung like a stud. With his head red, Martin undressed and put on shorts and tank top from his gym bag. He looked ridiculous. Everything clearly too tight. Only the shoes and the socks, whose stench almost took his breath away, fit to some extent. Georgi grinned cheekily and said that Martin would already grow into the clothes. The two went to the training area, where Georgi had Martin do a few burpees first. It only took five minutes before Martin was completely drenched in sweat. The sweat-soaked, tight-to-the-body clothes looked ridiculous, but in fact none of the other gym-goers showed any disdain or anything like that. Probably everyone is too focused on training, Martin thought, and without thinking, took a sip from the water bottle in his training bag. The drink tasted bitter but was refreshing. And immediately began to take its effect on Martin's body. With every minute he trained, he became a month younger and at the same time had one more month behind him of training eight hours a day. And the effect was evident after just a few minutes: The fat melted away, his endurance got better and better. And when Georgi went to the punching bag with Martin after half an hour of fitness training, his punches were powerful and precise. Only when sparring with Georgi, Martin clearly drew the short straw and had to concede a few blows. Georgi was not free of hits either.

When Martin went into the shower drenched in sweat after 90 minutes of hard training, the most he had to be ashamed of was his relatively puny dick. He had the body of a 38-year-old who had already been training hard for almost eight years. The effects were more than obvious: Martin looked like a heavyweight boxer. Surprisingly, this did not surprise Martin, not Georgi, and apparently no one else. Most of the men Martin met knew him and he knew them. And the language barrier had also disappeared. Like most visitors to the gym, Martin spoke fluent French, using slang dyed by the gutter. There was no longer a suit hanging in Martin's locker… After he had started boxing, Martin had quit after a short time and had set up shop as a lawyer in the neighborhood of the gym. And thanks to his contacts in the boxing environment, he had won some lucrative mandates from the demimonde. And this work didn't require a suit. He put on his track pants, T-shirt and leather jacket, picked up his bag, exchanged a ghetto fist with some of the guys and went to the bistro around the corner for dinner and a few rounds of billiards.

With great aplomb, Martin got up at 06:00 the next morning, put on his workout clothes, still drenched in sweat from the day before, and before getting ready for the office, ran around the park for an hour in the drizzle. Georgi would have hated it if Martin had come today without the obligatory conditioning workout. The day at the office dragged on, some of his clients had tax problems, and the tax office was an opponent that others had cut their teeth on. But he didn't get 500 euros an hour, because he himself would go down on his knees in front of such an opponent… But so it was already almost 10:00 p.m. when Martin arrived at the gym. Georgi was not available for sparring, so Martin concentrated on weight training and pressed weights today. When he was one of the last visitors to take a shower at 11:00 p.m., he was 33 years old and had been a professional boxer since he was 21. He had dropped out of law school after a visit to Paris, where he had met Georgi by chance, and had immersed himself in a world he had never known before. Since then, he had won a number of fights, even bigger ones, invested the money well, and also trained a few younger up-and-coming talents from his club. And occasionally, like tonight, he was a bouncer at a gay club, which usually brought quite good tips and usually some ass to fuck.

The next morning, Martin woke up in an apartment that was far too elegant for his liking. Next to him lay a well-built man in his mid-fifties. Martin knew Igor well. One of the most sought-after stallions in town. Stone-rich exiled Russian, boxing promoter and a grenade in bed. Martin's watch already showed 07:00, but he always had time for a quick fuck. For that, even the morning run was allowed to be skipped once in a while. While walking, Igor slipped Martin a few 200-euro notes, slapped him on the ass and said goodbye to the bathroom. Was Martin a hooker? He didn't care, he would even pay for a night with Igor. It was 09:00 when Martin arrived at the gym. Georgi greeted him at the counter and announced two customers for boxing training starting at 11:00 and 14:00. In between, Martin had plenty of time to do paperwork in the back of his small office and check on the teenage punks who were here skipping school in the morning to train for the next street fight. If that happened too often, Martin threw the guys out and demanded proof of a successfully passed exam before the next training session. But from the guys who trained today, he knew they were reasonably stable in school, so he gave a few tips and corrected mistakes in punching technique. It was 5:00 p.m. when he called it a day and worked out himself. Good time, it didn't get crowded for another hour, so he had the evening free to go around the houses himself. After an hour of sparring with Georgi, Martin was done too. He was 28, in the shape of his life. At the age of eleven, his father had taken him first to judo and then to boxing. And today he was technically perfect as a boxer. After being extremely disciplined in the last few days, he now allowed himself some time off. Alcohol and cigarettes were of course taboo for him as an athlete, but fucking his way through Paris' darkrooms was no problem. And it passed for cardio training.

It was Thursday morning and Martin had slept in his clothes. His tank top reeked of sweat, beer, piss and cum. He took a deep breath and his hard-on was already standing out clearly in his leather jeans. Martin opened his pants, freed his cock from the soiled and encrusted jockstrap and began to knead his tits with one hand and his boner with the other. And it wasn't long before he was spurting an impressive load onto his chest. Now it was 06:30. At 09:00 he had a client for a personal training session. And he knew there would be an extra tip if he didn't change. So for the run, Martin just swapped his leather pants for workout pants and his boots for his running shoes and headed out for his run. Just before he reached the gym at 08:30, he got caught in a downpour. Soaking wet, he walked past a grinning Georgi and grabbed a towel. Martin tossed his tank top over the ropes of the nearest boxing ring to dry, rubbed off rain, sweat and bodily fluids from the previous night with the towel and took a swig from his water bottle, which Georgi refilled for him fresh each morning. He rounded out his morning workout with fifteen minutes of jumping rope. When his client came into the gym, Martin took a quick look in the mirror before putting on his shirt, which still was wet and smelled like an beast. He liked what he saw: a nearly 6-foot-3 Teutonic man of just over 26 who had spent almost all of his free time in gyms shortly after starting school.

The mixture of fresh sweat and the stench of the previous night had exactly the desired effect on his customer. Even during the warm-up, he had a massive boner that he could barely control during the sit-ups. There was nothing going on in the gym at this time of night, so Martin unabashedly took his cock out of his pants and started jerking off while his customer completed burpees. Martin liked the combination of pain and desire on his client's face. He made him stop, pulled him to him and pressed his face into the sultriness of his own armpit. With his other hand, he made himself cum, then his client. As if collecting trophies in it, Martin rubbed his own and his client's juices into his shirt and, as if nothing had happened, began sparring. His drink was still working. Combined with the training, he was losing minute after minute of his life time. And moved the moment of his birth closer and closer to the moment when his new life was forked from his old biography. And then came the moment when his lifetime was cut exactly in half.

For a brief moment, he felt as if he had been struck by a blow. And with the blow, everything changed. Born in Sofia to a truck driver and a hairdresser. At the age of four, he moved to Birmingham, where his father had built up a small freight forwarding business and his mother had her own salon. During the financial crisis, his father went bankrupt, became an alcoholic and died in a car accident. At ten, Wanja thus became his mother's protector and worked off his aggression in the boxing ring. When he was 16, his mother married his boxing instructor. Unlike his mother, however, Wanja never took British citizenship and left England after Brexit. His stepfather put him in touch with Georgi, who took Wanja under his wing and groomed him to become a hopeful boxing pro… Bang! His client took advantage of the second of confusion and hit Wanja right in the face. Professional that he was, Wanja gathered himself in a split second and parried the blow. Well dosed, so as not to hurt a paying customer. But strong enough to make clear who was the champion in the ring.

Big thanks to @hotfighter! Without you this story would not have been written!

[striigon]

MYTH and FACT: vampire mythos and how it relates to matija as the “first vampire”

MYTH: vampires can be distracted by spilling grains of rice, seeds, etc. because they have to count every one.

FACT: this is partially true but only if you’re dealing with matija specifically. he has moderate to severe untreated and undiagnosed arithmomania, so theoretically if he’s chasing you down, this is actually a good way to get him off your back because his compulsion is usually too strong to resist. it’s not guaranteed this works for every vampire. the curse that gets spread is only related to longevity and power - he would have arithmomania if he was a vampire or not.

MYTH: garlic wards off vampires.

FACT: this is pretty accurate. matija used to enjoy garlic before his turning but now his nose is too sensitive for it and it gives him headaches. onions and shallots and other strong-smelling things also work, though, not just garlic - a perfume could take him out, or even an especially stinky sock. he has the equivalent of an allergic reaction whenever he’s faced with such things which is a shame because he can’t really have garlic and stuff again without crying.

MYTH: religious symbols (i.e. a crucifix) ward off vampires.

FACT: matija is literally catholic. all this does is get him to roll his eyes. this only came about because of people’s reliance on god to protect them from dangerous, otherworldly creatures and evil in general. unfortunately for them matija is entirely unaffected and can be faced with crucifixes and hallowed ground and holy water with ease aside from perhaps some personal discomfort and guilt (in a pure catholic moment, nothing else more physical).

MYTH: vampires can’t cross running water.

FACT: he doesn’t really know where this one came from. he likes swimming. maybe it’s because he doesn’t often swim in deeper water? his first time crossing an ocean was during his move to the usa. he thinks this might be a jab at his personal hygiene that has since evolved into something more literal, but otherwise this one probably didn’t come from him. he might’ve generated other vampires who didn’t know how to swim that started this one up.

MYTH: vampires don’t have a reflection in the mirror.

FACT: if you take away the vampirism he’s literally just a guy. he has a reflection. it means he gets to look at himself and see that he’s unchanged despite seeing centuries pass. it sucks!

MYTH: vampires need an invitation to enter a home or other private property.

FACT: again, he’s just a guy. he can get in your house uninvited if he wants to. he’s just not a dick about it so he doesn’t come in without an invitation usually. he typically only circumvents this personal rule if he really hates you and wants you to be super scared before he kills you.

MYTH: vampires are vulnerable to sunlight.

FACT: he’s no more vulnerable to sunlight than your typical croatian man. that being said, he is more adapted for night hunting now, and is visually more sensitive to sunlight, and could get headaches if he’s outside in places that don’t experience a lot of cloud cover. nothing a pair of ray bans can’t fix, though.

MYTH: staking kills vampires.

FACT: staking kills anyone, to be fair. it might permanently kill lesser vampires the way it permanently kills humans; all it does is slow matija down. staking is an injury that takes him a while to recover from since his body has to both heal and push the stake out while regenerating, so he wakes up starving and quite a while later depending on how deep the stake went, how big it was, and when his most recent feeding was before death. so if we’re talking about the most effective way to slow matija down, then sure, staking is one of the better methods; but he’s going to be super pissed whenever he wakes up and gets his shit together.

MYTH: silver burns vampires.

FACT: matija’s allergic to silver. all it does is give him a rash.

MYTH: vampires can turn into bats, wolves, and even clouds of mist.

FACT: that’s super fucking cool and matija wishes it was true, but alas, he suffers.

MYTH: vampires can enthrall other people and control their minds.

FACT: if you’re enthralled by matija that’s entirely your own fault, but he’s super hot so i don’t personally blame you. but he does nothing to encourage this (knowingly) and lacks the rizz to do such a thing most of the time.

MYTH: human food makes vampires sick.

FACT: matija can eat human food, still, he just… gets nothing from it. there’s no nutritional value in there for him anymore. it would be like having someone eat nothing but flavored cardboard for a meal. he also can’t tolerate many flavors anymore because of how sensitive his nose is, so if he has to pretend to be human he usually gets something very bland, which is annoying to him personally because he doesn’t like it. but it doesn’t make him sick unless he’s already starving. he still regularly drinks tea and coffee.

i think that covers everything. if you remember anything i’ve forgotten lmk and i’ll add it.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

I saw ur requests are open and that u also write for moder!Obi-Wan. Sooo… I’d like to request a modern!obi x fem!reader where he meets the readers parents for the first time. He’s super nervous cuz they are a bit older (him and reader -> like in their 30s/40s), he was already engaged (but got cheated on maybe and maybe even has little daughter) and he really love reader and is like “but what if they dont like me” (maybe hes especially nervous about her dad). Reader obviously comforts him in his distressed state and the evening goes incredibly well: they all like him (of course) and are happy they found each other.

I hope u can work with that and I wanted to ask if u like more detailed requests like this or if u prefer the more undetailed one for creative freedom?

Love your works btw (all of them)!!!

Hi anon! This ask is so sweet it made me feel warm and fuzzy haha. I like requests like the one you've sent and also undetailed ones too. If it's too wordy and specific I lose interest haha that's just how my mind works.

But I hope you like this one!

----

Buttons and Ties

"Alright, which one would be the better option?", Obiwan walked out of the bedroom, his shirt half tucked in, his buttons still undone with dark trouser pants that were impeccably ironed out. He held two ties next to neck, his eyes expectant for your answer.

You turn to him from your book that you were reading on the sofa. It was clear, his tapping foot, his worried gaze, he was nervous. You were taking him to meet your parents, for the first time in your relationship, for the first time since you've known each other for a year.

"Which one do you like?", you ask putting away the book to give him your attention.

"Which one would tell your father that I am a well suited gentleman for you?", he rambled. To which you could only smile as you pushed away from your seat to meet him where he stood. Folding your arms to act like you were giving immense thought to the ties he held near his neck as he shuffled back and forth on his feet.

"The only validation of your suitability needs to come from the both of us.", your eyes found his as you took the elegant sky blue tie from his right hand.

"So, do you think you're a good fit for me?", you asked, making it sound like an interview to which he finally relaxed and chuckled with you.

"Ah what's gotten into me?", he sighed pulling you close as you fixed the tie around his collar.

"How could I not be? You know my favourite tie.", he said confidently as you dusted his shoulder positioning the tie in place.

"That's the spirit.", you stood on your toes to kiss him on the cheek to which he sighed with content.

"It's going to be fine.", you whispered and when you pulled away, he gave you a soft nod.

"It's just that.", he paused as he tucked in his shirt and sat down to pull on his socks. He remained quite for a second collecting his thoughts.

"What if they don't like me? I'm not the ideal candidate.", he said, busy putting on his shoes and tying the lace.

"I don't have a track record of great engagements or marriages. My life is a mess. And I come in a package of two, along with my little girl.", he continued.

But you crouched down to swat away his fingers from the lace he was unable to tie as he followed his train of thought.

"Your father is a well accomplished man and ...", he trailed off again.

"You deserve better than me, someone your parents might be proud of.", he said finally to which you smacked his knee.

"Ow!", he exclaimed.

"What was that for?", he exclaimed.

"That is for talking nonsense. I want you. That's all there is to it. You're a pilot, a loving father and", you got up to sit next to him.

"the man of my dreams", you smiled, which he mirrored.

"They're going to love you.", you added to watch his cheeks turn red.

"Ok", he finally settled down.

"I'm all ready for your mother's tiramisu.", he kissed your forehead and you set out.

*

The dinner was devine and the company delightful, he had been worried about nothing, almost about to let his own anxiety deny him of the love he deserved. Your mother placed a slice of tiramisu before him.

"Any man who loves my daughter", he heard her say with happy tears glistening at the edge of her eyes.

"and my tiramisu", she smiled. "is a winner in my eyes."

He eased into the seat after he thanked your mother, just when you emerged from the living room with the family photo book in your hands. He caught your gaze and he thanked his past, for being horrid and broken because through that treacherous path, it lead him to you.

He enjoyed his desert as he wrapped his fingers around one of your hands while you rested your head on his shoulder as your mother narrated stories of your childhood. His heart was full and grateful. That all his waiting had gifted him an eternity with you.

[contentment-of-cats]

Understanding pain.

Level 0: No pain at all.

This is normal. Normal life means no pain - not that you've adapted. No pain at all.

By the numbers

Level 1: Very mild and intermittent pain, but it can be ignored.

Level 2: Pain is frequent and needs effort to work around.

Level 3: Pain is consistent but flares into stronger spikes.

The first triad of pain can be handled with occasional OTC painkillers, hot/cold therapy, and resting the affected area. It can interfere with some tasks, but overall your life is pretty normal.

~

Level 4: Pain can be ignored when you're absorbed in something, but is much more difficult to deal with.

Level 5: Pain interferes substantially with concentration, but you can 'push through.'

Level 6: Pain is impossible to ignore or 'push through.' You can't concentrate on anything but the pain.

Moderate pain means consistent use of painkillers, including narcotics. There are times when you can't do simple things like taking out the trash.

Level 7: You can't concentrate on anything, you can't do anything unless it's with a massive effort. The pain wakes you up or will not let you sleep in the first place.

Level 8: The pain is intense, even to the paint of making it hard to think of speak coherently. You can't move easily, even if it's from the sofa to the bed, or to get something from the kitchen.

Level 9: You can't think. You can't speak. All you can do is cry or moan. Moving is enough to make you scream.

This is heavy meds pain. For me, Level 7 is when I take my top dose of pain meds - 10mg oxycodone + 300mg gabapentin + 800mg extended release Tylenol + 500mg of robaxin. It takes 45 minutes to work. I can only lie there and breathe.

Level 8 and 9 is what I call 'hospital pain.' That's when you take your pain meds, call an Uber, and get your ass to the ER.

~

Level 10 is the worst possible pain. You're delirious from it. You're incoherent. It's the closest thing to Hell. You pass out from the pain, then you wake up screaming. You beg to die. It hurts too much for tears.

This is the pain I woke up with after an 8-hour surgery that resectioned my colon, my ureter and bladder, removed 22 lymph nodes and my uterus/tubes/ovaries and gave me an ileostomy. I woke up from the anesthesia screaming in pain. I begged someone to kill me. I'd pass out, wake up and scream some more. They noted it in my record, so I know it was not a nightmare. Other patients were calling their nurses to get me something for the pain. Morphine is your friend after a surgery like that.

You'd think that was the end of it. That I healed up and got better.

That surgery was the middle of November. I could not stand up in the shower until New Year's Eve. I had eight incisions aside from the ostomy opening, and the hysterectomy incision was four inches horizontally at the top of my pubic bone. Coughing was a 6. Sneezing kicked me to an 8. I couldn't lift anything over 10 pounds by doctor's order.

Even though I was and am experiencing pain, learning to understand it is a journey. Pain is a generic word. A patient without the vocabulary can't communicate anything more than, "It hurts. Make it stop." Hospital personnel are also trained to look for 'drug seeking' behavior. There are three types of pain:

Neuropathic pain is nerve pain due to nerve disorders - in my case a tumor pressing on a nerve. Later complications include neuropathy secondary to chemo and radiation and radiation fibrosis. Neuropathy secondary to chemo symptoms include paresthesias, numbness, balance problems, and weakness in the feet in hands. Symptoms of radiation fibrosis are muscle spasm; muscle weakness, atrophy, or tightness; changes in the appearance and texture of the skin, and decreased joint mobility. In my case my fingertips are tingly, and I feel as if I am wearing the thickest possible wool socks. From time to time, I will get jolts of pain in my toes. My hands are stiff, and from time to time I feel as if nails are being driven into my palms. Neuropathic pain feels like burning, or tingling, or sometimes a stabbing or shooting pain that radiates out like ripples, or follows a path like lightning. During chemo I would have an electrical buzzer feel - like someone pushing a buzzer three times. Opioids by themselves do not help much, so a doc will often recommend an antidepressant like Gabapentin, and might also add anticonvulsants or a benzodiazapine like Ativan.

Somatic pain isn't like neuropathic pain. It stays in one place, but that can be a pretty big place. It feels achy, sometimes a throbbing pain. Muscle relaxants like Robaxin help.

Visceral pain is something everyone has had from time to time. Think of the worst case of food poisoning or a stomach bug. It's often experienced by patients after surgery on their stomach, intestines, and/or colon. Opioids are the treatment of choice as they famously slow down peristalsis.

For most people, pain is transient. For others like those with autoimmune issues, it's relapsing and remitting. For others. it's chronic and needs to be managed along with the patient's mental health.

~

Breaking the taboo

Pain and pain management is a taboo subject. People with pain are afraid of what people think of them being in pain or that people will look down on them for seeking treatment for pain. Part of this has to do with not wanting to be labeled a junkie and the taboos surrounding opioids and benzodiazpines, and mistaking the anxiety and depression pain can cause as 'drug seeking.' Some of the bullshit people in pain have internalized is below.

Pain is a part of life. Suck it up.

I can't take my pain meds when I'm low on the pain scale or I will build a tolerance.

I don't want to get addicted.

My meds can cause constipation. I shouldn't take it.

I don't want to bother the doctor for a refill. They might think I'm drug-seeking.

My family/friends think I need to stop my pain meds.

Anyone who tells me that [pain is a part of life has never been in chronic pain. One friend was 'concerned' that I am on meds and that I ought to stop and 'get used to' the pain. I could always use cannabis anyway. I can agree about developing a tolerance to the pain. I did not know how much pain I was in until the ER doc ordered a shot of morphine, or how much anxiety I was having until the doc on my floor ordered Ativan. Expecting someone to live with pain, it's side effects both mental and physical is barbaric and sadistic. Telling them to medicate with your personal choice of painkiller is vainglorious and cavalier.

~

Adjuvant therapies are self-care

These are the things that have worked for me, and allow me some relatively pain-free days and a lower dose of pain meds. Of course, there are still days when I need the full dose four times per day. Pain is not there or not, it's far from binary, and you can have different levels and types of pain in different areas of your body at the same time. For instance, as I write this, my feet are a Level 1, but my hands are a Level 4, my lower back is a Level 2 - and this is with pain meds, low dose, and an extended release Tylenol.

Tai Chi - I have found these exercises very helpful and the shorts are not distracting, letting me focus on the movements. I do 10-15 minutes morning and evening.

Soft tissue manipulation - massage works for fibrosis, but the best tool I have is... a silicone rolling pin.

Lymphedema self-massage and care - terrific tutorials! 10-15 minutes alternating days with Tai Chi.

Resistance bands and balance - these videos are very helpful not just for seniors, but anyone with muscle weakness and balance issues.

Peddle machine - 30 minutes every day. The movement of my legs helps with lymphedema from those 22 absent lymph nodes.

Warm baths with epsom salts.

A full body ice pack like this one.

TENS unit.

[eatpeesweetpea]

REVIEW: My 2nd case of COVID-19

TW: mild self destructive behavior, mentions of ED, the state of California

---

"[COVID-19] is the Vipassana retreat of viruses..."

---

Following north of two years after its debut, my immune system has encountered its sophomore case of COVID-19. Because I am up to date on my vaccines and boosters as of the time of writing, this is an impressive context for COVID-19's return.

It began as a slight and deceptive, "something's stuck in my throat" sort of feeling at the end of a five day road trip through the California. (Let this serve as foreshadowing to how I will review the state of California.) I had choked on a ramen noodle earlier in the day, so I thought nothing of it. The accompanying "off" body feeling that gradually intensified into the evening made the final leg of the drive somewhat uncomfortable. But overall, an underwhelming opener.

COVID-19 really picked up the following morning. Since my girlfriend is a furnace, she can attest that I sleep slight: one blanket, one pillow, soldier, grumpy. No cuddles. I woke up roughly two hours earlier than usual attempting to sell my music in order to exit the freeway on a motorcycle. In my delirium, I whined and snuggled up. I was shivering under two blankets in a sweater, and clammy. My yucky throat feeling had evolved into an icky dry cough that sometimes produced a satisfying wad of phlegm. I was too lazy to get up and get socks to thaw my icy toes.

Post 600 mg ibuprofen, I had reclaimed some vitality and managed to drag my sorry ass home. I dilly dallied unproductively around my room for most of the day, feeling somewhat paranoid about brain fog, long COVID, some weird swelling above my hips, etc. Come nighttime and my fever had crept back up to a surprising 102.9° F. I slumped at the dining room table and spooned hot chicken soup into my hanging mouth. There is something very fascinating and rewarding about these sorry, altered states of consciousness, and I pondered that for a few minutes before redosing. I went to bed shortly after and passed out.

I mostly slept through the night, only beginning to stir prematurely towards morning. I half-awoke very unpleasantly drenched in sweat and flipped the blankets around a couple times to evenly distribute the spoilage. Once I fully woke up, I recorded my temp at a cool 97.2° F. In fact, the rest of the day went swimmingly. I completed some chores, did some painting, and cooked for myself with minimal medication and nursing only a somewhat irritating cough. My throat was more itchy than sore. As for the body feel, I think I could have successfully ran a quarter-marathon given a sufficiently motivated bear or pack of wolves.

Overall, I have mixed feelings on COVID-19. Within the context of its contemporaries, COVID-19 did no more harm than a moderate flu, and I much prefer its dry, manageable cough to the agony of strep throat. The body load and fatigue of COVID-19 was notably brutal on its first day, but backed off much more quickly than any other condition of its caliber. The true scale-tippers here are the social effects of COVID-19; this is the only sickness where you are expected to inform all of your previous company of the potential that you got them sick. Not fun. This is also the only common illness where you can't get away with re-entering society right about when you feel better. The strict code of courtesy around COVID-19 is good and ethical, but knocks it down a couple points by the standards of my review.

That's not to say there are only negatives. On the other side of the coin, I have appreciated the impetus to refocus on art and personal reflection. I've made my maiden voyage through more albums in the last two days than the last two months. I made my first Tumblr post. As someone who is typically noncommittal about disordered eating, I considered the mild reduction in appetite a plus. And further on the topic of self-destructive glee, anybody who claims they don't want to see just how high they can get their temperature before they get scared is full of shit. Number go up funny dopamine -- so I appreciated the astounding effort on fever here.

If you are looking for a new sickness to contract and have a light ten days ahead, keep COVID-19 on your radar. It is the Vipassana retreat of viruses: painful, isolating, meditative, and occasionally gross. Tolerable. Just don't feel tempted to share the love.

6/10

[merearly]

This fiction is in remembrance of Alexei Navalny, the martyr.

Heaven On Earth

A bone-chilling wind pulled him back to reality. Alexei realized he was not in heaven but had woken up from a doze due to the cold. After prolonged sleep deprivation, his health was even more miserable than vegetables under freezing rain. He remembered that his most recent memory was of passing out unknowingly a few hours ago, while his cellmate was still struggling with his uncontrollable vocal cords. He tried to sleep on the cold, hard pillow, even though it made every vertebra in his neck painfully aware.

He began to observe his surroundings and realized he was on a vehicle. Where else could I go? he thought, nothing but from one purgatory to another. Was this his trial? Like Khodorkovsky, who spent ten years in prison, changing his perception of time. And what about himself? Had he changed anything... He was no longer afraid of the cold; he no longer needed sleep. The image of Khodorkovsky, a round-headed, sharp-nosed Jew sitting on the train, leaning over to him, saying, "This is not the end of the fight, but the beginning of the real struggle.”

Then Alexei remembered a New Year's Eve many years ago, when he was grabbed and spent the night in jail, surviving on thick socks passed in by a friend, before being dragged to court the next day. These horrific experiences were not unfamiliar to him, just the cold. He had returned from Germany after being poisoned, underwear poisoned, doused in green antiseptic – these trials were like the scars on a knight's face, the medals of valor for the brave, and his armor.

"Oh, today is Christmas." Alexei suddenly realized, hoping this wouldn't mean his team would have to work overtime during the holiday. He laughed to himself, remembering the summer he was transferred to IK-6, how his team panicked when they suddenly lost track of him.

What was the point of it all, what meaning did it all have? he asked himself again. The Slavs lived under the yoke of the Mongols for many years, under the reign of Ivan the Terrible and Stalin for many more years. If there was any difference between the present and history, it could be summed up in a joke: Nicholas I was Genghis Khan with a telegraph, Stalin was Genghis Khan with a telephone... There was never any difference, always anachronistic, always a failure. He certainly wouldn't dream "what if" dreams like a cowardly daydreamer: What if Yeltsin wasn't a damned drunk, what if Putin had fallen early in the metals case, what if the winds of freedom had swept the world. Building happiness in illusions is easy, but that wasn't his mission. The tsar tried hard not to crucify him with his own hands, and for this reason, martyrdom became his fate.

Cold, still cold. Moderate cold makes the mind clear, but excessive cold blurs the line between reality and delusion. He saw his tall friend, the eternal 55-year-old playboy, his soul floating in his prison cell, existing in a form of gas and consciousness. "My dear, I won't be able to attend your funeral, alas! Dear Sakharov Prize laureate... I was actually pondering your future, it's quite simple really, either like me or like Khodorkovsky." Nemtsov waved his hand, "You'll be joining me soon!"

"No, I must find the third way, someone has to finish it."

"I no longer care, ideals only attract the living. Sakharov, ah, Sakharov, I met Boris Yeltsin at Sakharov's funeral, he told someone he wanted a son, to pass on his name Boris. I told someone, I'm also Boris, he's missing a son, and I lacked a father, I felt a father-son bond in my relationship with Yeltsin. You see how much I cared back then. Now, much has changed, but not for the better, fortunately I'm already dead, I don't care anymore, the dead have no principles or mercy."

"Do you know what I'm most afraid of?" Navalny propped up his emaciated head with one hand, like a starved kangaroo. The ghost of Nemtsov raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "I'm afraid that one day I'll drink gin, numbly watching Putin's propaganda on TV, then shed regretful tears. Then I'd truly become a pitiable and despised beast." Tears rolled in his green eyes.

The ghost of Nemtsov wanted to embrace him but couldn't, he could only try to press his head close to him, "You won't, you won't. Do you know why? Because you're alive, you have humor, you are active thought itself, you are a new story, but they are just imitating the old czarist executioners; you are the story waiting to be told, while they are the forbidden words."

Suddenly, his illusion shattered. A prison guard grabbed his leg, dragging him off the prison van, pulling him along a dim concrete path, and locked him in IK-3, at this point Navalny did not know he would spend his last less than two months of life here. He was still prepared to repeat the request rejected by the previous prison; he wanted a balalaika, he wanted to tell his cellmates he was a black belt in taekwondo, it would be great to have a kangaroo, but in this minus 32-degree environment, he wasn't sure if that counted as animal abuse.

Alexei Navalny, he wasn't good-looking at all, the close set of his eyes, casting shadows in their sockets, made him seem more villainous, but anyway, it was all over, he had left the tsar's cruel Earthly heaven for the real Heaven. Peter Aven once wrote of Berezovsky's life: A man's life story cannot be great without tragedy. This also applied to Navalny's life.

It was an ordinary afternoon at first, the president sitting in front of the crowd with a microphone; the political prisoner walking near the Arctic Circle in winter, then he felt heart-piercing pain, he knocked on Nemtsov's door once again.

And this time, Boris opened the door.

[chaoticgeminate]

The Saltwater Room (iv)

Summary: You’ve been a drifter across the sea for as long as you can remember, unwilling to stop and unwilling to settle, nervous to put down roots and trust others like you’d been taught growing up. Marcus grew up settled and happy, heartbreak led him to the sea and fate put him in your path.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Implied smut but not detailed, mentions of experimentation, mentions of pirates, general survival violence like fighting off animals)

Notes and Warnings: AU based on the video game Raft, will feature some locations and themes of the game. This is NOT how you survive if you’re stranded at sea, please don’t use this as practical.

Series Masterlist | Year of Video Game AUs Masterlist

i've never felt so at home (5.2k)

Vasagatan wasn’t a town, it was a ship, and you scanned the massive structure in awe. It wasn’t so large like the old cruise ships that it could take weeks to investigate but it was definitely some sort of luxury craft. Marcus dropped the anchor of the raft as you rolled the sail up and the two of you both looked at the large ship. In the week of sailing it had taken to reach the vessel you’d been meticulous about tending to Marcus’ injury, it was doing a lot better but you were still insistent on limiting his range of motion to prevent the almost healed area from getting worse.

Thankfully the salt water and herbal pastes were helping to keep infection away, big blessings seeing as you both had yet to run into an island with any communities of people, and Marcus looked over at you as he watched you get ready to head onto the ship. He was nervous to agree to it, especially after the radio tower, but you’d convinced him to stay primarily with the raft this time around; not only was he recovering from his injury still but if there were people here like at the tower then neither of you wanted to risk your only means of transport being stolen or for him to become a liability in a fight.

Not even counting the swim over, the ship had gotten wedged into rocks and pushed somewhat on shore of what might’ve been a moderately sized island, you had taken one look and knew that there was no way that Marcus would be able to make the swim without compounding his injury. He hadn’t wanted to agree with you but he knew you were right, which was why his arguing had been minimal.

“I’m going right for the navigation room, promise, the goal of this is coordinates or communication logs with Cadran.” Marcus nodded and the gentle kiss on your nose made you giggle, his own smile making you reach up to play with his scruffy beard, and you made a note to look for a good razor for him since he preferred to have a clean shave. Armed with a machete, your knife, and a headlamp that you’d pieced together with Marcus’ help you slipped into the water and began to make the swim through the gap in the rocks.

The vast difference in depth became apparent when you went from open ocean to kicking coral as you swam to the lowered back end of the boat; it looked like a ramp that had gotten stuck in the open position after the ship beached itself, with the disturbed sand and broken rock falling onto it and half submerging it. As you looked at the high wall and single door your nerves spiked, the headlamp sliding into place on your head, and you pulled the door open to see what you were working with. You had to immediately look right, the door opened to a narrow hallway in that direction, and it was dark.

The headlamp wasn’t super bright but it was better than nothing, the metal floors coated in a thin layer of algae in some places, and you thanked Marcus’ foresight of taking the shoes off the feet of the two from the tower. His pilfered pair were a little big, just like yours, so you ended up sewing together thick socks made of layers of fabric; they weren’t that comfortable but it was better than going around barefoot or in wood sandals. Every step made the sole of the boots squeak on the ground, or make a wet squishing sound, and your grip on the machete tightened when you heard rapid footfalls above you.

Not heavy enough to be a person, not heading in your direction, but the size didn’t track with anything you thought would live on an abandoned ship. The engine room was empty and you hummed after finding several notes from a mechanic, mentioning a rat infestation, but the noises you were hearing weren’t exactly small. Navigating the bottom floor was done slowly so that you could be quiet, one of the doors was locked and you backtracked to a room that had been open but you’d ignored when you heard something inside.

Your answer to what the hell was here came in the form of a giant rat…thing. The tail was curled up and it was easily the size of a small to medium dog, the screech as it pounced was a high enough pitch to echo on the metal around you but you hadn’t clammed up and instead the machete hacked right into the thing when you side stepped and put a horizontal swing into your arm. Dark blood sprayed on the walls as you stabbed it through the head to be sure it was not getting back up and you had to use your other hand to cover your mouth, gagging at the gore now on the wall and your blade.

You stepped gingerly over the body, rapidly looking around the room until you managed to find a key with the stairwell picture on the tag, and you took stock of what was in the boat and what wasn’t. Depending on how many of those rats were hanging around would determine if you came back to pilfer what you could, if there were too many then it wasn’t at all worth the risk.

Upstairs there were rooms, with plush beds, and to your immense surprise there wasn’t any water damage to any of the spaces. More notes were slipped into your journal, records of someone named General Olaf performing experiments on the rats, the lurkers, and each new thing you learned about him made your stomach crawl with disgust. He had planned to use them like soldiers, he had turned them loose on the crew when he’d abandoned the yacht after they realized it was going to get beached, and there was a chance he was still alive since the notes themselves were only dated a handful of years back.

You had to make a jack to move one of the heaviest cabinets away from the only room that had the chance of having a key for the bridge, finding a lighter instead, and with a soft grunt you began combing the ship again for supplies. If you couldn’t find the key to break the door down -since it was metal there was no way your machete was going to break through it- you had seen a gas tank that was somehow still sealed. A small part of you thought about swimming back to warn Marcus that you were going to construct a small scale bomb but it would only take longer and give more of the lurkers a chance to slip out of their hidey holes.

You’d already killed eight of the damn things and still had no idea where they were coming from, and you weren’t too keen on finding out the hard way.

One gas tank, a few electrical wires, one stray bullet, and with a lighter in hand you exhaled lightly before setting it down in front of the cabin door; the fuse was lit and you hauled ass down the stairs; there was just enough propane in that tank to work and the explosion was loud, your eyes clenched shut as you huddled down under the bottom floor staircase. There was a ringing in your ears but you saw the movement in the empty dance floor in front of you and didn’t wait, scampering up the stairs to see if you’d done it.

The door was half hanging off the hinges and you looked around the navigation room, finding blue prints with a note attached to them that had coordinates. The word Balboa was written with a question mark, the name familiar from the radio tower logs, and you couldn’t find anything else to give you direction. Your head was aching from the explosion rattling your brain but you would rest on the raft, shaking off the mild dizziness as you hurried down the stairs, avoiding the dance floor entirely to go down into the engine room and exit through the bottom most floor.

Two lurkers tried to attack you but you managed to kill one and use the door of the downstairs bathroom to stun the other one long enough to get out, making the swim for the raft after you made sure the papers would stay dry by slipping them into your bag. The woven leaves were lined with an inner plastic layer that enabled it to float, allowing you to swim without worries that the blueprints and the coordinates would be okay. As you expected Marcus was pacing, reaching out to haul you up out of the water the second you were within reach, and he began frantically checking you for injuries.

“You’re okay, thank fuck you’re okay.” He pressed his forehead to yours, gently, as he shuddered slightly with relief.

“I didn’t want to waste time to swim back and warn you I was making a bomb-“

“Why did you need to make a bomb? Wait how close were you to the explosion? Does your head hurt? How are your ears?”

“Locked metal door, went three levels down and ducked under a staircase with my hands on my ears, yes, and they still feel funny.” Marcus tugged you into the cabin, setting your bag down, and he began a cursory inspection of your ears and made you lay down.

“Don’t go to sleep, can’t do that after any kind of head injury, but I’m going to get a cold damp cloth to cover your eyes and ears. Walk me through what you found so that I know you’re awake.” He waited until he was settled in, you had the cloth on your eyes and ears, before taking your hand and letting you tell him about the ship and the lurkers and all the journal entries from Hanne and Olaf. Marcus was silent, or if he was speaking it was low enough that you didn’t hear it over the buzz of your own voice and the muffling from the wet rag, and he promised to get a course for Balboa done up.

You were good at figuring out what direction you were headed, you could get yourself pointed North with no issues, but using the navigation tech that you two had pieced together came more naturally to Marcus. He made you stay awake for a few more hours before he let you sleep, you woke up some time after noon the next day to see that he’d gone onto the yacht. The sight of a narrow, smaller, boat with a double sided paddle made you realize he’d put together what was basically a kayak but with sharper angles.

Marcus was pouring over the blueprints and offered a sheepish grin when he saw your expression, but you simply kissed him and ignored the blood stains you knew weren’t his on the bottom of his white linen shirt.

“Blueprint is for an engine.” That explanation was all the two of you really needed to justify staying long enough to piece together an actual engine, it could run on fuel or wood according to the notes. It was hard work, sure, but it also meant that Marcus had more time to heal before you went running into any other potential problems given that the radio tower notes involved distress calls there.

When the engine was finally assembled and installed, after days of non-stop work until you two absolutely had to sleep or eat, you laid in bed with Marcus and just slept as he cradled you close and praised you for how everything had come together. Downplaying his own involvement, even though he’d done most of the actual work since you’d argued against him going over to the yacht to gather and recycle what you could from the engines there. It hurt you to see him minimize his own abilities the way he was, honestly, since he was just as capable as you were even though he didn’t seem to see it.

Hanne had left notes about learning how to make a slapdash biofuel and biofuel refiner from the rangers on Balboa Island, though she hadn’t left that information -or she had and Olaf had taken it with him- but since that was your next destination you and Marcus worked on getting as much wood dried out as possible while agreeing to only use the engine in short intervals until you had a better fuel source. Leaving the Vasagaten behind was a relief, you didn’t know if the lurkers could swim but you didn’t want to chance it, and Marcus sat beside you that night as the sail and wind guided your way through the water.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried that self-made bomb would have left more lasting damage.” He’d skewered two fish that were currently cooking over your little grill while the two of you ate potatoes from your planter boxes that had been cleaned and cooked up first. The clay cooking vessels that Marcus had managed to make, along with your metal cooking pot, had been a blessing in disguise now that you could actually make stews and soups. Meals like this, just sitting and relaxing as the fire crackled, were not only common but relaxing too.

“I’ll be entirely honest when I say that I tend to overestimate my abilities and my general health far more than I should.”

“You’re used to surviving on your own without someone else worrying about you, I’m not upset that you did what you had to. Like I keep having to remind you, Angel, you’re so impressive. You’ve taught me a lot.” Marcus’ free hand was holding yours, his thumb brushing along the back of your hand, and you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You’re impressive too, you know, our skill sets compliment each other. Usually where I’m unsure you’re able and vice versa, Marcus, so please stop selling yourself short.” He hummed and pressed a kiss to your temple, the scruff of his beard and mustache tickling you a little, and the two of you spent the night after eating just laying together talking about what kind of a life you had imagined for yourselves.

“I never thought I’d really find someone in a romantic sense, actually, because of how things seemed to just fall apart for me. I’m happy that I have you, of course, I just never thought I’d have this.”

“I pictured sailing around for a bit until I felt less heartbroken, a year or two tops, then I’d go to either Tangaroa or Cadran or whatever city I could and just settle down. Ideally around my family, my parents and my sister weren’t exactly keen of me venturing out on my own, but I knew that I couldn’t really count on always being able to find them and I needed the space to be alone for a while.”

“Which you never would have gotten in any of the cities, I remember hearing from people who left Tangaroa about how strict the local government actually was with everyone working. Apparently most of the people were crammed into small apartments there and the only places with real space were for city founders and company big wigs.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised, I was worried when my family said they wanted to sail for Cadran but I can’t blame them for wanting something better than living on the ocean.”

“It’s definitely not the life for everyone.”

“Would you… if I wanted to settle somewhere would you settle with me?”

He sounded scared to ask and you knew why, logically, he was worried about you rejecting it; that you’d retreat into what you knew best, life on the sea, and leave him behind somewhere. But you weren’t afraid to try something new, you hadn’t been afraid when you decided to trust him or afraid to give him your heart, so it would be hard but you weren’t afraid to settle down if it meant keeping him in your life. You told him that, plainly and clearly, and Marcus’s eyes spilled over with tears that you kissed away before he had you on your back and crying his name into the night sky with heaving breaths against the onslaught of his mouth and a most intimate kiss.

Balboa Island was large, easily the largest island you’d ever seen, and you felt Marcus’ body stiffen when you pointed out the sign innocently sitting in the sand on the beach.

Beware of Bears

“Well…. Fuck.”

“Talk about a deterrent.”

You dropped anchor well off shore, over the week of travel time here Marcus was finally in a much better place physically, you’d fashioned a second kayak and paddle since it was convenient but the idea of facing bears was enough to seriously make you question going onto the island.

“Even if there’s two of us… the odds against a bear are bad.”

“I see the satellite receiver station there.” Marcus pointed up and you followed the line of his arm, spotting the satellite tower, and logically that meant the ranger station had to be close to it. There was a distinct lack of boats anywhere, making you wonder if the distress call from Balboa was because of the Vasagaten like you’d suspected, and you knew that Marcus wouldn’t risk it if you didn’t want to. But you didn’t want to risk the chance that Cadran’s location was actually here, seeing as it could take you and Marcus months to get close enough to pick up a radio signal until you came up with a better way of tracking where you’d already been.

“Since they aren’t actively broadcasting I don’t know what we’re going to find here but if you’re willing to try than I am too, the state of the Vasagaten and the Radio Tower along with the other notes from the tower have me worried about your family needing you.” Marcus’ jaw tightened a little at your words but you knew he appreciated that you weren’t trying to sugar-coat the potential truth, you watched his face carefully and when he nodded once and made for his kayak it was clear what he’d chosen.

Arming yourself with the hunting knife, so that Marcus had the machete, you also grabbed one of the spears so that he could take the other. It was a slow paddle to shore but as you dragged the two small vessels up out of the waves it almost felt like there was a timer, the faster you got to the tower and got answers meant the faster you could leave. Storms, sharks, and thirst were the threats you could handle without batting an eye; facing down bears though?

Marcus captured your free hand in his and pressed a kiss to your palm, the gratitude in his eyes clear even as he turned his attention to the steep pathway up off the shore, and you used the butt of your spear like a walking stick to make the upward walk a little easier. The two of you opted to move slower, the further you were from shore, to preserve as much sprinting power as you could in case you needed a quick getaway; what neither of you counted on what the sight of a man in a dark green uniform sitting in some sort of a stand, smiling at you both at the very top of the path.

“Howdy folks, welcome to Balboa Island, I’m Jack. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout the bears on this side of things, we finally managed to set up a solid perimeter to keep ‘em on the East.” Marcus made no move of relaxing his tense posture, and neither did you, but the man didn’t seem bothered by it at all. He kept his hands off his weapon as he approached, he was actually calm with the two of you facing him down.

“Do you know the coordinates for Cadran? My family was headed there and we’re trying to find them, we’ve been through a lot to get here.”

“Coordinates? You got a workin’ navigation system?”

“We managed to piece one together.”

When Jack smiled it was joyful, even with the slight uptick of his mustache that made it seem more like a smirk, and you couldn’t help but relax just a little bit.

“Then hows about we trade? Coordinates are free but we got some extra supplies, if you could just look at our tower? Some crazy military man on a yacht showed up and had his crew ransack the tower while my team and I were fixing the relay stations, but the main Radio Tower connecting us to Tangaroa never sent anyone to fix it. when we sent a distress signal.”

“The two people there were abandoned by someone else, they attacked us when we showed up so-“

“Right, if you got the coordinates to it I can send Tequila and Ginger to inspect it. If our radio goes up we can reach out to the Caravan Island, they got lots of engineers there and can go fix up the Tower. It’d reconnect us to Tangaroa, if we get word out to them that the pirates are goin’ after towers then maybe we can get some more defenses goin’ up.”

Jack was leading you and Marcus toward the ranger station, you could see that it was actually a little community since there were a few tents and small cabins scattered around the clearing, and the people there all waved warmly at you.

“Howdy folks, come have a sit and some food.” Champ, as he introduced himself, didn’t take no for an answer and was an avid listener to you and Marcus as you recounted your meeting and adventure on the sea so far. He looked equally disturbed when you read off General Olaf’s journal entries, about experimenting on the lurkers that had infested the Vasagaten, and Jack handed Marcus a razor and a towel with a smile before Ginger led you both to the bathhouse now that you’d been fed.

None of them seemed at all surprised you wanted to keep your weapons close at hand, in fact they seemed to expect it, and while you certainly wanted to indulge in a little touching now that Marcus was freshly cleaned and shaved you both knew better than to get distracted.

The new, fresh, clothes they’d provided felt amazing compared to your salt crusted linens and as you joined them again you looked up at the tower looming over you. It was high up, the kind of height that you worried you’d get sick from, but the ladder wasn’t broken or in bad shape at least.

“I should get looking at it now, while I have sunlight.” Marcus nodded once and you began ascending the ladder, keeping your gaze up instead of out or down, and when you reached the platform you could have kissed the metal if you weren’t determined to just hurry up and get back down. The system wasn’t nearly as bad off as the Radio Tower, the worst of it all was frayed wires, and the boxes of supplies up here included a good bit of electrical tape. You did have to salvage a few new sets of wires from the old parts already up here, peeling back covers to make sure they could be easily spliced into the system, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t already known how to do.

After patching up what you could, making notes for Jack and the others so that a proper engineer could get everything fixed up later, all that was left was to flip on the device. The solar powered unit buzzed and squealed for only a moment before the sound of crackling static filled the air.

“Base to tower, you copy?” “Tower to base, I hear you loud and clear.” “Hot dang, you are a miracle worker!”

Jack’s praise made your face warm a little, you couldn’t help it, but what you hadn’t counted on was a rapid beeping as another incoming signal was picked up.

“Balboa Ranger Station, do you copy?” “Ranger Station copy, this Caravan Island?” “Sure is, good to hear from ya’ again.”

Knowing that they had their re-established contact, and that it was going to start getting dark, you began descending the ladder carefully; Marcus greeted you at the base and hugged you, no doubt terrified that you might’ve fallen, but just being back on solid ground settled your nerves.

“We got the coordinates and an offer to stay the night, but they did load us up with supplies if we want to get moving.”

“We know its hard to trust, seein’ the state of things, but you’re welcome here; Ezra, over at Caravan Island, passed a message along to Cadran to see if your folks made it. So if you want to wait it out you’re welcome to stay until we know.”

“Sounds like a good enough reason to stay, right Marcus?” He nodded and you realized that he’d let Ginger pen copies of the notes you’d found from the Tower and Vasagaten, you were honestly glad to see that some people actually wanted to try and end the piracy and attacks. To reconnect people so that everyone could be safer and happier.

“Nervous?”

“Not really.”

Marcus was watching you but you really weren’t all that bothered, his family had not reached Cadran but instead joined a small community near Caravan Island, now that you’d finally tracked them down and knew they were okay it only made sense for him to see it for himself. He’d been away from them for three years, the longest in his life, after all.

“If I- if I wanted to stay… would you?” He sounded scared to ask and you knew why, the countless conversations you had about feeling trapped and paranoid around people after everything you had been through were good enough reasons that he’d worry, and instead of being upset by his questioning you appreciated it. Far more than he’d ever know, really, the fact that he understood your past but didn’t treat you with kid-gloves because of it.

“I can try, you just would just have to be patient with me-“ He kissed you before you could even finish, you knew he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t seriously considering it and you understood it since he’d grown up only traveling on the ocean when he had to. Being on land, being around his family, was the most comfortable for him and he wanted to include you as a part of that.

Marcus sat down with you between his legs, arms wrapped around your middle as the engines rumbled along toward the island. Jack and the others had given you more than enough wood for engine fuel to speed up your trip, after you helped them construct a small raft with an engine that they could use to patrol around Balboa, and evidently the gunshots in Tangaroa had been because of General Olaf attempting to take over there and failing against the city’s military.

You both must have drifted off to sleep because when your eyes opened the sun was high and you shook Marcus gently, it would be safer to head into the cabin than stay out here and risk sunburn, but he pointed at the sight of a flag and high rocks. A small raft came out to meet you and Constable Raymond seemed delighted to learn that Marcus was one of Geoff and Marissa’s kids, the two elder Pike had evidently become a backbone of the little community.

Being led ashore, raft anchored alongside some of the others, you watched Marcus practically sprint the distance to engulf his mother in a hug. His sister Laura and her wife Sue greeted you warmly, the former very welcoming and the latter was already recounting her own tales of traveling and rescuing a Pike that she ended up falling in love with.

“They’re like sirens.” Your joke made Sue burst out into laughter and hug you, while Laura rolled her eyes good naturedly, and you followed the family to the community cabin building where the other residents had been waiting for you both since learning that you were going to be visiting. It was overwhelming, everyone was curious about you specifically, and Marcus held your hand while helping you tell a very watered down version of your early life and then happily telling them the very in depth details of how you saved him and how impressive you were.

It was too much, after hours of being surrounded by people, and you escaped to the shore to just sit and listen to the waves. Marcus joined you a little bit later, just sitting beside you, and you took his hand gently in your own.

One week turned into two, with each passing day you began to grow more comfortable around the others here, the island was definitely large enough to not only house everyone but offer places to run away and hide when you felt overwhelmed. So when Rouhi approached you about buying your raft from you, in order to take up traveling, you were faced with a decision.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t build another raft, the island had plenty of resources, but there was a part of you that knew the truth; as long as you had a way of running away… you probably would. Marcus was an amazing man and you loved him, truly loved him, but even he had guilt in his eyes on nights you would wake up fighting the monsters of your memories that plagued your nightmares. When you would need to be sitting by the shore to remind yourself that even though you weren’t moving now that you could.

He wanted to stay, to settle and not have to fear starving or dying of thirst on the open ocean, and you completely understood why. You had a choice to make and Marcus gave you the space you needed to do so, watching you finish whatever task you were assigned for the day and disappear until nightfall. It was a hard choice to make and in the times of walking away and just thinking you found a friend, someone else who felt trapped and needing to run away,

Someone like you, except his drive was strictly to go to Tangaroa to join their academy to become an engineer.

The raft drifted along the waves, the gulls cry louder than ever, and Marcus stood watching from the shoreline. He looked torn, eyes shiny, and then turned to you with a smile on his face as you watched Rouhi leave with the last remnant of your life before Marcus.

“Come on, Marcus, let’s go home.” He took your hand in his and walked beside you up the worn path toward your cabin, it was early afternoon and the two of you had a few more things you wanted to get done today, seeing Rouhi off had been hard but you’d wanted to say goodbye to the raft that had served you well for the decades it had and give the young man your blessing.

The seashell pendant on your neck was new, a gift to celebrate your marriage, and you wanted to make sure all your work was done so you could spend the next few days with your husband celebrating the start of this new life.

[burdened-boy]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Jonathon Jeremy Limbo

NICKNAME: Jack, Saucy Jack, The Ruiner, Jezza

TITLE(S):  n/a

AGE: 40

SPECIES: Human

SEX: Male

NATIONALITY: left up to interpretation

INTERESTS: In spite of his work, Limbo doesn't sit around his house all day pondering murder. He likes doing light physical activities, like yard work and car repairs, because it makes him feel like he's really doing something. Limbo's classic car is his magnum opus, a 1968 Oldsmobile Toronado that he restomodded himself. He is also a casual history buff, and is a good source of information on why his world is like this. Limbo has lived through several wars, a few of them nuclear, and has served as what is essentially cannon fodder in one of them. He also collects vinyl and likes to barbecue.

PROFESSION: Contract killer, criminal enforcer, mercenary, arsonist, general crook.

BODY TYPE: Dad bod, with a moderately toned upper body.

EYES: Brown

HAIR: Dark brown/black, though his hair is rarely seen. Limbo does not have facial hair, or eyebrows.

SKIN: Covered in gang/crime related tattoos. Notable ones are the Hebrew 666, eyes on each of his shoulder blades, and a large centipede that wraps around his torso.

POSTURE: Limbo is 40, but has the stance of a 19 year old line cook.

HEIGHT: 5’10” (his height isn't ever firm, i sometimes make him shorter than Tabby because its funny)

VOICE: This is the best example I can find. Limbo is soft-spoken, and his touchy voice synthesizer (implemented because he doesn't have a lower jaw) incentivizes him not to raise his voice. Limbo is not a booming, cocky villain, he's a tired guy who has seen too much.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: In spite of his colleagues dressing up, Limbo's wardrobe is unusually blue-collar. He usually wears a long coat with a collar, under which is some variation of a button up shirt. Lately, it's been a Hawaiian shirt, though in the winter months its a sweatshirt, turtleneck, or a quarter zip. Limbo used to wear a suit, but he doesn't give a fuck about being dapper anymore. For pants, he usually wears basic black slacks, thick socks, and Doc Martens. He sometimes wears a watch, but lately he's been skipping it.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Tabitha Overland, who he has been with for over ten years.

COMPANIONS: Noelle, Pari, Archer White (possibly), Michigan, Kira (unwilling), Spoons.

ANTAGONISTS: Most law enforcement agents, past or present, including Stan Norman and his own younger brother, Walter Limbo. He generally dislikes most other assassins, not because he sees them as competition, but because they see him as such. Limbo thinks most hired guns are tryhards.

STRENGTHS: Even though just about everything about him is macabre and violent, Limbo is relatively docile and polite. If you come to him in a crisis, there is a high chance that he will help you, and not expect anything in return.

WEAKNESSES: Limbo is treacherous, especially if he thinks his client is weak and could easily be defeated. If you hire him, that check better not bounce. Physically, he's not very good at fighting, preferring to surprise his enemies instead. On the mental side, Limbo struggles with a lot of concerning intrusive thoughts, and extreme paranoia. There is a storm in his brain, and, in spite of improving over the years, he is still deeply unstable.

FRUITS: Limbo cannot eat most fruits whole, but he drinks a lot of them as smoothies.

DRINKS: iced coffee, redbull, too little water

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: Limbo is a recovering alcoholic.

SMOKES: Weed

DRUGS: In the past, Limbo has tried everything. Stimulants, depressants, deliriants, psychedelics, designer, prescription...Legally, though, he is on a soup of anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers, and the occasional pain medication to deal with physical and mental trauma. Weed is the only "illicit" drug he takes now.

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Limbo has one, and he drives fast as fuck.

tagged by @chronicparagon

tagging @cajunspoons @archerwhiterp @violeteyedkiller @distantpagesandpapercuts

once again, my brain is too tired to think of more people, so feel free to steal this as well