#theme theft

[tapeworrmart]

Have art block and been playing gta iv so. Niko.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in a theme park that was designed to be entirely underwater. There were "air rooms" because o2 tanks (or any other sort of breathing apparatus) weren't provided. I stole two live creatures from a food vendor (some Subnautica-looking shark and a deep sea isopod) that immediately became my pets and loyal friends.

[haleysdoormat]

SERAPHIM AUGLUR

Not a big fan of how it came out but ehhh :,3

[jakeperalta]

I have a lot of non-swiftie mutuals who don't know I listen to her music and they're all dragging TTPD's worst lyrics 😭 like they're right but it's so embarrassing

I was thinking earlier how it has so many excellent lyrics but also probably the highest number of "girl what" lyrics that just take me out of it. I feel like people have always taken the worst or most basic lyrics out of her songs to make fun of (and especially with this album framing her as a poet) but sometimes they are hard to defend 😭

[clonerightsagenda]

Lockwood's talent meaning he can't communicate with the dead but sees them in more frightening detail goes a long way to explaining his attitude versus Lucy's, and obviously his talent is a direct representation of his PTSD (constantly seeing the aftereffects of violence, viewing everything as more of a threat, etc.) but he's really like "see that sad man missing his wife? we gotta hit him with explosives Lucy. don't be an emotional girl about this"

[naoa-ao3]

The Man in the Mirror

John wakes up in someone else's life and has to figure out who he is, how he got there and how to get back. . . all the while facing a kind of life he has always tried to run from.

John opens his eyes. His head hurts but that's nothing new.

He rolls over and stops.

There's a woman laying next to him in bed and as his eyes adjust confusion sets in.

He's not in his bed but he remembers going to bed in his own, proper bed.

In his own, proper flat.

He thinks he must be dreaming but he doesn't feel like he's dreaming. He feels fully awake now and he sits up, wincing as the woman stirs next to him.

"Did the alarm go off? She asks.

As if on cue a beeping fills the room.

He hadn't gone to bed with anyone.

He turns without thinking and shuts off the noise. This isn't his alarm, it isn't his clock. This isn't his room. . . this isn't his woman.

She rolls over like it's all normal and he doesn't know what to do. He's frozen. He didn't even drink last night. There's no way he wandered off somewhere. . . No way he wouldn't remember but he doesn't. He doesn't have a clue how he got here. He can't remember anything.

The woman groans. "You'll be late." She says, struggling against sleep. "And the kids."

Kids?

He doesn't have kids.

Something is very wrong here and he doesn't know if he should even open his mouth yet. What would he say?

A foot kicks him under the covers and blankets. "Ronnie." The woman moans out.

He slides from the bed and away from her as silently as he can and feels unfamiliar carpet under his feet.

The world is spinning and he puts a hand to his head to steady himself while the woman pries herself from sleep.

He finally dares to look at her and turns, stomach doing summersaults to face her.

She's pretty, around his age. . . Dark hair and green eyes. Ordinary though. She's ordinary and yet an alien because she isn't supposed to be in his bed only it isn't his bed, is it?

This little room with pink, flowered wallpaper and beige carpet isn't his.

The clock on the nightstand isn't his.

He's the alien here and he stares at her, utterly lost for an explanation. He wants to open his mouth and correct her. Tell her that he isn't this Ronnie and that there must have been some kind of mistake. . . He doesn't even know her. . .

His voice dies in his throat however when he looks in the mirror and sees a stranger staring back at him.

The man in the mirror has dark hair and brown eyes. He turns his head and feels a stab of fear. This isn't him. It isn't his face or his bed or his carpet and whoever she was she wasn't his.

"Don't forget, Kevin's football match is this weekend. I know you said you're busy but it'd really mean a lot to him if you'd go." The woman says like he's supposed to have any idea who Kevin is or where the match is being played.

He doesn't even know who she is. . . No worse than that now. . . He doesn't even know who he is anymore.

He locks eyes with the man in the mirror again and can see himself fighting not to scream.

"Are you listening to me?" The woman asks. "I'm talking about Kevin's game. I suppose you already have plans though." She sounds angry and he winces, flinches. He doesn't have plans that he knows of and he hasn't meant to make her angry.

"I. . . I'll see if I can swing by." He says, feeling stupid and useless. He has no idea where he is or who he is or who they are or what's happening.

This isn't him and it isn't his life. A bloody kid's match. What the hell? He can't remember the last time he cared about something like that.

The woman rolls her eyes. "What time did you get in anyway?" She asks, feet out of bed and hand reaching for her bath robe "I didn't hear you come in."

He hesitates. He doesn't even know how he got here let alone when. What's he supposed to say?

He decides then and there that the best thing to do will be to slip away. He's going to play along this morning and when she lets him he'll just disappear and try to figure this all out.

She rolls her eyes when he doesn't answer and ties the robe around her waist. "Whatever, just don't be too long getting up. I don't need you losing your job. I swear. . . Sometimes it's like you don't even care."

He winces again, this isn't him. It isn't him who doesn't care and it's first thing in the morning and she's already onto him. Christ, he isn't the one that doesn't care.

"Won't be late." He mutters, shaking his head slightly but she's gone, bare feet away and padding down carpet he's never seen before.

He puts his head in his hands and tries to breath. The room is spinning in the pastel shades of a doctor's office. It's muted and makes him sick and it isn't his room.

These aren't his covers and this isn't his carpet.

He gets up and walks to the mirror, desperate for a cigarette. The man staring back at him, making expressions for him is unfamiliar. Sure, he's around the same age. . . But he's never seen him before. He doesn't know this face and he opens his mouth and stretches it wide, trying to see if the bastard in the mirror does the same.

He does and John frowns.

What now?

He finds a wallet and ring on the dresser. The woman is the wife. She's not his wife but she's someone's wife.

The card inside reads Ronald James Stewart. Born 1955. . . Liverpool address.

He walks to the window and looks out, heart hammering. He's in fucking Liverpool, not London and it makes him suddenly drop to the floor in shock.

He's seen a lot of weird stuff. This probably isn't the weirdest but hell he's woken up in someone else's body on the other side of the country. It's a bit of a shock.

He tries to control his breathing. He doesn't need the wife seeing him acting like a freak. His eyes search the room frantically and he sees the clock on the night stand again.

He should get up.

He doesn't want to be late.

He just has to get dressed and disappear.

He forces himself up and opens a drawer with shakey hands, he dresses in unfamiliar clothes that feel like a weird, second skin. They aren't his.

When he looks in the mirror he sees Ronald James Stewart looking back at him. He stares at the man, trying to think if he's ever seen him before in his life and he can't.

He just doesn't know this face and yet he's stepped into this man's life. Taken his actual body over somehow.

He swallows and finds Ronnie's watch, slipping it around his wrist like it was always his.

He feels like he's wearing a costume and yet he isn't prepared. If this is a play he doesn't know his lines. He doesn't even know the wife's name. His wife for the moment and he doesn't even know her name.

He steps into an ordinary looking hallways, framed pictures of kids, a boy with brown hair and a girl with red.

They stand framed in various acts of youth: school pictures and photos from sports and gymnastics. He stares at them. They're good looking kids, average and ordinary and he's not their dad. He just looks like him and dresses like him and wakes up next to their mum.

He stops at what he thinks is the bathroom and tries the handle but it's locked and instead he's forced to go down and join the wife in the kitchen.

She's standing beside a yellow Formica table and dolling out eggs to a boy in a grey school jumper. It's the boy from the hallway, the one in the sports kit and school pictures.

"You look like shit, dad." The boy says. He's maybe nine. "Not sleep well?"

The wife bats him over the head with the flat of her hand.

John thinks the kid's name might be Kevin but he isn't sure.

"Ah listen to you. Where did you learn to use that kind of language at the breakfast table?" The wife says, turning back to the stove. "It'll be that Jimmy Baker you've been hanging around. I just know it's him. I hear him using all kinds of language. Maybe I should go and have a talk with his mother."

"Ah mum no!" The boy protests exasperatedly. "Jimmy's alright. Really! Don't go talking to his mum! You'll embarrass me!"

"Oh I'm an embarrassment now, am I? Ron these kids of yours are really something else."

John has no experience with this. He had no mother to smart off to. "Be nice to your mum, Kevin." He says, taking a risk.

Kevin makes a face. "Wasn't being mean." He mutters. "Anyway Jimmy's alright."

The wife looks at him and he finds himself desperate to know her name. He feels so stupid risking everything like this. One slip up and. . .

Well he doesn't know what will happen but the next moment she's sliding eggs onto his plate and clearing her throat.

"Eat quick Ron, Chester will be here soon to pick you up." She turns and looks towards the door to the kitchen and he doesn't know who Chester is. "Joycie! Your food is getting cold!" She shouts.

Joycie. That must be the little girl in the hallway. The little girl with the blue school jumper and red hair.

There's the sound of feet and the blue jumper and girl appear. She looks frustrated. "Mum, I can't get my hair right!" She whines.

"Oh Joyce just sit still a moment. I'll try and fix it. Eat your breakfast."

John eats his quickly, keeping his head down while the girl complains about her hair some more and the boy teases her about it.

"Oh. . . Where is Chester?" The wife asks in almost anger as she tries to fix the squirming girl's hair. "If he makes you late-"

The kitchen door opens and a tall man appears, face amused. "Talking about me, Lynne?" He asks.

She scowls. "Bet you were skulking around out there like a pervert, weren't you?" She asks.

John just stares at the other man. Ron has friends it seems. A wife and two kids and friends. . . This is Chester and the wife is Lynne. The kids are Kevin and Joyce.

"It's not all laughs and left titties looking through windows." Chester says seriously. "Honestly Lynne, you gotta stay fit. Limber even. I think I pulled something looking in number 12's windows the other night."

"Dorothy Moore lives there you idiot. She's nearly ninety and I'll thank you not to use that kind of language in front of my kids."

Kevin is laughing and Joyce didn't pay attention from the beginning but Lynne is pressing a paper bag into John's hands and giving Chester an annoyed look.

"Get him to work on time and stop climbing the garden walls." She says.

Chester stands close to her, too close and John looks down into the paper bag.

"It's a ham sandwich, Ron." She says with irritation. "It's always a bloody ham sandwich."

"Yeah. . . Right. . ." He mutters, not remembering the last time someone packed him a lunch.

She gives him an incredulous look and he can suddenly hear the clock on the wall ticking. He has to go with this man, Chester, who's complimenting Joyce on her hair and talking football with Kevin.

Slipping away isn't an option any more.

"What are you standing around for?" Lynne asks him. "I've got to get this lot out to school. Go on now."

He nods stupidly and gets to his feet, plate mostly empty.

Chester is grinning and slaps him on the back. "Alright then?" He asks. "Let's go, Ronnie."

Ron or John or whoever the hell he is nods and follows him out to a late model Grenada.

He doesn't want to get in the car but it's what Ron would do so he doesn't have much of a choice.

"God Lynne was a bitch this morning." Chester says as they slide in. "I mean she's usually a cunt but I swear she gets worse every time I see her."

Weird. They'd been standing so close together.

John just looks at him and wonders if he's supposed to agree. Maybe if he fights him Chester will make him get out and he can finally have a moment to figure out what's going on.

"You're awfully quiet. Something bothering you?" Chester asks, putting the car into gear. "You look like shit."

That's the second time he's heard that today and he grows frustrated because someone else was in the bathroom this morning and he isn't even supposed to look like this.

"Didn't sleep well." He mutters. "Dreamed I was someone else."

Chester laughs like he has some idea and John starts to dislike him. Whoever he is, he's probably banging Ron's wife and while that's none of his business the guy is starting to grate on him.

"Wouldn't that be nice." Chester says.

John looks out at a city he's tried to leave behind. Residential streets full of old back to backs, their gardens small and square and their doors freshly painted.

Chester takes it slow and he wonders what kind of a job Ron has. It can't be something too interesting. He already can't see Ron doing something useful or complicated.

He stares out the window feeling like a passenger in this body. He just has to play along and hope no one notices. Hope that he can put it right before its permanent. Whatever this is.

He wants to call his flat in London. If he's here in Ron Stewart's body then there's a good chance Ron Stewart is in his place and the idea makes him furious because he doesn't know the first thing about this bastard.

Well. . . He supposes he does know a few things. He knows Ron has a wife and two kids and friends named Chester.

They pull up outside of a factory warehouse and he feels his stomach sink.

They don't lock the gates any more but they're still there, processing the little men and women that are filing into work for the day.

It's everything he's ever rebelled against. It's everything he ever feared as a lad.

A factory to swallow you up and work you to the bone. A factory with smoke stacks and iron gates and every kind of monotonous evil they could get the floor to hold.

"You okay?" Chester asks him as he gets out. "You look like you're gonna be sick, Ron."

He shakes his head and gets out too, forcing his feet to march alongside Chester's.

The bag with the ham sandwich and the thermos full of tea is sticky in his hand. The paper damp now.

"Alright then." Chester says, clapping him on the back. "It's only ten hours!" He laughs but John thinks he might actually be sick this time.

Ten hours? He has to be here for ten hours, inside these ancient walls where they don't even lock the gate any more?

He hasn't had a real job more than once or twice in his life. The few times he's tried attaching himself to a time card it hasn't stuck.

He shakes his head and wills his feet to steer him in past the giant gates that used to lock workers in and the rest of the world out.

He walks in with the others, an ordinary Joe of the great unwashed. Joe. . . John. . . Ron. . . Whoever he's supposed to be.

He freaks out then. He doesn't know how to do this man's job. He doesn't know what Ron does in a place like this. He isn't prepared.

Didn't he need training?

He follows Chester who clocks in at a post near the work floor and then stops to stare at him. "You forget your time card?" He asks.

John chokes out a nod. "Yeah. Must have." He says. "Kids were yelling."

Chester laughs and hands him a pad of paper. "just do it the old fashioned way and someone in the office will fix it for you."

He writes down his name and time in, hoping it's enough and hands it back. "We working together then?" He asks, trying to sound casual.

Chester laughs and slaps him on the back yet again. "You me, McCandless and Lowe." He says. "Same as always. C'mon."

John follows him to the far end of the warehouse where several men are already working to unload a trailer. They nod and one stops working to wave.

It's like his first day only he never applied but the work is easy and the others aren't quite as irritating as Chester is. McCandless is even pleasant and it helps but he has to be careful. He can't give anything away and if he says too much they'll know.

He needs to get away and make his phone call.

When a buzzer goes off they stop working. John looks around in shock and follows Chester and Lowe to a door near them.

It's back outside where they all smoke.

Ron doesn't have any cigarettes and he has to bum them off of Lowe. Not Silk Cut and JPS has never been a favorite but a free cig is a free cig and he's not going to complain. After the morning he's had he smokes the thing in a couple quick puffs.

"Thought the missus made you give 'em up." Chester says with a grin. "She know?"

He can tell somehow that Ron doesn't smoke a lot. It hits his head and lungs faster than any cigarette has in decades. It's both terrible and wonderful and he coughs, only to be clapped on the back again.

He shakes his head. "Doesn't need to." He says, joining the tough guy talk. He wonders if Chester has ever been married. He doesn't seem like the type. More Jack the lad and all his shit.

"Good man." Chester says and he suddenly feels like he knows how Chaz feels. Caught between his best mate and his wife. He hopes he's never been this annoying.

They all laugh and finish their smokes and go back in to work for a while more.

It's monotonous. They do they same thing over and over and over and John thinks he was right to be afraid. He can understand why people talk about wasting away in a factory job. It's torture and Lowe jokes to a new guy struggling about shutting his brain off.

John hates it and desperately doesn't want to learn to do that. He was terrified of ending up in a job like this as a kid. Nights where he could have pissed himself with fear. . . the end of school coming and a bleak future waiting. Factories and warehouses and shipyards taking his friends and dragging him away too. . .

They unload lorry after lorry after lorry until his legs hurt and his back aches and it's all shit.

He was right. This kind of a job is hell. Human beings aren't made for this. Human beings need stimulation. . . They need something to think about. . . John feels like a rat on a treadmill, running in endless circles and when he looks out at the factory floor he can see others with even worse jobs.

People taping boxes and pallets over and over again, an endless stream of plastic wrap and tape. . . He can hear the sound of manual conveyors and the motorized ones over head.

By the time the day is done he feels like his soul's been ripped out. He feels reduced to nothing and his body is killing him.

For Chester and the others it isn't enough. They drag him out to the pub and force a drink into his hand, laughing and smoking with him while Chester flirts with the waitress.

John sits back and kind of hates his life. Or Ron's life or whatever's this is. He feels brain dead and exhausted. People aren't meant to be worked like this. Hours of nothing and more nothing.

He could cry he so badly doesn't want this man's life. He doesn't want to do this again. Ten hours of nothing. . . a wife he doesn't know how to please. . .

The others don't care and they laugh and shout around him, Chester dancing with a girl near by.

He wonders where the real Ron is and if he's in his body right at that moment.

The thought brings him back around and he tells the others he's going for a piss as he sneaks off into the back room.

He finds a payphone jammed into the corner and considers himself lucky it hasn't been ripped out yet.

There's gum on the underside and a series of lewd suggestions scratched next to forgotten phone numbers on the side.

Who to call for a good time.

He fishes some change out of Ron's pocket. If the man could borrow his life then he could borrow a few quid.

He dials the number to his flat and waits for the sound of ringing on the other end.

It rings alright but that's all it does.

No one picks up and he begins to worry. What if he's wrong? What if Ron isn't in his body and something a lot more sinister is going on?

He gets the answering machine and hangs up in frustration.

It's now or never. He can sneak off now or he can go back to Ron's house and do it all again the next day.

The idea is nauseating and makes him fall against the wall. He can't do this again. He can't go back through those gates that don't close any more. He can't unload trailer after trailer after trailer like a machine.

He looks back at the room where Chester, Lowe and McCandless are still laughing and drinking and wonders if he was ever able to endure this. If maybe if he had accepted his fate the first time around then maybe he'd have gotten used to it but the idea of getting used to it makes him clamp a hand over his mouth. He never wants to be used to this. It isn't natural and it isn't him.

This isn't his life. He, John Constantine left for London at sixteen. He never had to get used to this. He never had to learn to turn his brain off.

Hopelessness gives way a moment later however as he borrows a few more coins and deposits them into the pay phone.

Chaz, Chaz can take a look around his place and let him know if anything strange is going on there.

To his grief he gets Renee.

"Hello?" He can hear her over the phone like she's next to him and wishes Chas had picked up.

"Hello Renee, Chas around?" He asks, trying to sound cheerful.

He can hear her eyes narrow. "No he isn't." She says.

He's having a really bad day and so he twists his fingers around the stiff phone cord and holds it tight. "Could you take a message then?" He asks.

"Haven't got a paper." She says dryly. "Anyway, Chas is busy. Too busy for whatever you're up to."

He's desperate however. "Aw come on Renee I really need to talk to him. Something's come up-"

"Oh that's original. Something's always coming up with you. Look you might have met him first but I'm married to him so call someone else, okay?"

Frustration tears at him. "Please?" He asks and to his great dismay she starts to laugh.

"Are you begging me?" She asks. "Oh that's rich, maybe I will let him know you called. Bloody begging. Good bye John."

He hears something on the other end and before she can hang up the phone shifts. He holds his end of it so hard against his face it hurts.

"John?"

"Oh come on." He can still hear Renee but to his utter relief Chas is there too.

"Chas, mate!" He says.

"You sound funny."

"You should see my face."

"Eh?"

"Not important. Look, can you get round to my place tomorrow? I need you to let me know if anything funny is going on."

"Funny?" Chas repeats. "Where are you? I thought you were home."

"Thought I was too." John mutters. "Look, something happened. . . I don't know what or why or even how yet but I need to know if anyone is in my flat."

"Bloody going to get you shot." He can hear Renee complaining and it doesn't make him feel better.

"John, where are you?" Chas asks.

"Liverpool." John mutters, voice low despite the fact that no one around him is listening. "Look it's gonna sound bloody weird but if someone is in my place it's not me."

"Course it isn't." Chas says like it's funny.

He doesn't get it and John doesn't want to explain it over the phone or in front of Renee. "Even if they look like me."

"Look like you? What are you on about? John are you alright?"

He doesn't feel alright but he doesn't get the luxury of stopping here. "Yeah I'm fine. It's just. . . Like I said. . .something's up."

"What do I do if someone is there?" Chas asks.

He pauses. "I mean. . ." He doesn't get the impression Ron is much of a threat. Maybe he's just as duped as he is. "Look, avoid them if you can. I don't know what's going on yet. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

He can hear Renee snorting and wishes she wouldn't. He's exhausted and shaken and he's played his part. He didn't even know the lines and he's done everything he's supposed do today.

"Yeah, I'll be here." Chas says. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm great." He lies and he says it too forcefully. He knows Chas knows it's a lie.

"Right, yeah. Okay John, I'll pop 'round your place tomorrow and take a look."

He can hear Renee protest and suddenly wants to talk about the way Chester talks about Lynne.

Lynne who's at home with two kids, probably wondering where her husband is.

He suddenly feels guilty. He isn't her husband but he's wearing her husband's skin, his face, his clothes. . . his wedding ring.

He decides he can go back to Ron's place for the night. For the wife and the kids who aren't part of this. They don't know they're living with a stranger.

"Thanks Chas, you're a mate." He says, feeling like an ass as he hangs up and leans against the wall.

There's gum under the phone and lewd suggestions scratched into the side next to forgotten phone numbers.

He has to go back out and meet the others. Ron's friends who are temporarily his friends.

Chester has let his dance partner go and is sitting back shooting the shit with the other two. They're talking Manchester United and the coming prospects.

He listens and pretends he's too asleep to contribute to the conversation. It's not much of a ruse. He's exhausted and beaten from the day. He drains his pint and thinks that he might actually nod off right here in the pub under the cigarette smoke and the sounds of The Eagles filtering out of the juke box by the bar.

When at last they're finished, Chester gives him a ride home, makes a last crack about Lynne and drops him on his front stoop.

He stares blearily at the freshly painted door and suddenly, despite all exhaustion and bodily aches doesn't want to go in.

This isn't his family. This isn't his home and if he goes inside it won't be his bed he's sleeping in or his wife he's sleeping next to.

He goes in anyway, shutting the door and looking around the dim house.

It smells like supper and he wishes he'd been there for it instead of in the pub. He could have done with a real meal and as he climbs the stairs up to Ron and Lynne's room he can't help but feel like a home invader.

It isn't all laughs and left titties looking in windows.

Lynne is asleep in bed already and he takes his pajamas to the bathroom, strips and shower and changes there and then finally- awkwardly joins her in the bedroom.

He isn't someone that gets off on cuckolding another man. He feels strange as he pulls back the covers and blankets that aren't his and climbs in next to her.

He keeps distance between them but Lynne is out and as soon as his head hits the pillow, so is he.

[othystt]

i doodled this months ago because greg being born and raised in canada is so important to me

[delafiseaseses]

I've Been Thinking About GTA IV Character Clarence Little.

Now, I'm sure some of you have no idea who Clarence Little is as you've forgotten he ever existed. He's a drug dealer and pimp who is the target of Francis McReary mission Holland Nights, the one at the flat block, because he's going to rat on Francis for leniency. Clarence can, dependin' on circumstance, be spared in said mission.

Clarence does disappear if spared in that mission. Francis does think he's dead, his lieutenant takes over his heroin and crack operation (and is subsequently also killed by Niko for Francis) and Francis doesn't find out Niko spared Clarence (in the final version of the game, anyway, there's a cut phone call, but that's cut so it don't matter).

Later on, if he was spared Clarence appears as a Random Encounter. The encounter is simple, Clarence reminds Niko who he is, pulls a pistol and then tries to get revenge on Niko for 'making' him beg for his life. Clarence is a single man with a handgun, Niko is Niko Bellic. It doesn't end well for Clarence, naturally.

So, why am I thinkin' about this random bloke from GTA IV? Well, it shows a theme in the game. See, every other character y'can spare who becomes a random encounter in IV don't attack Niko. They appreciate the fact Niko showed mercy, gave them a chance to keep on living. Clarence shows that not everyone takes such chances. He wasted his chance and faced the consequence of it.

I think the lesson of the Spared characters who come back as random encounters is this: You can't foresee what people're gonna do with your kindness, most will appreciate it, but not everyone will.

I guess you could also tie in the fact that Clarence wanted revenge on Niko to the larger theme of revenge that drives the story. Clarence didn't seek out Niko, nor did Niko seek out Clarence, but seeing him again Clarence decided to take a shot at pointless revenge, costing him his life.

Still, I consider sparing Clarence a good choice, even if he renders it pointless, he at least used those weeks between mission and encounter. I doubt he spent that time well, but Niko did what he could.

Plus, it's kinda funny to take him out when he's so smug and sure of himself armed with only a pistol alone against Niko Bellic.

[quinloki]

Reading your response about Leatherbound - I am amused that we're both like "yes arranged Kid marriage that he wants no part of bc arranged marriage" and yet despite that at the core, they're going to be so different. (That one's not even on my WIP list yet because it doesn't have a folder, it's just on my "bingo board")

That's such a fun part of fics with similar core ideas honestly, just how different they can be despite having that common thread. I feel like you could get a group of people and be like "here's the core idea" and end up with a dozen totally different works.

Oh Absolutely!

The soul of a story is in the details. It's in the different ways you can describe emotions, in motions, in how even with the same author you may never see a kiss described exactly the same way twice. Texture, emotion, scent, need, perspective - only one thing needs be different and the entire tone can change.

Even if you have "Yandere Kid Pirates in Canon Universe" - there's dozens of ways to write. Never mind the differences between x reader and x OC possibilities, but canon x canon too, and all the variables within that. From the most deliciously sweet story to the most nail bitingly terrifying one.

Endings you survive, and endings that you don't. Words and moments and transitions from one to the next.

I could read a thousand vampire AUs and never find one like what I'm writing, and maybe I find a few that get close, and a few that make me think I could've done that in my own version, but I didn't - and it doesn't matter how similar two stories are, as long as both are written from the heart of the respective author they will be different.

And I love it.

I hate "there's no original ideas" as some kind of negative. There's a dozen different version of Treasure Island, and Treasure Island probably wasn't even the first. Same with Cinderella, etc. You can distill any story down into something that's "been done before", but you can't lay all the flaws and pleasures of that story over top another and match them up.

That's the pleasure. That's the joy. That's the sheer delight that drives creation.

And the only thing, in my opinion, that tops it, is writing something and having someone read it and then reach out to me and say:

"This inspired me, and this is what I did because of it."

[queeraliensposts]

Friendly reminder that all the elements that Leah Kate "stole" from Melanie Martinez had been done by Jpop and Kpop artists as early as 2004.

I said what I said.

[gallonwghost]

Vandalism, murder, trespassing, property damage, probably possession of a weapon, attempted murder, first degree murder, im not sure of this but is going to space illegally snd illegally owning a pet a thing? Thres probably more idk

[the-mad-owl]

One of those things that keeps me from sharing or engaging with the coolest art online is when the artist adds "No referencing allowed". One of the best ways to find inspiration is by referencing other people's art. And it reeks of "How dare you steal my original species, the flower themed cats???"

[veikkoalen]

he fucking killed me <3

[blkkizzat]

*TURN SOUND ON & UP :)

JJK MEN (GOJO, TOJI, CHOSO, GETO, SUKUNA, NANAMI) X READER

case files: doppelgänger curses have been running rampant and causing chaos around tokyo impersonating everyday civilians including sorcerers. jujutsu society has set up veils and your boyfriend has given you strict orders not to lower them to let anyone in the house but him—but how do you know if it’s really even him?

report notes: I love this game! If you haven't played go play a few rounds @ thatsnot-myneighbor[DOT]io (its free and all online). edit—choso up! nanami next!

kinktober 2023-2024 m.list | original teaser

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝙱𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂:

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟷........... THE STRONGEST

alias: 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: its midday and your clingy-ass boyfriend—gojo satoru—should be hard at work right getting rid of these doppels not knocking at your door—gotta be a fake... right?!

classifications: bimbo!reader (canonverse of otaku!gojo's bunny!reader), yandere-esque Gojo, nipple play, recorded sex, lots of sex toys, dirty talk, panty theft, extreme overstim + slight omorashi.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟸........... THE SORCERER KILLER

alias: 𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚝.

visitor log: an extra toji fushiguro should be double the trouble and double the fun but neither likes to share, you know for sure which ones your toji—but do you really even care?

classifications: bratty!reader, brat taming, breeding, baby trapping, hair pulling, spit play + creampies, jealousy, grump!toji, daddy kink

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟹........... THE CULT LEADER

alias: 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚘, 𝚜.

visitor log: you shouldn't have even been watching the gate bunny, that's much too hard for you! so when you inevitably fuck up, your cult leader boyfriend—geto suguru—has the perfect punishment planned for you and your pretty pussy wait..in front of his entire congregation tho!?

classifications: dumb bimbo!reader, canonverse of nerd!geto's bunny!reader, cult rhetoric, dark themes, sensory deprivation/amaurophilia, punishment, humiliation, shibari, edging, overstim, exhibitionism, toxic jealousy, possessiveness, yandere Suguru, drugged sex, cnc/free-use reader, mentions of orgies/group sex and a bit of forced breeding.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟺........... THE SORCERER SALARYMAN

alias: 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒, 𝚔.

visitor log: your sweet boyfriend, nanami kento, promised he'd come visit you tonight bunny. awe baby, don't cry, you're sure that's actually him at the door but you'll run through your checklist just to make sure, won't you?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟻........... THE BIG BROTHER

alias: 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚘, 𝚌.

visitor log: crazed with quarantine boredom, you can't help but to tease your naive lil' roommate—choso kamo—but you'll know when to stop before it goes too far—or have you already let the real Choso in?

classifications: mommy kink, affectionate cruelty/cuteness aggression, begging, teasing, virgin!choso, creampies, masturbation, panty theft, mentions of menophilia.

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟼.......... THE KING OF CURSES

alias: 𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊, 𝚛.

visitor log: thinking no curse would be stupid enough to enter his palace, when the king of curses comes home to find you fucking his doppel it's not going to end well for either of you—R.I.P. your pussy sis, any last words?

classifications: error 404—case report not found (finalizing)

𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙳.𝙳.𝙳. 𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙺𝙺𝙸𝚉𝚉𝙰𝚃 — 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂: 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽.

xoxo 💋

report notes: yo so this was meant to be about 4k total and instead it turned out to be 4k per story so i'm breaking it up (fully completed 3 and making last minute edits on the others, so staggering them out). Consider this a kinktober all on its own lol (still doing stuff left over from last years though). btw—everyone who asked on my official taglist, kinktober or the teaser will still be tagged on each individual story but you can comment below if you haven't asked to be tagged already.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[bronzepatriarchy]

Okay to deep dive into that story, the entire setting is a massive city in the desert, with a ruling government called the Monarchy. Not everyone has powers but those who do are arrested by the Monarchy Inquisition

The Main Main character is Aria who is the leader of that inquisition, but there's also stories from Nova who is a princess of the monarchy by day but dons a mask and acts as a rebel against the monarchy at night.

There's also a Serephine, a the daughter of a resistance fighter who wants to be more active in the fight but isn't allowed to thanks to her mother. So instead, she goes behind her back through Maria, an aunt of sorts to her, to get involved in secret.

That's just the tip of the iceberg, there's a whole backstory with Maria, Aria has a love interest. Her best friends from childhood work alongside her but no one remembers... it's great

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Danny's Did you know?

Danny is a contact creator.

He started off as a kid who wanted to dump info about space or other interests, making it more "Did you Know" as his theme, but his channel really took off the first time he invited a ghost to speak about the era that came before.

No one knows Sidney Poindexter is a ghost. Ghosts usually do not appear on camera; if they do, they are always a blur or barely visible outline. That doesn't come into play when the camera happens to belong to the Ghost King, who is unaware of the title.

Due to this, the ghosts, as his guest stars, turn out to look like normal human beings. There is no glow, no see-through effect, and the only odd thing about them is how they dress.

Even Poindexter's coloring could be explained with some well-done make-up.

They think he's just someone wearing a costume and pretending to be from the 1950s, using information Danny had researched. Danny's interview with Poindexter became an instant hit among those who applauded the genuine authenticity of what the 1950s actually were like.

Not only that, but Poindexter's reactions to modern terms and objects that Danny presents are hilarious to the viewers, as he never once broke character. There is even an entire section where both grumble about the bullying issue in their shared high school.

A particular scene becomes a trending meme.

"Did you know Dr. Seuss coined the word "Nerd" in 1950? He used it in the book If I Ran the Zoo," Danny tells Poindexter.

The other teenager rolls his eyes. "Of course, I knew. It was published in my first year of High school. I was one of the first to be called nerd, you know? It would have been more impressive if it didn't take the entire football team four days to read."

"Four days!?"

"Dr. Seuss's writing style saved the American reading levels back in my day."

"So we have always been stupid, huh?"

Danny's next guest is Johnny 13, a biker from the early 1980s who spends most of his time flirting with Danny—who doesn't acknowledge the attempts—and proudly tells the viewers he may have been there, but he was too poor to know much about the 1980s.

"What were the trends in that era?" Danny asks Johnny after considering his notes.

The biker shrugs. "I think cellphones? They were too expensive for me or my block. Never saw one in real life before I died."

"Well, one trend was waterbeds. Did you know that waterbeds were invented in the 60s? They were made by a design student but weren't popular until the 80s, making them popular for the sudden rise of sex appeal." Danny says with a cheerful grin.

Johnny 13 tilts his head, considering his words. "Radical. I couldn't afford a mattress, much less a waterbed, but I bet they were fun. If you can get your hands on one, I would happily show you how fun they can be."

Danny rolls his eyes and then considers something. "If you couldn't afford a mattress, how did you get your bike then?"

"I stole it. Car theft was effortless back then after hotwiring took off." Johnny's smirk turns dark. "I stole to keep myself fed. Bad luck followed you everywhere when you started at America's rock bottom. Only crime could get you out, and even then, life was shit."

Danny reaches out and pats his shoulder. "At least you got to live through one of the best eras in our history."

"Nah, I died in 1983. I missed it, but do you know who actually got to live it? Ember. She died in 1990."

Next week, Ember strikes an alarming resemblance to the one-hit-wonder singer Ember McLain, who had nearly made it big a few years ago.

"What were the 80s like?"

"Terrible, everyone hated me in school, and AIDS was killing all my friends."

Danny pauses for a long moment, looking horror-struck, until Ember shrugs, "But Glam rock was made popular, which was kind of cool."

"Glam?"

Ember smirked at the host, holding her guitar. "Want to hear some?"

By the end of her performance, everyone was losing their mind that Danny Fenton somehow knew a big name like Ember Mclain, and her music once again started to trend. So much so she released another song called "Lost," dedicated to all her fallen friends who died in the AIDS epidemic.

It goes on and on, with each new video showcasing different times and people from those backgrounds. Tim Drake never misses an episode as a dedicated follower of Danny's Did You Know?

He also thought it was a gimmick to make the show entertaining and thought nothing of the hilarious conversations—not when the host was such adorable eye candy.

Things are normal until Tim watches Danny interview Greta Hayes, who died in the late 90s. His very dead, very much a ghost teammate who happily tells the story of her life while looking like an ordinary girl for the first time.

It's not even someone dressed up as her. She makes an apparent reference to some slang Bart uses, and a few of the team's inside jokes are sprinkled into the conversation.

Tim feels a headache coming on. After watching the episode, he grinned darkly as he picked up his phone and called Bruce.

"So we may have a problem. Either a necromancer with an insane amount of skill or something similar. We need to go to Amity Park to investigate Danny Fenton."

Bruce sighs. "Tim, I am not helping you stalk your internet crush-"

"It's not stalking. It's detective work!"