#thinking about love growing out of inhuman systems

[n1nthrule]

He stares at me from across the living room. On the TV there's the news broadcast of the night before: a sickly grin carved out with green paint, eyes blazing apartment blocks.

Chinese demon. 

Dragon of avarice.

Before we got over the sides of the building, I saw him shaking. He’d never been so close to the edge. He looked so small, like roadkill. 

Tyler slapped him in the back of the head and told him, he’s not allowed to be a wimp. Fucking girl. All that training, going to nothing. And then he pushed him over the ledge. 

The rest of us just watched.

The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.

There’s green paint sticking in all our fingernails. Blondie over there, the guy who was touched by Tyler himself, is picking his down to stumps. 

Last week, when we all gathered under the one light and Tyler started with his usual speech, Blondie came out of the circle of guys all with shaved heads and asked, what’s next?

What’s the plan?

What are we looking towards?

Tyler tagged him for a fight immediately.

The second rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.

I watched him go down from just three hits, his weak little roadkill face left all smashed up with blood. The guys around him gestured weakly, too scared to call an ambulance, too angry to call the cops. Some guy in the corner said he knew first aid, and covered Blondie’s whole head with bandages. His weak little angel face, all bruised over, with just a few small slits for his eyes and mouth. If you get close, you can hear his breathing, laced with dyspnea. 

The woman in the news report gestures at the burning apartment blocks, and says the council has already started searching for the culprits.

When we go to sleep, in our military surplus bunk beds tucked into the Paper Street basement, Blondie comes over to mine as softly as he can. He asks me, what’s next?

What are we looking towards?

Has Tyler said?

His big roadkill angel eyes look up at me through their bandaged slits.

To calm him down, to make him smile, I tell him what Tyler told me the day I joined.

“Picture yourself planting radishes and seed potatoes on the fifteenth green of a forgotten golf course.

“You’ll hunt elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of the Rockefeller Centre, and dig clams next to the skeleton of the Space Needle leaning at a forty-five degree angle.

“We’ll paint the skyscrapers with huge totem faces and goblin tikis, and every evening what’s left of mankind will retreat to empty zoos and lock itself in cages as protection against bears and big cats and wolves that pace and watch us from outside the cage bars at night.”

“And Tyler?” He asks. His voice trembles with the weight of it. “Where’s he?”

I tell him Tyler’s gone. Lost in the fight for better things. He dies assassinating the President or blowing up the grave of the Queen of England and we give him a big Viking funeral. We send his coffin out to sea and leave it to the piranhas.

Blondie sighs into my lap. His face is concentrated on the bunk above as if he’s counting the planks slowly.

“That’s a good dream.” he tells me. So I say I'm gonna make it real. All of it. For him. He stalks off back to his bunk with a faint smile hanging on his bloody lips.

[berylcups]

haiiiii :3 could i perchance request some melone headcanons......... any kind of headcanons, that's totally up to you!! im in need of more content of my favorite purple haired freak :3

Melone HCs?! Now how can I say no to that? 😄 I’ve thought long and hard about this purple blorbo and squeezed all of my thoughts out on here! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of this adorable freak! 💜 Beryl

🍈Melone HCs🍈

CW: This IS Melone we’re talking about so…. Beware the lewdness!

Notes: this is technically number 2 in my list but I thought I’d send this one out first since it got completed first. And it will give you all something to nibble on while I finish up number 1 and start on number 3! 😄 I hope you all enjoy ! 💜 Beryl

This guy sucks at cooking. The most he can do is microwave ramen, Mac and cheese, and boil pasta. 😭

He genuinely thinks pineapple is an ok topping for a pizza. Not bad not great…just OK. The squad is offended and speechless about his apathy of fruit being on a pizza . But his rebuttal is-tomato is a fruit and it’s on a pizza. Someone needs to hold Ghiaccio back because he’s ready to THROW HANDS.🙌

He’s the biggest Anti-hydro homie ever. He HATES drinking plain water. 💧 He only drinks coffee, tea, soda, energy drinks, juice, and alcohol. How does he have clear skin?! He uses lots of trendy face creams and just has good genetics. Lucky bastard.😩

He thinks cola and root beer is the nastiest drink imaginable. He calls it the “black bile” based off the 4 humors of the human body.

He forgets to eat…It’s so bad that he gets a little snarky and Ghiaccio kindly reminds him by saying “oi Melone! Quit acting like a cunt and go eat something for fucks sake!”

He stays up ridiculously late. If he’s not pulling an all-nighter, he’s going to bed by 4am.

He sleeps in his underwear…and it’s a thong. 😳 he used to sleep nude but he also sleeps walks occasionally and nobody wants to see his junk so the team forced him to AT LEAST sleep in underwear!

Believe it or not, his natural hair color is purple! He only dyed it blonde to disguise himself for a mission.

He lost his tonsils from getting too many strep throat infections as a kid. He wanted to keep the removed tonsils but his mom said no. 😞

He’s not hairy but he does wax his entire body. No razor, no hair removal creams…just good ol wax. Ouch. 😬 his skin is as smooth as a dolphin.

His perfume/cologne smells like cucumber melon, green tea, and a citrus blend. Mmm…He’s fruity smelling!

He has a insane 4-5 step system when he washes his hair. He’s used to the warm water going cold on him in the middle of his showering routine. He must put up with the chills in order to have the best hair in the squad! …illuso totally isn’t seething with jealousy btw.

Melone was born and raised in Venezia with Ghiaccio as his best friend growing up. His venetian accent isn’t heavy like Ghiaccios.

He’s 25 years old and identifies as nonbinary. Melone is pretty lax with his pronouns but identifies as they/them it/its and he/him.

His sexuality? It’s yes please! 😄 He’s on board to get down with anyone! He has no preference when it comes to gender…you just need to have an open mind! Although, there are bonus points to be given out if you’re physically able (and consenting) to bear children. If not, he definitely won’t hold it against you! He’s DTF and ready to sweep you off your feet!

This guy has no ass but he can dance like he has one. Twerking and grinding his way at the club hopefully into someone’s pants. 😳

This inhuman human can swallow a banana WHOLE. He has no gag reflex, the dentists love him. Take that information for what you will.

He absolutely HATES snakes. Just the sight of them will make him gag 😭. He’s cool with other reptiles though. Just keep snakes away from him. 🐍

He can’t tell what he likes more-cats or dogs. He likes cats because they are independent and clean but…they like to scratch. He likes dogs because they’re loyal and friendly but… they can poo everywhere. It’s a difficult decision for him to decide! He’ll settle with a reptile like a chameleon. 🦎

He went to university for Botanical studies. He has a hobby for horticulture and beekeeping.

He also dabbles in astrology and reading fortunes through palm reading. (Usually by licking your hand 😬)

He has shaky hands. He doesn’t have great dexterity due to all the caffeine he drinks. He wants to paint his nails but it always looks messy. 😬 so he’s stuck using clear nail polish unless he has enough money to go to the nail salon. 💅

He’s an avid video gamer. His console of choice is the PC, but isn’t interested the console vrs PC wars. If there’s a game he likes and it’s only available on a certain platform, he’s going to get it. Ghiaccio, Formaggio, and Pesci are welcome to his consoles but they need their own controller. He doesn’t want no cheeto hands in his squeaky clean controllers! (This is mostly a rule for formaggio since he snacks and plays.) And no touching Melones laptop! That’s his baby—Babyface. And there’s cursed things you might find on there. 🥴

He’s the best at rhythm games while Ghiaccio is the best at racing games. They both rival each other when it comes to puzzle games.

🔥 Spicy HCs 🔥

According to him, the first time he ever got an erection was when he saw a high heel shoe ad in his moms Vogue Italia. He stole that page and “discovered “ himself. 😳 his mom did catch him and she tells this embarrassing story to her friends and family and social gatherings. Yikes 😬

This guy eats ass/pussy like groceries. Like a man who hasn’t eaten in DAYS. He’s a part of the clean plate club if you know what I mean. 😏 you don’t? Well uh… he good at oral idk 🤷‍♀️

Majority of the time he is a bottom. He’ll dom if you want him to. He’s a slut he’ll do ANYTHING you want.

His top kinks are feet, latex, body worship, and breeding (giving and receiving).

His favorite position is doggy, reverse cowgirl, and the classic mating press. This goes for him and his partner.

His favorite times to do it is shower time and when you both wake up. There’s just something about lazily screwing you from behind as he spoons you. It’s his drug and reason for living.

Despite his promiscuous demeanor he doesn’t have one night stands often. He much rather find his soulmate.

He prefers to only use surrogates for babyface that he deems “human trash “. The most toxic of the toxic cruelest ueterus havers. He would never use a good person as materials for his stand. He doesn’t have the heart to believe it or not. His apathy only extends to violent cruel people.

When he finds someone he’s interested in he falls hard. He does want to fuck them ASAP but he wants to treat them like the monarch like they are.

King of aftercare! He’s going to talk sweetly to you and cuddle with you. He’s gonna tend to your bruises, Make a bath for you, clean his fluids off of you, make you something to drink…anything you want 💜

More than likely you will probably be bruising him since he loves being your bottom, but he will still try to give you aftercare after you rode him for over an hour straight. 😅 Be firm and tell him no and give him the same care he gives you. You’ll melt his heart!

[genevawrenn]

I have a few things to say about Quackity's stream and the QSMP as a whole.

If you haven't watched the stream, please do so here, I refuse to paraphrase and believe it should be watched in its entirety to form your own opinions. [Here is the YouTube link]

First of all; I don't think any of the actions Quackity took were deliberately malicious. I believe, in my opinion, he got swept up in the excitement and hype surrounding this new project, and we all know how easily that can happen. It's so easy to ignore the small things when you are being showered in positivity.

I think the project got far bigger than he thought which opens up everything to a lot of criticism.

But he does not deserve to feel unsafe, nor is it any sort of appropriate to send him death threats under any circumstances. Nor to anyone, that is a line we should not cross.

Please, for the love of everything, remember this is one of the biggest projects he has ever attempted. Balancing management, his real life, and his public figure status must be incredibly stressful, and you can only do that for so long until things start to go unnoticed. Someone spread so thin is bound to crack, and unfortunately, I think that's what happened with the administration. He's an incredibly busy guy, and to expect him to be so hands-on with the project while keeping up with the rest of his life and future prospects is an inhumane task to keep up with.

Yes, I absolutely agree that healthy amounts of criticism are necessary in something as groundbreaking as this. But under no circumstances *ever* does that become something you can threaten another's safety over.

I also agree he should have said something and apologized to the previous admins who were brave enough to share their story. But I also can agree with the fact this might have been better done privately, at least as much as possible, because the moment you get the public involved someone malicious is going to rip their words apart to use in whatever fashion they wish.

But it's hard to be truly objective and honest when every word you ever say online could be misconstrued and twisted to suit another's fancy.

I think that's where most of the issue lies, at least to me. There are systems in place when handled in a law environment to protect those affected. The moment anything goes public, it's free game for someone to use as they wish.

I think in certain situations, getting the public involved in the good fight is a sound decision, for a group of people are louder than one individual. But it can also grow wildly out of control if not handled properly, and for a delicate situation like this, I think it's only drawn the whole situation out to a painful amount.

I dislike the fact that a lot of my passion has disappeared for the server because this server is full of people whose content I enjoyed previously and some I've only now discovered.

But, I still do believe it's possible for us to hold hope. I have to hold onto that because if there truly is a way for this to turn around it can serve as an example it's possible to recover and put your best foot forward.

I think there's been mistakes all around, blown wildly out of proportion, but I do still want to give this place a chance.

Because what an example it could become if solutions can be found that helps all the parties and the fandom affected by this all.

That's all. Again, this is just my opinion, and I want to discuss it if people want to talk about it reasonably.

Please form your own thoughts after watching the stream, and try to keep an open mind. I understand this might drive a lot of people away, but I believe in the heart of what QSMP is.

This server and community are meant to unite people from across the world. Let's give it a chance to continue to do so, eh?

Edit for some clarification ;

I do not blame the admins for doing what they had to. I'm proud of the brave actions they took facing such a massive community head-on.

I just wish it all could have gone down differently, but we can't change the past, only hope for a better future.

[Here is a transcript of the stream from Twitter, please watch the stream as a priority though]

Edit 2: adding this too

[soulmate-game]

Work burned me out, middle management positions are draining. What was supposed to be an angsty oneshot is now… yeah I’m continuing it. Not a full series, just a two-parter… hopefully.

Edit: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THIS CLUSTERFUCK OF AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER IS, but BUCKLE IN BECAUSE IT PROBABLY DOESN’T PASS SAFETY REGULATIONS! HOOOOO BOY

Part 1

—*—*—*—*—*

“…” she stared at the being in front of her, face frighteningly blank. Next to her, Bruce fidgeted.

“I’m not going anywhere, so you either gotta learn to love me real quick or get lost quicker,” the child snarked from where he was sitting upside-down on the bat computer chair. “And don’t call me Richard, my name’s Dick.”

“I don’t remember you working with a fetus, Batman,” Marinette slowly drawled, emphasizing the vigilante’s name despite none of the three of them being suited up. Dick shot up with a cry of indignation.

“I am not a fetus! I’m fifteen! I’ve been Robin since I was twelve!”

“Nope,” Marinette countered, unmoved. “I started out as Ladybug when I was twelve, and I was never as small as you,” she blatantly lied. Dick was already taller than her, which wasn’t much of an achievement considering that she was five-foot-one-inch tall. “You are six years old, tops.”

Dick let out an almost inhuman screech of complaint. Even as he rambled on angrily about how wrong she was, Marinette only nodded as if he proved her right about something.

“That was a good squawk though. Definitely a birdie.”

It took another twenty minutes before Dick ran off to tell on Marinette to Alfred, giving her and Bruce some alone time. With which she used to whirl to him and immediately hiss in equal parts fury and worry;

“Please tell me he wasn’t—“

“The timeline is gone,” Bruce reminded her, bracing her by putting both his hands on her shoulders. “He doesn’t remember.”

“Still!”

He let out such a heavy sigh that he seemed to deflate with it, his dark circles growing more pronounced.

“He wasn’t supposed to be,” he admitted softly. “When he turned sixteen, last time, I allowed him to form his own team of teen heroes. Supervised from afar by myself of course, not that they knew that. I had given them the order to stay back and guard their city, but they disobeyed me and snuck onto the battlefield anyway.”

Marinette rubbed at her temples, nodding. “Teenagers have a habit of doing that. This time around, can we ask Bunnyx to supervise them? She has all the energy of a teenager, so she’ll fit in, but the maturity of someone trusted to guard all the timelines.”

Bruce paused, thinking of what little he knew of the pastel rabbit themed hero, and then reluctantly nodded. “That… might be for the best. And giving them more opportunities to train with…” he hummed, hand on his chin. “I might actually change things up, in that case. Instead of jumping to put teens on their own in a tower, the old Justice League headquarters is more protected. And if we started with the ‘sidekicks’,” he gave very purposeful air quotes, “of other Leaguers, it would create a better support system than letting teenagers run around with… really, not enough regulation.”

“Gotta love hindsight,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “The whole teenagers by themselves thing only worked for my team because we were overly traumatized and each saw different apocalypses before we turned sixteen. Bunnyx could fix them herself back then, but still.”

“Best to do better by the new generation,” Bruce agreed with her unspoken statement. “I can still put that old team together again when they’re older, support their development elsewhere in the meantime.”

“Oh, and now that we’re done on that topic,” Marinette snapped her fingers before pointing to the staircase that Dick had disappeared up. “He’s going to make my life a living hell, isn’t he?”

Bruce groaned, offering her a lopsided grimace of apology. ��He’s a menace,” he agreed. “He’s scared away any woman I’ve brought to the house, even though most of them are completely platonic. I have to make the press believe the whole playboy thing somehow, and inviting my friends over to chat is the easiest way to do so without breaking hearts for real. Dick hasn’t caught on yet,” Bruce rubbed his forehead. “His antics to scare away Selina Kyle are legendary already, and she’s sapphic. She couldn’t be attracted to me if I was the last man on earth.”

“Could have fooled me,” Marinette teased, suddenly impish. “She’s catwoman, isn’t she?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, saying only: “Chat Noir. Year one.”

It was Marinette’s turn to grimace. “Point taken. But in my defense, he took way too long to realize he’s gay and watched too much anime at the time.”

Bruce let out one of his unfairly charming chuckles, changing position so that his arm was around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. She fit there surprisingly well, for someone almost half his size. She leaned into him, and the both just soaked in the comfort of one another for a long moment.

“You know,” Bruce started for a while. “If you want to stay in Gotham, we can make you another alter ego so that you don’t accidentally lure Shadow Moth here. Tell that fox of yours to make it seem like you’re in Paris and take some of the weight off of your shoulders for a change. Blackmail Constantine into charming some jars to keep the butterflies in until you can purify them.”

“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Ladybird sounds nice. Fits with the bird thing that Robin has going for him.”

Bruce laughed. “That’ll really annoy him,” he warned, amused. Marinette’s close-eyed smile was pure mischief.

“That’s the whole point. I’m not letting a fetus win against me, bat-boy.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette wasn’t speaking to Bunnyx. Bruce didn’t know what they had said to one another, but he could guess it had to do with Jason.

With his baby, who he just buried. The boy Marinette had thought of a son ever since he first brought him home. She had even smoothed things over between Dick and Jason, which he had considered nothing short of a miracle at the time.

But that miracle was nowhere to be seen now, with Marinette every bit as despondent next to him as he was. He wanted to be angry with her, he did, but he couldn’t. He had seen her blow up at Bunnyx, seen her try to hold her status as Grand Guardian over the bunny holder.

Bunnyx had simply said that she wouldn’t answer to Ladybug until after the grief passed then, and ran away into her burrow.

“Is this the payment?” He heard her whisper, her voice hoarse and broken. “For the do-over? We passed the old timeline. We took down Shadow Moth. Is this the price?” Tears dripped down her face silently, she didn’t seem to notice them. “Was I not a good enough mother? Should I—“ she stopped herself, shaking her head. He didn’t ask what she was about to say. Maybe he should have.

—*—*—*—*—*

Tim was great. He was too much like Marinette at times, which made Bruce’s chest ache, but he was a great Robin. A great son. His experience with Marinette proved priceless when it came to helping curb Tim’s overworking habits and caffeine addiction.

But not even Tim could find where Marinette had disappeared to, even with his detective skills surpassing Bruce’s already.

Tim was the first son of his that didn’t get to grow up with Marinette at all.

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s fine, Baobei,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Behind her was the waterfall that hid the tunnel to the Batcave. “He’s not the one to blame. He did his best, even now he’s doing his best.”

“Then why does—“

“Because other people need him, and he has too big of a heart to turn them away,” her mouth tilted a little, smile lopsided and sad. “Timothy didn’t replace you. He just forced Bruce to live again. Bruce didn’t kill Joker, because he didn’t want to taint another child with the sight of murder.”

“And you?” The voice was dark, deadly, gruff. Older, and yet… so achingly familiar. She smiled at him again, soft and sad and… proud.

“I don’t have one,” she lied. She had tried, tried so hard. Bruce had gotten in her way first, and then the very same desire to not taint more children with the image of death.

But her baby needed a scapegoat, and she was willing to throw herself on the fire for him.

“That’s why it’s fine,” she repeated. “If this is what you want. Just, please. Let it end with me.”

This time, Marinette made sure she had the Time miraculous safely in her pocket. Nobody would interfere with this.

The bullet sent her into the flow of the waterfall, red flowing behind her like the carpet she used to walk down with Bruce whenever she released a new collection. She felt no regret as she closed her eyes and fell.

—*—*—*—*—*

The shot hadn’t been fatal. Red Hood might have been mad with Pit Rage, but his fondness for his only true mother figure was ever present. He simply wanted to see if she was serious about taking that shot.

His regret was immediate when she didn’t even try to dodge. The bullet had only grazed her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice that. She had been so ready to die— to let him kill her— that she had passed out before hitting the water. He dragged her to the Batcave, knowing he had a lot to answer for.

Bruce wished he could have found her sooner, found both of them sooner. But at least they were back.

—*—*—*—*—*

“… I mean,” she rocked on her heels. “You are growing a bit old for Robin…”

Tim glared at her, not appreciating the insight.

“Bruce is stuck in the timestream, and you aren’t doing a thing about it. I don’t hold your opinion very highly right now,” he snipped back. She snorted, glancing away.

As if that little stunt to “kill Batman” could ever fool her. She’d been there for the real thing, thanks, she could spot a fake a mile away. “He’s got Bunnyx going to find him. She owes me big time, let her do the heavy lifting for a change.”

“How many years have you held that grudge?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised as she wheeled herself towards the bat computer. “Even Jason thinks you should have let it go by now.”

Marinette scoffed at the exact same time as a certain someone tutted next to her, making them look for a moment like a perfect pair.

Crossed arms, a scoff, annoyed glare? If a DNA test hadn’t already proven otherwise, they might have thought Damian was hers.

“Fetuses don’t get to judge me,” was her only argument before she turned on her heel and walked away.

“I am not a fetus! Lady Marinette, I am ten years old!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Bonus:

Jason was curled up around Marinette, despite being told numerous times not to crowd her on the med-bay bed. He argued that he shot her, so he gets to nurse her back to health.

Did she use her blood, tainted by years of use of the Ladybug, to purify his pit madness? Yes. Had he figured that out yet? Nope.

“Love you, Mom,” he murmured in his sleep. Marinette, who had been awake for about an hour already, smiled to herself.

“Love you, Baobei.”

[megsironthrone]

Best Friends in Vegas

Based on this request: Oooh! Could I ask for a full one-shot based on the accidentally married Jaime drabble you wrote for the mystery drabbles?!

Here you are! You can find the drabble this is inspired by here. Familiar characters are NEVER mine!

Warnings: Modern AU, Accidentally Married Trope, mentions of drunkenness and the after effects. teeny angst if you squint and a bit of fluff.

Pairings/Characters: Jaime Lannister x reader

You and Jaime had been the best of friends for longer than either of you could remember. So when you suggested that the two of you take a trip to Vegas, Jaime agreed with absolutely no hesitation. He had no idea that this trip would change things completely between you. Or would it? After all, what happens in Vegas…

       Jaime couldn't imagine why the two of you hadn't done this before. The bright lights, the music, the casinos, the drinking. Sure, Jaime would feel it all in the morning, but it was worth it. Especially seeing your smiling face. Jaime loved that. In truth, Jaime loved you. And as far more than his best friend. He couldn't remember a time when you hadn't been in his life and that had recently brought him to the realization that the two of you were positively devoted to one another.

You flashed him a smile as you moved around the dance floor. Jaime had lost count of how many drinks that you’d both had, but it didn’t really matter. You were having fun. Jaime felt the buzz of the alcohol in his system as the night went on. Dance after dance, drink after drink, the world began to spin. When you were both finally ready to leave the club, the world began to blur.

The next morning, Jaime could feel his head pounding before he even opened his eyes. He wasn’t at all surprised to discover his hangover was brutal. After all, he wasn’t in his early twenties anymore. He groaned softly and tried to decide whether or not he wanted to go back to sleep. Before he could fully make up his mind, he heard a groan coming from someone else. His eyes flew open and he sat up far too quickly. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief to learn he was in his own room. Another groan. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, just a sec. I’m never drinking with you again, Lannister.” Jaime chuckled and laid back down. He let his eyes fall closed again only to hear a yell from the en suite. Jaime sat up faster than before, moaning at the spinning room. You flew out of the bathroom in a frenzy. Something caught Jaime’s eye.

“Is that my shirt?” You glared for a second. “It looks better on me anyway. But forget about that. We’ve got a BIG problem!” Jaime must have looked confused because you dashed over and jumped on the bed. You grabbed his left hand and showed  him his third finger that now held a glittering ring. You held up your hand that was now sporting a ring of its own as well. 

“I-I think we got married,” you  whispered and Jaime felt himself grow dizzy and not from the hangover this time. He’d married you. Completely by accident as if he hadn’t imagined what a wedding with you would be like for years. And worst of all, you looked completely freaked out. 

“Jaime, focus! What do we do?!” Jaime met your gaze and saw that you were on the verge of a breakdown. He gently ran his hands up and down your arms. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s try to breathe and then we can make a plan, okay?” You let out a breath and nodded. “Ok. W-What do you wanna do?” you asked. Jaime’s brows furrowed. That was a good question. Before he could reply though, his stomach let out an inhuman noise. It broke whatever tension there was as you began to laugh. 

“Maybe we should eat before we make any kind of decision,” you suggested and Jaime eagerly agreed. The two of you ate in near silence as you both suffered through your headaches and you tried to come up with a plan. Once you’d finished, you pushed your dishes away and turned back to Jaime. 

“Jaime, what do we do here?” Jaime stared for a moment. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he finally said, “This isn’t how I planned for this kind of thing to happen. I mean, Vegas wasn’t exactly the wedding destination I had in mind-”

“WAIT!” you cried, only to let out a painful moan before trying again, “Wait, you planned for this? I mean, you planned on marrying me?” Jaime froze. The thing about Jaime was that, on the rare occasion that he did get drunk and subsequently hungover, he didn’t know when to stop talking. He absolutely had not meant to tell you any of his feelings.

“I mean, I-” he cursed under his breath. You waited patiently for him to get himself together. You knew that if you tried to intervene, Jaime would grow even more embarrassed. Jaime met your gaze and sighed. “Yes. I-I don’t know when my feelings for you changed, but they did. I love you, Y/N. I was just too…afraid to tell you, I guess.” 

You didn’t respond and that scared him. You always had a reply for everything. “Y/N, I promise, no matter what you say, it won’t change the fact that you’re my best friend,” Jaime pleaded, “But please say something. Anything.” You blinked a few times. “You love me. Like really love me.” Jaime nodded even though it wasn’t a question and you began chuckling softly. 

“I guess we’re both idiots then because I love you too, Jaime. I know this wasn’t the plan for our Vegan trip, but I can’t say I’m entirely upset. I freaked because I thought you’d be upset.” Jaime grabbed your hand in his left one, feeling the cool metal of your ring against his fingers. “I’m not. I swear, I’m not.” You smiled at him. “So, what do we do?”

“The way I see it, we have three options. One; we get an annulment and forget this ever happened.” You frowned at that so Jaime continued, “Two; we throw a huge wedding and invite everyone we’ve ever known and get caught up in the crazy thing. Or three; we enjoy our last few days in Vegas and then tell everyone we eloped when we get back and enjoy the looks on their faces.” You laughed out loud at that. 

“I like option three.” Jaime pulled you to him and kissed your temple. “Me too. So, what shall we newlyweds do for our last few days of holiday?” You rolled your eyes, but grinned. “I could think of a few things.” Jaime didn’t even need to ask what you meant when you pressed your lips to his in your first (sober) kiss as spouses.

(a/n: I hope you like it!!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @line-viper @frozenhuntress67 @etherealpotter @smalltownbigheart @gruffle1 @cd1242 @supernatural4life2022 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

Jaime Lannister Tags: @faith-in-dean @bellarkeselection

[syncopein3d]

Pain that can only be relieved by touch, pressure, weight. I don't mean sexually. I never mean that with whump, in fact. I mean, imagine a whumpee who has been worked so hard that every muscle is agony if they even think about moving. Massage is painful at first, but as the muscles warm and loosen the pain starts to gradually ease. Now they're desperate for it not to stop, where when it started they were gritting their teeth and stifling noises of pain.

Consider a space marine from Warhammer 40k's Deathwatch. (I know a lot of y'all whump friends prefer twinks to these inhuman genefreak monsters that I love, but imagine the marines as all drawn by the great Vezimira or tagedeszorns if that makes you see the vision.) The only way you can canonically get veterans from radically different chapters to work together seamlessly is to drive them to the point of collapse.

Space marines do not tire out easily, so we're talking days to weeks of training in armor without a pause, living off the recycling systems. By the time they're finally allowed to pause they practically have to carry each other back to quarters. A Salamander might have to literally carry an Ultramarine (Guilliman is a less physical guy as Primarchs go) or an OG Blood Angel (depending on where they are in their Red Thirst progression; they probably can't stop and slurp down a Serf Capri Sun during DW training). A Templar helps haul a literally unconscious Blackshield who's some kind of comparatively smaller purple-eyed albino from who knows what ancient chapter. He hates that, hates this weakness, but he will not shame his own chapter by letting the squad fail.

So at some point all of that is over, the tech-priests have taken the armor away to be serviced, and everyone has been slapped back to consciousness and been given a good talking to by the Templar veteran and a more surreptitious word of encouragement by the old Salamander. They all stumble through scrubbing down with scouring powder in the showers, and the Salamander, every scar of achievement twinging, can finally flop facedown onto the slab in his quarters. Maybe his branding priest or priestess is there, a trusted grandchild of a niece or nephew twice removed, not the first of his extended family to perform the office and already growing old in his service. He can hear them bustling around murmuring orders to the serfs. When the first pour of hot oil hits his back a heavy muscle twitches, startling the younger ones, but with a little encouragement they roll up their sleeves and dive in. Massaging ceremonial oil into an Astartes is no easy task, but now it is made easier by the limp exhaustion of the Son of Vulkan's muscles. At first they can see sinews pop out in his jaw and temple against the pain, because they've never had an unkind word from Milord the Astartes, and he's not about to start now. But as they go along his face slowly relaxes. The middle back between the shoulders proves a bit stubborn, and at a nod from the elderly branding priest, a bigger and younger serf climbs up to kneel on the Salamander's back so he can pound on it with his two fists bunched together. They all see the sigh of relief from the triple lungs, raising and lowering the young man in place.

On his night-black skin with its network of little red cracks, the older of the whorls of paler scarring are hard to read, faded with time. They'll have to be renewed one of these days, while the priest remembers what they were. But for now the space marine is at rest, breathing easier as a dozen little weights knead at his sore body.

The ones who serve the Templar veteran are probably going to need mallets, and if he thinks any one of them is trying to spare him he'll bat them across the room. They'll die, or they'll learn. The Blood Angel's serfs are pale and listless, and at least one definitely won't survive the night, but at least he'll be unfailingly gentle and courteous with the survivors. The son of Guilliman's serfs run like a well-oiled machine. He might mumble a mild reprimand if he notices anything isn't precisely according to routine, but he's not a harsh man, only a very meticulous one.

The Blackshield has no one who is particularly his servant. They serve the Deathwatch. They handle him carefully enough, aware of how temperamental some Astartes are, but not with any affection or reverence. He wouldn't be a Blackshield, chapterless, brotherless, if he was not dishonored in some way. In the end, there will be a pile of serfs sleeping on rugs around the base of the Salamander's slab. The Blackshield will be alone.

[maircries]

So if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I abhor AI

And I mean this in every way possible. Chat GPT? AI art? Garbage. AI to do maths is on thin fucking ice. Fictional AI? Despise it. God forbid the day we are faced with a conscious AI system, and I struggle to appreciate and sympathize with conscious AI characters. Which has been a really interesting feeling to have now that I’m really immersed in podcasts and podcast fandoms, because it feels like a LOT of podcasts have AI characters.

The weirdest thing about this for me, however, has been the realization of how okay I am with other forms of higher intelligence.

This thought process was brought on by thinking of the Penumbra Podcast (my friend is mid-season 2 and I was having Thoughts), how viscerally I hated the THEIA from the moment Juno accepted the eye compared to how much I adore the Ruby.

My whole basis for despising conscious AI is that I have zero faith that there is a world where an AI system “wakes up” and humanity survives. But how different is an unknown alien consciousness from an AI consciousness? At the end of the day, what will be our undoing is a lack of, for better wording, humanity in these opposing consciousnesses. And that really did get me thinking about why I feel so strongly about the one and not the other.

If there was a podcast I had anticipated changing my mind on AI as characters or potentially awakened AI, all evidence seemed to point to Wolf 359 and Hera. Which, yeah, I did generally enjoy and empathize with Hera as a character, but I struggled to actually like her. She would form relationships and have moments that were so very human, but then I’d remember that she’s not, and it always put me off. So after finishing Wolf 359 and not being turned on AI, I assumed I would always remain firm in my opinions.

Then I listened to Moonbase Theta: Out, and things started to click for me. We are introduced to an “artificial consciousness” (rather than AI) named Tumnus. Not only are we introduced, we actually get to watch her journey into waking up. This is where my feelings started to make sense. Moonbase Theta: Out is similar to Wolf 359 in that a large part of the narration happens through a communications officer, one who is so painfully human and obviously there just to do a job. Tumnus “wakes up” during a period of time in which her only contact is with comms officer Roger, who only wants to get home to his husband and reads and writes poetry. Tumnus grows and learns to be “human” through one of the most objectionably human characters; through someone who believes wholeheartedly in love and dependence on one another and humanity. Should Tumnus have developed in the presence of her creator or, god forbid, the corporations, she would have become a very different person and I would have despised her.

I think characters like Hera unsettle me not because they are inhumane or unknowable, but rather because we know the people they were developed by. Sure, Dr. Pryce took steps to cut Hera down, but she still attempted at least once in her early life to achieve consciousness, and she even, despite being very comfortable with the inhabitants of the station and having close personal relationships with most of them, attempted to see if she had the capabilities to hack the systems that could kill them, just because she was curious. I think there’s a direct correlation between her surroundings as she developed and the actions she took.

Which really makes me think about what I dislike so much about AI and conscious AI systems. I always thought it was because I had no faith in our ability to develop something with a conscious that wouldn’t turn around and immediately bite us in the ass. This is where my feelings of other alternate higher consciousnesses ties in: I don’t immediately fear and assume the worst of other alien intelligences because I have no reason to assume they were developed in a manner that would lead to inherent harm to humanity. Sure, it’s terrifying in the sense that any unknown element is terrifying, but it’s honestly comparable to the idea that anyone with a bad home environment could become a serial killer. There’s nothing anyone not in the immediate impact zone can do to change the situation. Alien intelligence in reality and character in real life are just a thing that exists that we have no impact over. I despised the idea of an artificial conscious because I believed that we would immediately fuck it up by sticking our fingers in it.

Tumnus made me realize that it’s not a fear of humanity’s capabilities, or a lack of faith in humanity in general. Quite the contrary actually; I think that a conscious AI that developed in the presence of a random, normal person actually would be capable of coexisting with humanity. What makes conscious AI so terrifying to think about is the fact that those AI wouldn’t develop with your average Joe. They would develop and learn from a creator and whatever capitalist billionaire or government had the most money to be there. They would learn from the smallest and worst class of people that humanity has to offer, and thus we would see the fall of society to AI.

This is a 2am tangent that wouldn’t let me sleep, so thanks for entertaining me if you got this far. It was just a fascinating realization to have as someone who really is so staunchly against artificial intelligence in general, conscious or not. And it was refreshing to realize that I do actually still have hope for humanity as a whole, no longer excluding the potential for conscious creation.

Who said fiction podcasts weren’t worthwhile?

[deletedaccd]

politics

disclamer: i am not american. this does not affect me, at least for now. this perhaps may decrease my following but my friends are in danger, and im drinking a beer, i dont give a shit at the moment

"Project 2025 is a strategic initiative aimed at transforming the US Army into a more lethal, agile, and adaptable fighting force by the year 2025. This ambitious plan encompasses a wide range of modernization efforts across all aspects of the Army, from its personnel and training to its equipment and technology. A key element of Project 2025 is the development and integration of advanced technology, such as artificial intelligence, robotics, and autonomous systems. These technologies are intended to enhance the Army's ability to collect and analyze information, conduct operations in complex environments, and engage adversaries effectively. The project also emphasizes the importance of network modernization and cyber security, recognizing the growing role of cyber warfare and the need for resilient and secure communication systems. In addition to technological advancements, Project 2025 prioritizes the development of human capital by focusing on training, education, and recruitment. The goal is to cultivate a workforce that is skilled, adaptable, and capable of operating effectively in a rapidly changing world. By combining these technological and human elements, Project 2025 aspires to create an Army that is prepared to meet the challenges of future conflicts and maintain its position as the premier military force in the world. " - Unknown name

I am not american. I will not say my views, whether republican, liberal, democrat or whatever views and titles there are

But i will simply say what i have heard and what i have read

Project 2025, a nefarious agenda cloaked in a veil of progress, looms over society, threatening to erode fundamental freedoms and plunge us into a dystopian nightmare. At its core is a sinister plot to restrict access to reproductive healthcare, stripping women of their control over their own bodies. Abortion, a fundamental human right, is deemed a heinous crime, with draconian punishments meted out to those who dare to seek or provide it. I do not doubt they will be going after birth control as well, which is also a human right.

Furthermore, Project 2025 viciously targets the LGBTQ+ community, attempting to erase their very existence. Marriage equality is revoked, and same-sex couples are denied the right to love, raise families, or live their lives openly. Hateful rhetoric spews from the highest offices, fostering an atmosphere of fear and persecution.

Education is also under attack, with curricula twisted to promote a narrow, intolerant worldview. Critical thinking and open discussion are stifled, replaced with indoctrination and propaganda. Young minds are poisoned with messages of hate and exclusion, shaping a generation destined for ignorance and intolerance.

The arts, once a bastion of free expression, are now subject to censorship. Artists who dare to challenge the status quo are silenced, their works banned or destroyed. Culture is homogenized and controlled, leaving no room for diversity or dissent.

Trump's tax cuts, primarily benefiting wealthy individuals and corporations, have been criticized for increasing the national debt and widening income inequality. Trump's administration has rolled back environmental regulations, including those addressing climate change and pollution control, drawing criticism from scientists and environmentalists.

Trump's immigration policies, such as the border wall and family separations, have been condemned as inhumane and ineffective, exacerbating tensions at the U.S.-Mexico border.

Trump's attempts to repeal and replace the Affordable Care Act, known as Obamacare, were unsuccessful. However, his administration's actions, such as weakening the mandate and Medicaid expansion, have led to concerns about reduced healthcare access.

Trump's rhetoric and policies have been criticized for fueling racial tensions and promoting gender discrimination. The travel ban targeting majority-Muslim countries and the separation of families at the border have drawn accusations of racism and xenophobia.

Trump's presidency and the Republican Party's support of his policies have contributed to deep political polarization in the United States. His divisive rhetoric and inflammatory tweets have exacerbated existing divisions and made it harder to find common ground. Trump's attacks on the media, the judiciary, and law enforcement have raised concerns about the erosion of democratic institutions. His refusal to concede defeat in the 2020 election and his supporters' storming of the Capitol on January 6, 2021, have further undermined public trust in the electoral process.

This is what i have heard

I have women friends, gay friends, trans friends that live in america

I suggest not voting for trump, but lets be honest, thats been said a dozen timew, doesnt make it any less hwlpful of advice

your all off your heads (or perhaps faces) if ye think project 2025 is good

[c0nn0r-c0nn0r13]

As i promised... Tim Drake as Toga Himiko. (Tw: blood, eating people, body torture(?), death)

Welcome to Connor yapping about their au (part 1) (keep in mind i’m not an author, and suck at writing)

Tim Drake is a strange, strange child. His teeth grew too sharp for a childs. Now sharp teeth were normal, but these weren't normal. They were more like fangs, they were different. Different isn't good around rich people.

So his parents did the only reasonable thing they could think of, they filed his teeth back, till they look normal. (What is normal?)

Tim, himself, didn't like losing his teeth, he thought they were cool. Look a vampire in those old movies he watched behind Mrs Macs back. But if his parents said they weren't normal then they must be wrong. (It's such a strange word.)

Life was better.. or it was until the young drake made a mistake. He saw a bird, a very pretty bird, it was a small thing, a robin. It had crashed into the fence in the back of his garden. The one that connected to a forest.

Now, Tim loved birds. His first memory was seeing three birds dance in a circus. The night ended in tragedy, but before it did, he got to take a picture with the youngest bird. So he wanted to help this little bird. He picked it up, looked at it. It certainly wasn’t moving. But the red on it was so pretty.

He’d never seen anything like it before, it smelled nice aswell, like something metallic. You can’t blame him for what he did next, it just looked so good.

Thats when his caretaker, Mrs Mac, found him, drinking from the dead robin. The old lady screamed, Tim tilted his head, why was she screaming. Mrs Mac screamed something about his “inhuman smile-“ and how “you sick monster.”

Mrs Mac quit the same day, leaving the boy alone and rumours spread quickly. People at school whispered about him, pointed at his fangs teeth that were growing back in. The only thing that really stuck was how much they were scared of his smile. He stopped smiling as much after that.

When his parents finally came home, they instantly heard about the incident. They weren’t happy, not at all. He hated his teeth now, his smile, he hated how good it tasted, how good it felt.

He swore he wouldn’t do it again. (Promises are meant to be broken)

At school, there was this boy, Jamie, in the year above him. He had pretty blonde hair, deep brown eyes you could get lost in, he was in the year above him. At twelve he released it was a crush, he had a crush on a boy. His parents would be disappointed. He told no one.

After school, Jamie asked him to stay back, to talk to him after school. Tim was more then happy to talk to his crush. It didn’t go well. It was a prank. A prank that ended very poorly.

James ended up dead. His blood drained. All that was left of his body was a straw sticking out his neck and a pocket knife in his neck. Everyone knew it was him, but as long as he was a Drake they couldn’t do anything.

Janet died in a mining accident, Jack no longer wanted anything to do with Tim. He disowned Tim the first chance he got. Dropping him off in the foster care system.

The group home he was stuck in wasn’t kind. They gagged him, made sure he couldn’t do anything. His cries were drowned out under white noise. The young meta hated it there, he couldn’t do it anymore.

The walls were red, he liked red. Tim liked it a lot. It was pretty. Tim liked pretty.

His fangs had fully grown back in, and his hair had drown out. He didn’t like feeling it on his neck. He didn’t want to cut it, so he did his best job at doing sloopy buns. They were pretty, cute even. Tim liked cute like he liked pretty.

Another robin died, but this time a big one. It did bad things to Batman. That wasn’t good. Now, he was smart, he could figure things out. So he found the first robin in Bludhaven. The young meta tried to get him to go back as robin. “Batman needs a robin.”

Robin one, Dick, refused. Told Tim to do it himself. So he did. He became the third robin. To be honest, Tim didn’t know why Dick let him be robin, Tim wasn’t good, he knew that. But Dick said he could do it.

Being robin was hard on Tim. Seeing all that cute blood and not being able to do anything, but he leaned self control. He promised he wouldn’t drink blood again (promises always get broken.)

He met some of the best people as robin, Kon, Bart, Cassie, Cissie, S’lobo, Greta, Anita, and so many more. They didn’t know what he was but if he told them, he didn’t think they would care. They were cute like that.

But as it happens, shit got fucked. The second bird came back. Jason was big now, angry now. He was a crime lord, not a vigilante. Or he was more like a mob boss, ruling with fear.

Personally, Tim didn’t get why he chose the jokers old codename of all things. But each to their own. But attacking him in titans tower was a low blow. It was close as well, Tim wouldn’t back down, he was as much of Robin as Jason was.

Jason was just an asshole. Tim would die on that hill.

Damian was a cute kid, though. He didn’t mind the stabbing, he showed love how Tim showed love. Someone who understood him. It was nice, maybe Damian would share his blood with Tim. (Not that he’d ever ask, he said he wasn’t going to drink any blood and he was going to stand by it)

The Bruce died, he knew he was alive though, he knew it in his heart. He helped Damian design a Robin suit before he left. Damian, in return, gave him some of his blood, just incase Tim ran out. They had the same blood type after all. (It meant more to Tim then that)

(Damian knew Tim was a meta, he found out from his mother before he was dropped off at the Wayne manor. He didn’t know how to tell Tim he knew though. So this was all he did, giving him what he needed.)

The journey was hard, losing his spleen was fucking painful. Losing Owen and Z was fucking painful. He kept their blood with him, it was precious now, he wouldn’t lose it.

Getting kicked out of a window wasn’t how he expected to die, he didn’t want to go like that. It wasn’t pretty, all he hoped that his blood was pretty on the ground. Maybe Damian would keep his blood for him.

He didn’t expect Dick to catch him, but now.. now he had to explain, and explain he did.

From the killing, the blood, the home, the tower, getting Bruce back.

He did not, whatsoever, except acceptance. Not be called family, to be called cute. (Normal was boring, and promises always get broken)

Anyways thats roughly how this AU plays out, i’m a shit writer so sorry.

[paranormeow7]

I’ve been thinking about the vampire subtypes in my oc world a bunch but I realized I haven’t talked abt them much… so here goes lol- info on some of the ones I’ve come up with !!

rose is a flora vampire, slang term “woods witch”, the first subtype I thought up while fine tuning her. Vampires originated after the murder of the worlds Guardian (more on them in a future post), as most of the strange and surreal oddities of my oc world did. sometimes a person would go missing into the monolithic, ever growing, offputting forest and never come back. More and more people ended up this way, becoming the very first race of vampires, who were more based on the traditional idea of the creature, with some differences. Longer lifespans, yet mortal. Sensitive to sun, but unable to be instantly killed by it.

Once vampires as a species began to evolve and spread, they began to adapt to their new environments, spawning different subtypes. The flora vampires evolved from those who remained in the forest, appearing much more elvish and slightly animalistic. I based their appearances mostly off of rabbits!!

Very rudimentary sketch, but here’s what a typical one might look like!! They tend to be 5-10 feet tall and may or may not be born with mutations such as tails, long necks, stretched limbs, saber teeth etc. they are covered in a fine, peach fuzz like fur and range from mostly humanoid to very creature :] they love making art and sharing it!! Flora textiles are highly treasured and of some of the most breathtaking quality in the world.

The flower inside the body is the core of their power, allowing them to do things such as commune with spirits/animals, grow plants out of their flesh, and even control the wildlife around them if powerful enough (these powers vary and they can do more than these examples). This flower feeds off of blood. The more blood drank, the more powerful you get, but if you don’t have enough in your system, the flower will spread its roots throughout your body and feed off of your own blood supply, like a parasite.

This subtype mostly keeps to their own community in the center of the forest, however some leaders may commune with outsiders. If you wish to join, they’ll bite you, turning you into one of them and allowing you to live in their community. They are very close to one another, hold communication skills in high regard and are in tune with nature/the spirit world, making them a good ally to have when dealing with the paranormal beings that infest the world.

The sun affects these vampires the least, however they are still sensitive to it and are prone to sun sickness, symptoms including fatigue, lethargy, forgetfulness and skin lesions in mild cases, and depression, amnesia, wasting and necrosis in severe cases.

The next subtype i wanna write about are the terra vampires, slang term “tunnellers”. Probably one of the subtypes least equipped for life outside of their habitat. They may walk on all fours or two legs as they please, and they mostly live underground, although they are most known for the massive community residing in the central metropolis.

This city is ideal for these vampires as almost no sunlight is let in, as the city is a massive, closed off entanglement of metal sprouting out of the ground that almost seems to simulate mole tunnelling systems. The further in you go, the less sun you’ll receive until there’s simply none at all. It’s pretty hard to explain what the city is like, but I’ve been planning on making some concept art that should show it better.

Another shitass sketch lol. These vampires are blind, and the rest of their senses are highly elevated. They mostly get around through touch and sound, and are built for navigating claustrophobic, maze like environments. They come in human and inhuman skin tones, however pale/ashy and slightly translucent. Their hair is thick and fur like, and the tallest they get is 6ft standing up, even that is rare. They have an excellent music scene, fun fact!! They also love food and run amazing restaurants, though most of the food is blood based as it’s intended for vampire consumption.

These vampires are a bit of a hivemind and can communicate with one another through a psychic connection. They mostly travel in colonies, although sometimes you’ll catch one alone. Vampires can be excommunicated from the hive if they do something horrible enough. Betraying a fellow terran is one of the highest offenses, and being separated from the hivemind is a deeply traumatizing and mind breaking punishment. “Feral” terrans are usually those who have been exiled like this, and they have no sense of self. Their behavior stems from extreme, murderous, blind aggression to simply wandering aimlessly until they starve.

These vampires have little to no blood in their bodies to begin with, and drink it in order to supplement this lack of supply so they can keep moving and stay stable. Lack of blood causes a general inability to function properly along with a severe dampening of the senses. If left too long without blood, the flesh begins to rot and the bones start to crumble.

These vampires powers are mostly attached to their elevated senses. Some can hear conversations from a mile away and will be able to tell you who’s talking, or tell you the details of a tv show from an apartment 3 train stops away, others can tell exactly what any object or surface are by touch, etc. however, some of the more powerful may be able to manipulate soundwaves or give off intoxicating scent pheromones in order to subdue prey. Pheromone emitting individuals sometimes may be used as living drugs in certain backroom clubs (city slang for hidden, taboo or unethical operations).

If exposed to sunlight, terrans will quickly develop a severe, deadly sun sickness in which senses are overloaded to an unbearable degree, flesh begins to wither and flake off, internal bleeding begins, quickly draining a boiling blood supply, and bones begin to melt as a result of the extreme body temperature of the afflicted, enough to give someone 3rd degree burns if touched. Even if the sun wasn’t a problem, this subtype isn’t built for open areas and one wouldn’t last very long if made to live in one.

These vampires have rich cultures and communities that I’ll probably post about later, and there are more subtypes than this in my oc world, but this post is too long already !! Hope y’all thought this was even a little interesting. Peace!! (feel free to make ocs of these if u want lol)

[pokemonispain]

One More Round-Alhaitham/Kaveh

Summary:  Following an argument with Alhaitham, Kaveh storms off to the tavern to drown his sorrows in alcohol and has an experience he won't forget.

________________________________________________________________

It’s late at night at Lambad’s tavern, most of the usual customers having slowed down leaving the tavern with a few patrons sparsely dotting its interior.

Although it was relatively quiet that didn’t stop one familiar regular from making his usual noise.

Kaveh sat in one of the more secluded sections of the tavern away from prying eyes as he grumbled insults under his breath all while making his way through his 2nd glass of wine.

He’d stumbled into the tavern rather late, following a particularly infuriating argument with Alhaitham. Arguments with Alhaitham never failed to get him worked up with the younger man knowing exactly how to push all his buttons, irritatingly so.

Giving a huff, Kaveh quickly downed the glass of wine as if he were a man dying of thirst in the desert.

The warm buzz of alcohol thrummed in his veins. Kaveh wasn’t someone who was good at holding his alcohol despite loving to indulge in it as anyone did with an incredible preference for wine.

“Who does he even think he is,” Kaveh huffed as he glared down at the empty cup with narrow eyes. His irritation only seemed to grow fiercer when his mind turned to thoughts of Alhaitham once more.

Kaveh is about to call the barkeep for another cup of wine when one is placed down in front of him before he could open his mouth.

Kaveh freezes for a moment, eyes wide slightly wide as he looked from the drink that’d been placed on the table before him, to the barkeep and then back to the wine with wide eyes.

Seeing his confusion the barkeep chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house courtesy of that gentleman over there.”

With his eyes as wide as saucers Kaveh turned slightly following the barkeeper’s gaze to a table a little ways away from his own where a man sat, eyeing him with a large grin on his face. The man has a companion or two at his table, and although he wears a uniform from the Akademiya he doesn’t look the least bit familiar, and neither do his companions.

It makes sense though considering how many students attended the Akademiya to remember them all would be a rather inhuman feat.

Kaveh looked down at the drink once more feeling a slight sense of humiliation well up inside of him.

Although Kaveh was a rather whiny, and loud drunk which was pretty much just common knowledge around Sumeru City for visitors of Lambad’s tavern.

Kaveh was a very frequent visitor, whether it was another disagreement with Alhaitham or simply craving a drink alongside a chat he would be here.

Not always alone like he was today but he would be here. If inspiration struck him however more often than not he would stop drinking to sketch something or even doodle.

Sprawling impossible architecture that no human could reliably build in such a short period.

It was another reason that Kaveh often enjoyed his trips to the desert for work, able to see each and every piece of the architecture that stood the test of time.

Although as he finds his mind wandering to the desert he also finds his mind wandering to Alhaitham which sends that irritation still bubbling beneath his skin right to the forefront.

Finding out that Alhaitham had become the acting grand sage in the time Kaveh was gone had felt like a shock to his system. Even more so when he found out the other information that led to such an incident.

Just the thought has Kaveh rolling his eyes as he grabs the fresh drink that had been placed on the table, he gives the man who’d bought it for him a polite grin. After all, just because he’s a lot drunk doesn’t mean his manners have gone out the window.

It wasn’t the first time someone had bought a drink or two for him, hell there had even been a time or two when Alhaitham had bought him a drink, or several.

Whether it was for an apology, for fun, or just to spend time together.

The memories have Kaveh pausing for a moment, lowering the cup of wine with a slight scowl. The sip of the alcohol he’d taken tastes bitter in his mouth and yet he swallows it anyway.

Kaveh and Alhaitham had known each other for a decently long time having attended the Akademiya together although in different years and different Darshans.

Kaveh was Alhaitham’s senior however the two had grown rather close forming something of an odd friendship, this friendship had drifted apart due to their differences, but eventually when they’d met once more later into their adulthood and began living together it grew into something deeper.

Whenever Alhaitham was around Kaveh found it fairly hard to think.

And it was absolutely infuriating. Kaveh was frequently on the receiving end of Alhaitham’s teasing and harsh remarks although he didn’t take them lying down, with Kaveh often retaliating with his own.

This happened so much that many people in the Akademiya were familiar with their bickering in public.

But honestly, it was something that Kaveh enjoyed weirdly enough, although he’d rather die before admitting it.

A soft sigh escapes Kaveh’s mouth as he takes another drink of the alcohol. The warm buzz of intoxication is a bit fainter now, no longer able to fuel his irritation as his mind becomes a bit less clouded.

He’d go back to Alhaitham’s house after a few more drinks, one, maybe two, or three. He couldn’t hold his alcohol anyway, so it was best to return after all.

“He better not have left with both keys again,” Kaveh huffed under his breath as he took another sip of his drink.

~~~

Perhaps the last few drinks hadn’t been such a good idea, but the wine had been a really good vintage so he truly couldn’t resist.

That is what Kaveh tells himself at least as he halfway stumbled and staggered through the front door of Alhaitham’s his steps unnaturally heavy and uncoordinated.

His vision is a mess of blurry color swaying back and forth. And as he shuts the door with fumbling fingers, a groan slips from between his lips.

The warm yet floaty buzz the alcohol had brought earlier no longer feels pleasant, instead, it seems to have turned to almost searing heat beneath his skin, the cups of wine swirling nauseatingly in his gut.

Kaveh muffles a soft hiccup into his hand, a grimace of disgust tugging at his lips when the slight motion makes his stomach slosh slightly and he thinks he can faintly taste the bitter sting of alcohol in the back of his throat.

“Need to lay down…” Kaveh mumbled to himself, his words slurring and his tongue feels strangely heavy in his mouth.

The house feels abnormally hot as Kaveh begins stumbling his way towards the bedroom. He can only hope Alhaitham is already asleep because he can practically hear the man’s usual cold words being sent his way.

The thought is enough to amplify the throbbing in his skull, and he pauses for a moment. Swaying in place as he brings a hand to his head clutching at it.

The floor feels as if it’s shifting and writhing beneath his feet, the entire room itself swirling around him and Kaveh swallows thickly when his stomach seems to do the same.

A sharp cramp twisting in his gut has him bringing a trembling hand to his stomach, doing his best to ignore the next wave of nausea that rolled over him.

Somewhere very faintly in the back of his muddled thoughts, Kaveh has the faintest idea that something is wrong. Kaveh wasn’t someone who could hold his alcohol well, a fact that he was well aware of and one that Alhaitham never failed to remind him of.

This however feels completely different compared to when he had normally overindulged in alcohol. Something felt wrong, he couldn’t place his finger on what but something felt wrong.

He tries to continue walking but stops reaching out to steady himself when his legs tremble beneath him. The room sways and swirls around him, his stomach feeling as if it’s doing the same and whimper leaves his mouth when another sharp cramp stabs at his stomach.

A wave of dizzying nausea washes over him as he clutches at his stomach, the sharp cramp twisting his gut relentlessly.

Had he eaten something that didn’t agree with him? Had he come down with something? Kaveh was prone to getting sick rather easily having always been something of a frail child when he was little, although it seemed to get moderately better when he’d gotten older sometimes his body would throw him for a loop

though.

He felt as if he were melting into a puddle at the moment and as another wave of dizzying nausea slammed into him Kaveh doesn’t even register that he’s fallen to his knees.

His violently trembling legs give beneath him, and another whimper slips from his lips as he swallows thickly, bile-tinged regurgitated wine bubbling at the back of his throat.

Kaveh quickly covers his mouth with one hand, as a series of wet, ominous-sounding nauseated hiccups tumble out of him, with the last one carrying a distinct acidic tinge to it.

He tries to climb to his feet, a trembling hand reaching out until his fingers find the arm of one of the three living room sofas.

However the moment he tries his vision sways and tilts dangerously, and an intense wave of dizzying nausea rolls over him so fiercely that it leaves him panting softly for air as black spots rapidly fill his vision.

His head is throbbing so viscously that it feels as though it’s trying to split itself in two, and cramp after painful cramp assaults his stomach practically twisting his stomach into a knot.

A whimper leaves his lips as a rush of heat rolled over his skin followed by an intense chill, and Kaveh is unconscious before he can even hit the ground.

~~~

A loud thud from the living room is what draws Alhaitham’s attention away from the novel he’s currently engrossed in.

The noise is heard just over the music faintly playing in his headphones, however, Alhaitham reached up turning them off as he sets the book aside for a moment and climbs to his feet.

Considering Kaveh had stormed off early that day and been gone most of the day, well, Alhaitham knew what to expect. Kaveh coming home drunk was a very common experience, especially since he couldn’t hold his alcohol well.

Kaveh was a loud, whiny, and messy drunk as well so him falling or tripping wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Quietly Alhaitham makes his way to the living room pausing briefly when he catches sight of Kaveh laying collapsed on the floor just as he expected. And yet even though the sight is a familiar one that doesn’t stop the twinge of concern from welling up within his chest.

“Went and overindulged on wine again,” Alhaitham sighed as he stared at Kaveh with crossed arms.

Alhaitham isn’t sure what to expect but it definitely isn’t for Kaveh to whimper softly, his eyes flickering open before he speaks, “…Haitham…”

Noticing that the older man’s words were heavily slurred, Alhaitham sighed before walking over to him but he can’t help but pause with a scowl.

Now that he’s closer to him a few things catch Alhaitham’s attention, the fine sheen of sweat coating his skin, the faint pinkish-red blush coating his cheeks. The fact that his entire body was trembling slightly, a grimace tugging at his features.

Kaveh had always had incredibly beautiful and rather striking eyes, at the moment however they are glassy and glazed over as they struggled to follow Alhaitham’s movements as if the other man were in a heavy daze barely truly registering him.

Alarm bells immediately go off in Alhaitham’s head, he’s seen Kaveh drunk a lot over the time they’d known each other. This however looked like something else entirely, almost like Kaveh was sick.

Kaveh was someone prone to getting sick rather easily, having once told Alhaitham that he was fairly frail as a kid.

There were even times when Alhaitham had seen him fall sick occasionally as an adult as well.

“…Haitham,” Kaveh whispered when he felt Alhaitham brush some of the strands of hair away from his face.

Kaveh narrows his eyes trying to follow Alhaitham’s movements through his still blurry and shifting vision. Through the heavy fog blanketing his mind, there’s a spark of fear, something didn’t feel right, now more than ever.

He feels Alhaitham’s familiar fingers on his forehead, they’re soft, containing very few callouses, but most importantly they’re cold and feel amazing on his too hot skin and he doesn’t even realize he’s leaned into his touch until he whimpers softly when Alhaitham draws back with a hiss.

“You’re burning up, what kind of fool goes drinking when he’s sick,” Alhaitham huffed shaking his head slightly.

Kaveh wants to shake his head to respond no, that he’d felt fine before he started drinking or even that he wouldn’t have left if Alhaitham hadn’t been his usual self but the motion of shaking his head seems to make his stomach swirl.

Waves of nausea seem to crash over him all at once as if it’d been laying in wait, a wet sounding hiccup leaves his mouth followed by a slurred groan of misery.

His stomach feels as if someone was trying to shake a water balloon, the cups of wine and bar food sloshing against the walls of his stomach.

He hears Alhaitham sigh softly over him, a familiar noise that may have made Kaveh feel somewhat irritated if he wasn’t so preoccupied with his stomach trying to claw its way out of him.

A choked whimper leaves his mouth when a sharp pain seems to stab him harshly in the stomach, and Alhaitham pauses his eyes widening slightly when Kaveh moves, trembling hands going clutch at his stomach as he curls in on himself.

Kaveh looks at him, his face twisted in pain, and manages to speak through gritted teeth. “S-something’s wrong…” he whimpered as he curled further in on himself, it's the fear in Kaveh’s weak and wavering voice that makes Alhaitham move.

He feels Alhaitham’s hands on him, guiding him to carefully sit up and the motion albeit careful has Kaveh gagging when it seems as if his stomach sloshed like an overfilled glass.

Maybe if he were more coherent he could be more upset when the next gag sends up a small spurt of purplish watery vomit splattering onto the carpet, everyone knew wine was annoying to get out of fabric after all. The action of retching though has another sharp cramp twisting at his stomach drawing a whimper from his lips.

Alhaitham scowled as he softly shushed the other man, brushing the long blonde strands out of his face gathering them back as Kaveh lurched forward with another heave.

A wet-sounding hiccup seems to come from somewhere deep inside Kaveh’s stomach bringing with it a rather large surge of watery vomit, purplish wine tinged with bile splattering heavily onto the carpet like someone pouring a bucket of water on a tarp.

“Bathroom or bedroom,”  Alhaitham asked quickly when he thought Kaveh was in any condition to answer him.

The question Alhaitham asked was one he’d asked in the past when Kaveh was sick or drunk, barely clinging to consciousness or on the verge of falling asleep somewhere he shouldn’t.

Kaveh doesn’t answer him though a rumbling retch takes the place of his words as a large surge of watery vomit sprayed from his lips.

His stomach feels as if it’s attempting to turn itself inside out, his skin is on fire and his head is throbbing so viscously that black spots dot his vision, stars bursting before his eyes with each violent retch.

He feels Alhaitham’s hands on his own suddenly, Alhaitham’s fingers brushing over his nails, gently pressing them as if testing something.

Then in the next moment, Kaveh thinks he hears Alhaitham curse although it sounds muffled as if it’s coming to him from underwater. And that does nothing to ease the fear that was piercing through the veil of fog clouding his mind.

Alhaitham was someone who was frequently called expressionless or inhuman allowing his often biting words to do most of the work. So to hear that clear panic in his voice lets him know that something is really, really wrong.

Kaveh gasped for air, nausea still swirling in his gut as threads of bile and drool dropped lazily from his lips. A weak yet empty gag pried itself from his lips bringing up nothing as it sent pain darting across his stomach. “T-the tavern…had drinks at the tavern…” Kaveh manages to say in between his panting, his words coming out in a rush.

Alhaitham grits his teeth as he gathers Kaveh up in his arms carefully, his chest twisting uncomfortably when Kaveh gives a soft whimper before gagging although he brings nothing up.

Alhaitham’s eyes glance down at the hand Kaveh has clutching his stomach, but more noticeably the strange gray almost silvery tint his nails carried at the moment.

That combined with Kaveh’s current state, all signs pointed to some form of poisoning.

And considering that Kaveh had gone to Lambad’s tavern as usual that meant that that was the most likely location if not the only location it could occur.

For now, though he had to act fast.

~~~

The first thing Kaveh registers as he slowly begins to come to is that it’s hot, nearly as hot as the sun bearing down in the desert. Kaveh whimpered as he shifted slightly, noticing the slight weight laying on top of him.

There is a horrible rancid taste in his mouth that makes him internally cringe as well as called his attention to the nausea stirring in his stomach.

Kaveh can just make out two voices talking although it’s very muffled, as if coming to him underwater one is familiar and slowly Kaveh registers it as Tighnari’s, the other voice is so familiar that in other circumstances Kaveh may have internally groaned.

Instead, he finds himself strangely relieved. Opening his eyes feels like an enormous task, and it takes him a moment or two to open them, and he instantly regrets it, the room sways before his eyes in a blur which does nothing but exacerbate the nausea swirling in his gut. He feels something nearly searing hot climbing up his throat, nearly burning it, clogging it and he flails, frantically forcing himself to sit up just as his stomach heaves.

He retches, the strangled sound clawing its way up from his stomach, an ache shooting across it as it wrings itself out, bringing up stringy, sticky bitter bile and saliva onto the blankets sitting in his lap.

Kaveh coughs and splutters a hand going to clutch at his stomach when a slight cramp twists at it, slowly things begin to come back to him. He opens his eyes slightly again, blinking away the tears in his eyes recognizing the familiar walls of Alhaitham’s room.

It takes him merely a moment more to register that Tighnari and Alhaitham had entered the room clearly done with whatever talk they’d been having when Kaveh had begun throwing up.

Kaveh is trembling, tears in his eyes as he sniffles and does his best to swallow back the next gag building in his throat, “S-sorry…couldn’t st-stop it.” His words are heavily slurred, thick with nausea, and choked, he doesn’t even know why he’s apologizing considering things but just because he was sick didn’t mean he was an animal.

His sense of embarrassment and his manners were definitely intact considering that it felt as if his face was burning beneath Tighnari and Alhaitham’s gazes.

The next gag has him lurching forward slightly, and he hears footsteps quickly approaching him, and a small trash can is shoved beneath his mouth just as a small mouthful amount of slightly watery vomit sprays from his lip.

Tighnari scowled slightly as he laid a careful hand on Kaveh’s back pausing for a moment when he gave a garbled whimper shifting away slightly.

“Here let me do it,” Alhaitham said after a moment, and Tighnari wasted no time moving so that Alhaitham can take his place.

Alhaitham was very used to dealing with Kaveh when sick, enough to know that he could become sensitive to touch when he was throwing up or a fever had hit him pretty badly.

He lays a careful hand on Kaveh’s upper back his hand barely putting pressure on the other man’s back, gently shushing Kaveh when he makes a noise of pure misery.

Alhaitham looks at Tighnari when the other man suddenly clears his throat.

“Right, as I was saying earlier, the poison is being purged from his system which is why he’s vomiting at the moment. It isn’t lethal but he will be feeling sick for a bit,” Tighnari explained his tail swishing.

He finds himself glancing away for a moment when Alhaitham once more turns to Kaveh gently shushing him when the retching turned particularly violent causing Kaveh to whimper. It almost felt as if he were intruding into something.

As Kaveh’s retching tapers off he slumps against Alhaitham’s side, panting roughly for air, his eyes wet with tears, and threads of bile and drool dripping lazily from his mouth in threads.

His head feels as if it's filled with cotton, what little energy he had when he’d woken up had been quickly used up during his vomiting episode. All he can really do is sit there doing his best to follow what Tighnari and Alhaitham are saying.

Kaveh must’ve closed his eyes or fallen asleep for a brief moment because the next thing he registers is Alhaitham’s hands on him, carefully guiding him to lie down.

Tighnari’s presence is gone from the room, and as Kaveh opens his eyes slightly meeting Alhaitham’s familiar gaze Alhaitham speaks. “Try to rest. Cyno and the other Matra are looking into things at the moment.”

Kaveh gave a soft hum, although he grimaced ever so slightly when a tinge of nausea stirred in his stomach.

“Feeling sick again?”

Kaveh nodded slowly, his eyes closed as he placed a hand carefully on his stomach. “Just a little,” Kaveh rasped his voice shot due to his early vomiting episode.

Kaveh feels Alhaitham’s hand in his hair after a moment as he gently begins carding through it. Kaveh says nothing for a few moments allowing Alhaitham to remove the hair clips in his hair for him but eventually, he speaks, “A man at the tavern gave me a drink. Wore an Akedimya uniform, and had one or two friends with him.”

Alhaitham nodded slowly, the wheels in his head already turning. Truthfully it was just as he’d theorized but Kaveh confirming it was more than helpful. “I’ll inform Cyno, get some rest for now.”

Kaveh does not need to be told twice and it isn’t long before he drifts off to sleep.

[the-moth-from-elsewhere]

mmmmm

rant about Lemon

*deep breath* OKAY SO

To understand Lemonade and where a lot of his tropes come from, you have to understand the context in which I wrote him and antiquity as a whole. I had a fairy childhood, like HARDCORE. So I’ve grown up with a lot of the major fae tropes like the whole “messing with people” and “not lying” and blah blah blah. This also goes for mermaids, by the way, see: Yelena. Anyways, I also happen to have hit “YA age” about the same time as booktok and ACOTAR got really popular, so i’m also minorly influenced by the impact of those and ESPECIALLY the gripes I have with the YA fantasy genre as a whole. You can actually see this criticism in a lot of my writing, especially how I write romance in the context of magical power imbalances. But that’s a ramble for another time!

Lemon’s starting inspirations are random and multiple, including:

This very specific hairstyle from this specific Sky COTL picrew, the idea of sweet and sour candy, and my silly little dare to myself to make a character you had to investigate to figure out all the traits of.

At the start, Lemn had no real backstory, and was supposed to be more themed after summer than spring. But it was spring when I made him, and the rain and calmness fit his personality more. Lemonade is the reason Fae-Antiquity has the Seasons system of leadership at all. His backstory is very influenced by the song “Viva La Vida”. VLV is why he has a bell tower and is named Lewis, after the king of France during the French Revolution.

Now, onto the tropes!

Most of my characters are written to be very approachable and open about themselves, either from not having anything to hide, being naive, or just because I want them to be sympathetic. But Lemonade had to come off as more cold and distant while still being a likeable character. I decided on giving him a deadly curious streak and a sense of humor as ways to get him into trouble and back out again. He’s meant to have well-polished manners and be kind and genuine despite his weird paranoia and reserved personality. He’s not cold, just very in control of himself.

Most of the above paragraph is a subversion of/reference to/slight criticism of a specific YA character archetype: the fae prince character. Ever since ACOTAR, this guy keeps freaking showing up as either a love interest or the main character. You know the trope. Cold, inhuman, blue-and-orange morality, has some humor, sometimes abuses the power imbalance, stereotypically attractive, pretty much fae Edward lol. This is an archetype that GRATES ON ME TO NO END, so some of Lemon’s traits are meant to show that you can make a mysterious, reserved, tragic-backstory-ridden fae prince without making him the worst person imaginable and/or extremely unlikeable and bordering on uncomfortable to think about for too long. Lemon treats his companions as equals and isn’t full of himself. He doesn’t let his anger get the best of him, and his major flaw is being insecure and paranoid that someone will hurt him or especially those he loves. He’s intelligent and calculating but uses it to protect people.

Trope 2: oh hello Elsie’s childhood

Has anyone here watched the 3d animated Tinkerbell movies? No? Just me?? WELL GET READY BECAUSE THOSE THINGS WERE MY CHILDHOOD.

Antiquity is sort of inspired by Neverland’s messy jigsaw puzzle of folklore, although the idea of mashing as much folklore together in one spot as possible is pretty popular these days, so I’ll attribute it to the trope as a whole. When writing lemn and his friends, I didn’t have any specific part of the Tinkerbell cast or worldbuilding in mind, minus the seasons gimmick (once again, commonly used trope). I was moreso just going for the same vibes. They’re a bunch of kids lost in a world they don’t understand but have been given control of, at the end of the day, who have to grow up here with nothing but each other. Thems some Peter Pan vibes right there, lol.

Oh and also Lemn’s passion for inventing and messing with magic is inspired by freaking Da Vinci because I had to do a paper on that guy while I was developing him. Lol.

…

oh geez it’s been an hour

[interviewwithademon]

Loss, and Everything that Comes with: A Short Vignette

TMC squad, how're we doing tonight

I am doing Not Well and neither is Adam so I wrote a lil poem in the second person, please enjoy

Loss follows you everywhere you go. 

 Your life is a series of dances, stumbling around the unavoidable chasm in your heart that tells you everyone you love will leave, a gaping maw of fear that only grows with each passing day.

You’re a child when it begins- when long arms gather you to a cold, unmoving chest in the dead of night, Mama’s scream echoing off tile as you’re whisked away from your entire world.

You come back wrong, different; the world feels muted where it once was vibrant, and Mama is no longer there to coax the warmth from the hearth so the house grows frost. Dad rarely talks on the days he bothers to be home; you learn quickly how to tie your own shoes and sign your own report cards, and then one day he vanishes too.

You’re sixteen years old and an orphan, abandoned to an overloaded system that struggles to stay afloat so when you slip away at midnight there is no one left to chase after you, no one to care what happens to the sad boy with the big blue eyes. You stumble back home, managing to find your way up stairs that threaten to cave in and curl up in the spot that Mama’s bed once rested. 

You make friends classmates who look at you with the same concern that the foster families once did, eyes a mix of worry and pity that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably so you drift away from them too. It’s for their own good, you tell yourself as the shadows of everyone you’ve driven off merge into one ominously looming figure in your mind. I’m cursed.

Maybe it’s true: one sticks around, determined to make you smile, forever ready with a joke and a kind gaze that doesn’t pity you but sees you instead; you tell him about your club and he matches your passion with a zest of his own, and when he pulls out a camcorder to document your adventures you can’t help but give him the grin he works ceaselessly to achieve. 

You feel like a moth to flame; like his easy camaraderie has chipped away at the ice block surrounding your core, hope returning like pins and needles to a sleeping limb. For once, you think of a brighter future: one of maturity, of taking the job at the local videography store and falling into rhythm that slowly echoes your own heartbeat. 

You’re wrong, of course, you always are; permanence and you mix like oil and water, your heavy weight of guilt dragging you into the murky depths as your friend looks down in disappointment. He pleads with his eyes for you to swim but you never learned how so instead you sink, plummeting deeper and deeper until the waves feel foreign yet familiar, a flickering screen replaying memories you wished had remained buried. 

As quickly as he’d come, he’s gone once more. Where you’d once had a shield of frost to protect your delicate heart there instead exists only the wound, exposed and raw to all the guilt that hits you (it’s not the same, you refuse to let yourself feel victimized; how much emotional pain could equate to the wreckage of His car, His life, Your Friend-). You sink to your knees in the kitchen, the same coating of rime that’s mirrored in the shell you once called a heart. 

You’re alone once more, or maybe you always were; the reflection in the tile isn’t one you recognize anymore, skin sagging in a horrifically inhumane way and even you have left you behind; your identity has slipped away like the hoodie that lays discarded on the floor, across from an obituary for a short boy with warm eyes that forever haunt you when you close your own. 

It sits in its own misery, staring at the picture of its dead best friend for an indeterminable amount of time; there’s no one left to chase after it anymore, after all, and it’s lost inside the slowly spiraling mind of a monster. 

[wngweis]

nah, i genuinely love riize, i really do. been there with them since very predebut, and just when all this time i thought i might be a wonbin simp, i just don’t see the group full without seunghan. my will for hyping any mememer rn is at such low and very strange place. it’s like im missing something so much. like im happy for them, but seunghan not being part of his own group, who is deserving of all of this as much, is making me sad. i truly don’t see riize as riize without him. or at least for now, i don’t. maybe they will grow out of it if SM decides to really kick him out and we won’t really dwell much in the future, given we tend to move on from things/people but the reality is just too, overly too sad rn. and im truly feeling it even more as days go by. like cutting out a person out of a picture. like sm is trying to erase him out of my memory. like brainwash me as if he has never been there. yeah, as i said, i feel the emptiness more & more day by passing day. like why would you kick someone on no basis but doing basic human things, things like all of my friends in high school used to do. the whole situation is base-less and inhuman, truly even evil, bc some ill, bored mfs on the internet one day decided to ruin someone life, aside from dreams, which make em basically piss on someone’s past efforts and patience all those years they invest into something. they take a completely normal person, stick some negatives to them, and basically label them for life. like it’s soo utterly wrong.

& how, imao, the whole situation is dictated by solely kfans and non k fans, natizens, so if he gets kicked out, they win. like sm is very on the edge about these things. always been! sm cares for reputation to a point they will drag clearing someone’s name until the heat over the person is over and the matter is no longer a hot topic. even then, they will do nothing. but then they will also push an artist even if they do so many wrong things, but ofc they will do that bc most of the domestic public don’t see any problem with that artist. international and inland fans are two complete subjects, and sm has never leaned on the first imao. or at least in my whole time as an *sm stan* saying this purely cos of the fact that most of the artists i listen to and have been following thru the years re under sm

anywayss, all of this truly feeds into my misery, discouragement and overall negative thinking, even though riize themselves truly seem like are giving as much subtle hints as possible, & do as much as they can manage, to make it seen that they too miss him, and that seunghan is unapologetically part of them and that riize is no complete riize without him.

i truly like to believe this. and i truly hope justice and humanity prevail over evil this time. i hope things turn around and sm finally do one thing right. it’s about time they do. im sick of how they handle their artists. it’s actually scary how easy are kpop companies to throw their artists under a bus. the exact moment they are done w them, they will drag an artist down completely. even push them into the much bigger gutter. that of course after they have milked all of what they could possibly have. the system is crooked and terrible. it’s making me sick.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Delete this if it's weird but your post about naming your blog after one of the royals guards from hxh reminded me of something. So I am part of a DID system and some of the alters have many traits/appearance of my abusers, including some with the same names. They'd do things that were harmful as a way of keeping everyone safe. Anyways, recently our host watched hxh and one of those parts really connected with Neferpitou going from this absolutely inhumane monster of sorts to slowly learning how empathy and compassion works and has now changed their name from their original name of our abuser they're based off to Pitou instead now. Anyways I'm happy for them and just wanted to share that with ya

I held onto this ask for a while bc I was debating how detailed I wanted my response to be, but I think this is a story I've been wanting to tell for a while and if there was ever a time to fully discuss this, it would be here; the naming and themeing extends to myself as well as my blog - I do go by the name Shai irl, though I'm a little picky with where I choose to use it over the name I've had for longer (Rigel). Before I go into any more detail, I want to congratulate you for that development! It sounds like a moment of positive growth, and I'm glad you got to experience that.

The short answer is that I've basically taken my experiences with dissociation and something that may be multiplicity and fully redirected it all into a sense of spirituality. My therapist had encouraged me to not pathologize it; I was just hammering at my own personal experiences and being fixated on feeling like something was wrong with me and needed to be fixed - normal people don't experience thoughts and feelings that don't belong to them. With that being said, a large part of my recovery work was/is with acceptance; I was forced to mask a lot of things while growing up (autism, physical disability, queerness, etc) and there was a huge push from my family to seem as "normal" as possible, and now I'm actively undoing that and my work with being in the otherkin community is a massive cornerstone of that work. I identified very heavily with shaiapouf and my therapist actually watched hxh so we could use pouf as a therapy tool for me. Me naming myself after him is a huge gesture of the love I was able to give myself via my coping process - recognizing him in my trauma, and working with him to recover.

The longer answer is that I've experienced dissociation that leans towards multiplicity for a number of years now, with aforementioned thoughts and feelings included. I never had any memory loss, and the experience of another person being with me wasn't well developed enough for the definition of an alter, so I felt stuck with an experience I had no words for and no way of relating to other people with similar experiences. I remember describing it as feeling possessed, like there was suddenly another consciousness present with my own. These experiences are a lot less intense now, and I attribute that to my acceptance of them instead of pushing them away in fear. It was a while before I said anything to my therapist and was genuinely mortified because it felt like something was very seriously wrong with me and I had to fix it at all costs (with the idea of needing to "fix" things that were "wrong" with me or my life being a repeating theme as well).

Over time, as I stopped pushing everything away, I was able to start seeing where the emotions and thoughts that came with the episodes (not necessarily triggering them) were coming from, but still struggled to accept them as my own when they felt so foreign. Acceptance has brought me a long way and we've now teased out that this is a massive way for me to process not just my trauma, but the grief accompanying it.

My therapist was the one who had initially suggested I take a spiritual approach to this, and I found that in the otherkin community, where, upon actually looking at the original contexts of some of the words used in the community, found things I'd been describing to my therapist over a year ago. I'd prior been fond of the idea of reincarnation and fully embraced it in this process. My first (and so far only) tattoo is of his wings, I'll carry him with me for the rest of my life; I derived one of my names from his own. This character has been highly influential in my life and I've fully embraced him for it. He means a lot of things to me - reflection of my own trauma, the power and rage I wish I could have demonstrated while in the process of being traumatized, the delicate masculinity I wish to have as a trans man, and much more I'm sure. A lot of my episodes seem to happen when helplessness kicks in, like something to help distance myself from my pain; I feel him in righteous fury when I know I deserve better. Not all of it is bad though, I had one while I was looking at Christmas lights a few months ago and felt like I was looking at the world for the first time, simple delight as if holding someone else's hand and showing them.

All in all, I thank you for sharing your story and for giving me a place to share some of mine.

[whump-in-the-closet]

For the ask game you just reblogged, 10, 18, or 36 with a character of your choice!

thanks so much for the ask! (from this ask game) I used my character chiar because he always gets himself into situations like so

and for context it happens roughly sometime after this piece

masterlist.

10. left for dead

18. broken bones

36. creative restraints

cw: left for dead, broken fingers, trapped in a fishing net, implied beating, vague suicidal thoughts, magic system that manifests as a voice in the characters head, inhuman whumpee

***

“Leave him, he won’t last the night.”

The lamps reflected dully on the crowd of liquid shapes that had formed on the edge of the dock.

There were a few murmurs of dissent but one by one, the figures drifted off. With a parting kick at the limp shape on the ground, the last figure trailed off, dropping a blood-stained stick behind them. The wood creaked underneath their feet and then all was silent.

Wind blew up from the lake, whistling against the metalwork and piles of netting that lay discarded. Nothing moved. The shadows condensed around a net, receding and then growing larger like a small ocean onto themselves. Or like the shadows were breathing.

The net moved– not by a lot. But trapped inside it, Chiar stirred. He instantly regretted it. Moving was not optimal.

The wind brushed against his face, smacking him with the smell of fish and mud. Chiar gagged, only to regret doing that too.

There was no release from the aching pain that spread through every limb in his body. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt–

Pull it together.

He needed to move. He needed to leave the town before morning. He needed to pull it together or when they found him still alive, they might just throw him in the harbor.

You always get yourself into a mess. Should have listened to me and killed ‘em.

Chiar ignored the voice in his head and braced himself. He would have to sit up– despite the fact it felt like his entire right side had been beaten to a pulp. Oh, god, that was going to hurt. So, so, so bad. Why couldn’t he just stay on the ground? Yes, he was lying in his own blood and trapped in a net, but at least it was better than trying to move.

Even thinking about moving made him want to roll into the harbor anyway.

Shouldn’t have been so vulnerable. Should have attacked them first.

Shut up.

Was breathing supposed to hurt? He didn’t think it was, because he remembered breathing was fine just before the first of the oh-so-lovely-citizens had tried to bash his head in.

There had been so many.

You really should have killed them.

Ignoring the voice in his head was getting harder and harder by the second. Between the voice and the pain, it was hard to think clearly.

He needed to get up. That much he knew.

Chiar moved his left hand slightly to the side, the wood wet. Sticky. Probably from the blood he’d coughed up. He would need to check to see if he’d lost any teeth. Later. Not now. But that wasn’t too bad. Then, his right hand. And that was worse. He choked back a shout. A quick glance confirmed what he had feared– even in the darkness, he knew the bones weren't supposed to look like that. Fingers weren't supposed to be twisted and snapped.

Chiar looked away, staring up through the net. There were no stars, and the sky, cut up by the pieces of rope, was as dark as the lake.

How are you going to get out of this one?

Chiar slowly pulled his hand close to him. Even more slowly, he moved all his weight onto his left arm. Then, as quickly as possible, he pushed himself up. He cried out in pain before collapsing again, black dots swirling in his vision.

The weighted net should not have been that hard to throw off. But he could not manage it. The wind brushed against the cryptid’s face, but he could not feel it.