#this shit was painful to write

[bananafire11]

Redraw of the new Jax render cuz im normal

And some stupid doodles ft. Wretched! Jax

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

-- -- --

When Cecil walks into the infirmary, bleeding sluggishly and grinning sheepishly, he notices three things in quick succession:

1) It is crowded.

2) It is ridiculously loud.

3) It reeks, absolutely reeks, of peppermint.

His smile fades fast.

He moves, elbowing through the throng of neon orange, to the nurse's station, shoving a poor, innocent satyr to lean against the counter, searching. It takes a minute to find a shock of green hair under the actual piles of paperwork.

"Kayla," he says urgently, excavating her just enough to make eye contact. "Where's Will?"

"Uuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhh," she groans, reburying herself. "Fix your own problems! Why is everyone always so concerned with their own mortality!"

"Well," responds Cecil, not sure how to respond to that. "Well, it's urgent. I need to talk to him."

"So do five bajillion others! Get in line!"

Five bajillion others do appear to be in some kind of squashed up, unserious line. Cecil is in the infirmary a lot -- for a myriad of reasons, but for alibi purposes it's because that's where his best friend essentially lives -- but he doesn't see crowds like this often. At least, not this lively. Usually when there's a crowd like this it's accompanied by silence and strict suicide watch.

"What's going on?"

Kayla groans again. There are bags under her eyes, Cecil notices. This is unusual.

"It's the full moon, I guess."

"And -- what, vampirism is on the rise?"

"That's werewolves, you dumbass. And no."

She looks at him like he is dumb. Cecil stares back intently, because he is. She will have to use her words.

She does, rolling her eyes. (Jeez. He does not envy the head counsellors at this camp. If he had to attitude manage thirteen-year-olds for even one hour he would kill himself.) "Injuries and illnesses increase during full moons, for some reason. Although this is worse than normal."

"Okay." The general crowd noise coalesces, several people shrieking over -- something. Cecil winces, nodding to himself. Fuck. Fuck. "Okay, that's -- thanks, Kayla. I'll find him."

"If you see him, tell him I want a raise! By four trazillion percent."

"I'll -- pass that on."

He pushes his way back through the crowd, and it's harder this time. He can see three more people slip through the doorway, and it's ridiculous. Most of them aren't even scratched. He sees a group of Ares kids in permaglitter, glaring at a group of giggling Aphrodite kids with no visible malady. Annabeth Chase sits rolling her eyes on a free cot, holding her broken wrist, her boyfriend fussing over her. Nine of Cecil's own siblings are sprawled about with various gashes and bruises. He nearly trips over Clovis Yanam, who is passed out in the middle of the floor, snoring.

"J -- Jesus," Cecil curses, swiping a hand down his face. The smell of peppermint is worse, somehow, when he takes his hands away; his eyes burn anew and even his nostrils feel singed. He would be convinced it was all in his head if there weren't several people with their shirts over their noses.

"Reeks, huh," comments Malcolm Pace, as Cecil rushes past. "Smelt it all the way across the common. Must be the Vicks."

It's not. It's not the fucking Vicks, and Cecil knows that, because this smell is more familiar than it should be and he hates it, he can't fucking stand it. This peppermint is sharp and oily and comes out of a vial that Will keeps in his pocket and has since he was nine. This peppermint means quiet. This peppermint means ice packs and cold compresses, this peppermint means a still cabin and crying audible through pillows.

He trips over a bedpost and has to bite his lip, hard, to keep from shouting. He takes a second, burying his face in his hands, and breathes, in, out. He lets the noise wash over him. He plants his heels on the old floorboards, swallowing hard. In. Out. He squeezes his burning eyes.

He exhales, long and heavy, dropping his hands and turning his face to the ceiling. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking, focusing on the popcorned white.

"Alright," he whispers to himself. "Alright, we're good. We're good."

He isn't usually this stressed. He isn't usually forcing himself to unclench his jaw, blinking back frustrated tears. He doesn't usually jump to 100 this quickly.

The peppermint isn't usually this strong.

Right as he is about to stick a washcloth in a bottle of rubbing alcohol and clear out the building, consequences be damned, he catches a flash of blond hair. He beelines toward it, praying to his father for speed, and has to stop a good three feet from his swaying friend, nearly gagging at the potency of the smell.

"Will," he manages, breathing through his mouth. It burns there, too. "Will, dude, you gotta call it quits."

Will continues -- something. Doing something. Cecil walks around him, elbowing at least two people out of the way, and grabs both his wrists, waiting until he stops struggling.

"Get off."

"Will. I'm serious. Enough is enough."

Any other day, Will would twist out easy. Cecil knows it. Lotta folks think Will is some -- some goober, who can't hold his own, but Cecil grew up with the fucker. He was there when he gained two clean feet of height in one summer. He was there as the muscle developed. It was infuriating. He knows just how nasty Will's left hook can be.

He also knows the migraines make him weak.

"People. Busy. Get off."

He tugs, again, and Cecil lets him, following him closely behind. He stumbles towards the nearest cot, smiling weakly at Lacy. She smiles back, looking worriedly at Cecil as soon as Will focuses on her banged up knee. Cecil shrugs.

"...Hey, Will."

Will hums.

"You, uh. There's a whole lot of aura coming off you right now."

Will snorts. Cecil smiles, slightly, at the accidental pun, shaking his head when Lacy lifts an eyebrow.

"'M okay."

He coughs as soon as he says it, scratching at his throat. Lacy doesn't blink, because there's no way she knows what that means, but Cecil sighs, resisting the urge to smack his head against the wall.

He's not -- Cass. He's not Lee. He doesn't know how to make Will listen to him, how to make Will care. He doesn't get it, either. He twisted an ankle slightly at the beginning of the summer and has been leveraging it to get out of chores for three and a half straight weeks. He's never had migraines, not like Will's, but he's seen enough of the tensing, of the twitching eyes, the grey faces and swaying on his feet to make a pretty educated guess.

Sometimes, he hates being a half-blood.

"It's not that bad," Lacy says quietly, snapping Cecil's attention to her. She places a gentle, manicured hand over Will's, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. "I can get ice and rest up, hey? You look exhausted. Maybe it's time to rest."

Will hesitates. Cecil holds his breath, hoping. Maybe it's just Cecil. He's never been particularly good with his words. Maybe he'll --

A weak, pulsing flash of light envelops Lacy's knee, fading almost as quickly as it came. Will sways. Lacy frowns.

"Honestly, Will. I shouldn't have even come in."

"No, it's -- fine." He stands, and nearly stumbles right into a shelf, Cecil darting out at the last second to steady him. "You should always come in when you're hurt."

He walks off, or tries to. Cecil follows, holding firm to his wrist, waving apologetically to a still-frowning Lacy as they drift by.

"Okay," he says, when she finally heads out. "Okay, dude, enough is e --"

"Is what, Cecil?"

Will wrenches his hand free, whirling around to face him.

"Is it time? For me to head back to the cabin and crawl in bed and just sit in pain for the next several hours? The next however many more days? To just curl up and cry? I'm fucking -- I'm tired, Cecil. I'm tired of crying, I'm tired of throwing up -- throwing up fucking nothing, by the way -- I'm tired of feeling my heart beat in my fucking eyeballs I'm tired of seeing flashing lights and passing out and I'm just fucking -- I'm done! I don't want any more of it! I just want it to stop, and it won't stop, so I just want to work! I want to do something that isn't sitting in -- in fucking peppermint!" He pauses, breathing in deep, holding it, screwing his eyes shut. "I fucking hate peppermint!"

The force of his shout echoes through the crowded infirmary.

Cecil stares at him, wide eyed, as he puts his face in his hands, drops to the floor, and starts to cry. Quiet, shaking sobs, shoulders wracking, tears leaking out between his fingers; Cecil, lump in his throat, slides down across to him.

Horsehooves echo in the thick silence.

"Anyone who is not actively dying," calls Chiron softly, "get out. Clovis, you stay."

Murmurs and footsteps swell as dozens of people. for perhaps the first time in their lives, quickly and quietly follow orders. Cecil keeps his eyes trained on his best friend, blinking away the blurriness of his eyes. Two sets of footsteps approach the edge of Cecil's vision, one horse, one slippered.

"May we sit?"

Cecil doesn't move. Will, after a moment, nods.

"How many days, now, child?" asks Chiron kindly. He reaches out a strong hand and rests it gently on Will's head, sliding his fingers through dull curls.

Will holds up a hand, five fingers splayed.

"Fucksake," Cecil mutters, scratching his nose. "Say something day one, dude."

"To what end?" Will's voice is muffled in his knees. "You gonna snap your fingers and magic it away?"

"Something can be done," Chiron chides. "Five days is too long to be in pain, Will."

"It's psychosomatic and you fucking know it," Will snaps. For a second his eyes are clear, glaring as he lifts his head, but it fades just as quickly. The exhaustion leeches the color right out of him. "If it could be healed it would have been healed when Lee was around."

"Just because your brother couldn't fix it does not mean it cannot be fixed."

"Yeah, right."

Will winces again, hands flying up to press against his eyes. Cecil looks over at the centaur, resting his cheek on his knee.

"If it helps, he's always this mean when he's hurting," he offers. He smiles slightly at the scowl he can feel Will sending his way. "It's kind of nice. I never get to see bitchy Will."

"Bitchy Will is the only Will you're ever going to know for the rest of your life, you quisling."

"Quisling?!"

Chiron smiles wryly. "You have your father's inkling for the dramatics, don't you." He shakes Clovis, who has passed out against his flank, gently awake. "Up, my boy. We need your skills."

"Sure thing," Clovis yawned. "How long you wanna be out? A week? Two?"

Will peeks a wary eye open.

"I have a shift tomorrow morning."

"Not happening," Cecil and Chiron say together.

Will sighs. "Sleeping won't make them stop."

"But you won't feel it when you're out."

"...Fine." He lifts his head up, slowly, and scooches over to Clovis. "No more than a day."

Two, Chiron mouths, over his shoulder. Clovis nods.

"Just close your eyes," Clovis says. "Good. Imagine a sheep, in front of you. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay. Hold it gently, around the forelegs. Grab a pair of clippers."

Will's hands curl carefully.

"Imagine shearing it, okay? Stripe by stripe."

Will obeys, too tired to keep fighting. He moves his hands slowly, rhythmically, and Clovis keeps a careful hand over his head. Slowly, the shadow from his hand grows over Will's head, covering his shoulders, his arms, his hips. Will's movements start to slow, and then, as the shadow ghosts over his knees, stop, and he tilts suddenly forward. Cecil darts out to catch him.

"Thanks," he whispers, throat dry. "I, uh, can't carry him, though. He's six-two and I have a twisted ankle."

"I'll get him."

Chiron stands slowly, careful of his hurt leg, and hovers for a minute, hands on Will's shoulders.

"We will have to figure out a lot more than this," he murmurs, exhaling deeply. "You cannot go on like this, child."

He picks Will up with careful, paternal hands, twisting to rest him gently on his back. He stands so that his hooves don't creak the old floorboards.

"Thank you, Cecil."

Old, serious brown eyes are turned suddenly upon him, and Cecil looks back, frozen.

"He needs someone to look out for him. You do well."

The centaur turns and walks lightly out of the infirmary, ducking through the low entryway.

The smell of peppermint fades into something sweet and gentle.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[annievrse]

me or 100k?

dazai x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb

"would you rather kiss me for $100,000 or the prettiest girl in the world for $1m?" you ask your boyfriend, phone in front of your face.

dazai hums. "i'll take the $1m."

you don't realise your face drops at his response until he sits up from his place on the couch.

"what? i get to kiss you too, so i don't see the problem."

raising your eyebrows, you smile at him. "you think i'm pretty?"

"pfft," dazai laughs, reaching forward to grasp your hands. "of course, i think you're pretty. i think you're prettier than pretty."

you shove your face in your hands to avoid his eyes, but you can't help the thundering beat of your heart in your chest.

"c'mere," dazai giggles, pulling you toward him. you land with your face on his shoulder and laugh, peering up at him.

"i would kiss the prettiest boy in the world for $1m, too."

the only indication that dazai heard you was the immediate bloom of red on his cheeks. "we're not talking about me."

"yes, we are," you nod, pressing your lips to his neck. "you're prettier than pretty."

dazai scoffs, but it's a weak attempt at diverting your attention. "we gotta get to work."

you gasp, lips upturned. "osamu dazai insisting we go to the agency? who are you?"

"shut up," he whispers, dragging you to stand from the couch.

once dazai locks the front door, you turn to him. "i can't wait to let everyone know my boyfriend is the prettiest in the whole world."

"do that, and i'll tell ranpo what you did to his candy stash."

[justfeelme]

I just want kill myself but i’m scared. I guess i’m just coward…

[felixcosm]

I like that Mike Walters is a fuck up who's traumatized and full of bad decisions because I'm also a fuck up who's traumatized and full of bad decisions.

But the thing is, WOE.BEGONE doesn't end with Mike Walters finding the love of his life, making friends and living happily ever after like he always wants to. Because it doesn't end and his life keeps going on and keeps getting worse or getting new problems to tend to and that's just realistic.

There's no neat little bow to wrap everything up and dismiss it as "you can find your way out of any problem if you just fall in love with a cute twink and become a cowboy 👍"

He has love, he has friends, he has guidance and things still keep going wrong because that's life. There's no pretty narrative to sugarcoat it. You can have everything you could possibly want and life will still find ways to fuck you up.

Edgar is a reason for him to keep fighting (as well as his cowardice, his unwillingness to die, his fear of being alone, of getting hurt) but it isn't a cure all to all of his problems.

I like podcasts like TMA and TPP, but not all of us are going to find the love of our lives, prevail through tragedy and then die in each others arms, or fight the Big Boss Fight and then run away together or get married, settle down and live the rest of ourr lives free from horror and pain.

it's a satisfying ending to a story, but it's not a reflection of what's realistic. And of course WOE.BEGONE isn't always 100% realistic as well but it's good reprensentation of how One Big Event won't fix your life or your happiness.

For some people, it's always going to be a neverending struggle. And there might be moments of peace and moments of rest after a correction or a tragedy, but it won't last forever because whether you're an ordinary guy or a time traveler, life always finds a way to get back to you. In some form or another.

And not everyone can handle that some people just want a nice little story wrapped in a pretty bow and a "it's okay, they're happy forever now." But I don't think WOE.BEGONE is that kind of story. And I'm glad it isn't.

[silverdragonms]

Zoro pushing Sanji's bangs back, placing a kiss against his forehead and then murmuring into his skin "You think too much about things that don't matter. Focus on the now, Curls, and look at how far we've come from where we were."

[crip-writing-shit]

Body horror

I am a cyborg because I’m disabled; metal and gears keep me up and moving

I am a vampire because I’m chronically ill; hungry for the life force coursing through people

I am a mummy because I’m disabled; all bandages holding together a failing body

I am a zombie because I’m disabled; all crawling dragging movements

I am disabled because I’m a human. I am a human because I’m disabled

my body is not horrifying so I am not body horror

[moontus]

𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 "𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰" 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠?"

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭

- 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐬

[star-struck09]

There’s a hole in my heart, and it has your name on it.

[gomzdrawfr]

Things I've said (out loud and in my head) when I'm wearing dem fuckass contact lenses:

GET IT IN!!!! WHY WON'T YOU GO IN?! STOP SLIPPING OUT!!! MTF STOP BENDING!!! GO IN!!!

oh my god why do you keep sticking to my finger

oh oh it's IN *blinks* *it slips out* FUCKKKKKKK

*eyes tearing up and my eyelid hurts* look at you, pathetic

*angry deep breath and then calm*

*watch another video tutorial, from youtube then xhs back to youtube* what do you mean you can show all your whites my eyes aren't 20% your size

*another deep breath* okay it's literally a piece of jelly thing it's not spikes it's not even going to explode why are you panicking? why are you running? JUST DO IT. PUT IT IN. LET IT IN.

think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing think about Price and Ghost kissing—*slips in* OH MY GOD IT WORKED

*stares at the mirror in amazement while smiling like an idiot*

*immediately dread at the second eye* oh my god here we fucking go again why oh my days

*realize I can't pull the other eyelid up as much as the first eye* oh my fucking- is this really it-

*deep breath again* *stares dead ahead in the mirror* imagine Price beside me right now he's going to be extremely disappointed if I can't even do something as simple as putting a flimsy piece of lens into my eyes

*slips in* LETS GO woah this is weir-AAAAAAAAAAAAA it burns IT BURNS WHY DOES IT BURN SHOULD I TAKE IT OUT *rapid blinking* no wait hold on woah the mirror is clear wait i can read the barcode of my toothpaste WOAH

*stares at the mirror for god knows how long* are my eyes bigger?

*goes out while wearing them* everything is clear *blinks* okay everything is not clear *blinks* okay it's clear again why does this feel like im going 1080p to 720p with a shitty wifi?

I can feel them. Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it

The very ends of both my eyes are blurry, should I be concerned

I feel very naked (never realized how much I rely on my glasses to cover areas around my eyes)

*does the push glasses up thing forgetting I'm not wearing my glasses* I'm a clown

*stares at reflection* oh shit- that is me? oh woah that is me

Is it obvious I'm wearing them? why is everyone staring at me- did it moved? did the lens move and now I look like an idiot? (proceeds to overthink and be self-conscious, the lens did not move at all)

*reads up more info about contact lenses and realize I didn't soak them in some liquid for 4 hours before wearing them* *starts thinking about the eye doctor again*

I am fine. This is fine. Look at me I look okay I look normal. I'm totally normal.

*looks at something far* woah I can read that! (could do the same thing with my specs but for some reason is fascinated)

friend: "do you feel dryness or itchiness yet?" me: yet? you mean it's gonna happen??? (it has not happen)

*reads up more about contact lenses stuff and getting confused at the amount of liquids brand out there*

*goes home and stare at the mirror again*

Overall 6/10 experience, I would try to wear them again (for now)

Things I've said (out loud and in my head) when I'm trying to take out dem fuckass contact lenses:

oh my god I can't take it out

*watch another 4-8 tutorial videos again*

what do you mean I need to touch it and pinch it out. What- WHAT I NEED TO PINCH IT??? I'M NOT TOUCHING MY EYE LIKE THAT-

what do you mean you can blink it out.

*tries to blink it out and it didnt work and feel like my eyeballs are about to fall out*

*felt like crying but force myself not to because Idk if you should do that when you're wearing lenses*

*tries another 3-4 times and failing*

*sits down on the toilet tile and think about which eye doctor I need to contact and which hospital I can go by train, reciting the emergency number a few times*

*opens socmed to distract myself*

no no fuck you you're overthinking again calm da fak down it's A PIECE. OF. JELLY THINGY.

get up. do the thing. do it scared.

*silently screaming as my index finger slowly reaches for my eyes* I CANT DO THIS

BUT I'M GONNA *touches eye* OH MY DAYS I HATE IT *force myself to slowly slide the contact lens even if it feels extremely uncomfortable*

*starts singing the national anthem FOR SOME REASON* TANAH TUMPAHNYA DARAHHHH KUUUU *finally slide it to the sclera and blinks it out*

*panting like I've ran a thousand miles staring at the folded lens* fuck yoUUUUUUUU *puts it away and looks at the mirror*

oh my god my eye is red, is that normal? should I be concerned? *checks eye*

*stares at the mirror dreading the second eye*

*repeat cycle above with just as much anxiety and stress*

*singing the national anthem did not work this time* *starts thinking about which eye doctor to see again*

*deep breath* listen. if you can take off this last piece. we can...w-we can have pudding, okay? (we don't have pudding, also there's no we it's only me)

*slowly reach for my eyes* *silently screaming*

*realize it doesn't feel as uncomfortable with the other eyes* oh *slowly sliding it to the side then blinks it out*

*it immediately falls to the ground* YEAH you stay down

*looks at mirror* okay this eye isn't red

ah fuck everything's 360p again where's my specs?

Overall 0/10 experience I'm not wearing them again (I still have one more set, I will in fact, wear them again)

[rhymeswithumbrella]

you know what really pisses me off? so many people acting like he is the worst person out there and no one will miss him. A LOT of people are grieving now and missing him including people that these people supposedly follow and care about. liam was not the supervillain people wanted him to be. he was messed up and did messed up things likely because of what happened to him. this conversation deserves so much more nuance than people are giving it. and maybe it’s too early to have this conversation now but it’s helping me process and grieve so i’m really writing this for me. people are complex and doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person or someone worthy of death without being given the chance to make things right. and another thing, it is SO hypocritical to make fun of him and look down on him like he’s the ultimate Bad Guy meanwhile i bet every single person you have ever admired in the spotlight has likely also done bad things or at least things you wouldn’t be proud of. fame is an illness and it can cause people to harm others because they were hurt themselves. human beings are a culmination of everything that they’ve been through and everything they’ve done. he is not only the bad things he’s done and it’s okay and normal to grieve him as a whole person, because he was one.

[alienglowgarden]

Im bad at writing coherent things but I need to get this concept out of my head so it stops haunting me.

I had this idea for another fic called The Undine Colony.

The setting would be the second colony by the sea- started when Sol is in their forties- the story taking place an unknown time after that.

It starts with the alarm that the original Stratospheric colony has gone silent. Collapsed all its networks, killed every signal, spirited away every colonist. As it still houses much of humanity's most advanced tech, like the servers for their holonet, essential parts of the power grid, this is an issue of extreme urgency.

And who better to turn to in their moment of need than Sol? So here they are suddenly jolted into wakefulness.

Their first thought is that they cannot feel their body. They quickly learn they are not in fact the real Sol, but only an AI copy made of their brain-scan from many decades ago. Though they cannot access the future vision as an ephemeral bit of software, they have superior computing on their side.

The gist of it being that AI Sol is now in charge of the 2nd colony to replace the hole left by Congruence, all while being tasked to figure out whats happening to the og colony & trying to reestablish contact. Aaand trying to piece together their own existence on top of it. Trying to find out what even happened to the original Sol. If they have something to do with this blackout.

So yeah, itd be slowly unfurling that mystery, piecing together the gap in their memory & issues of personhood.

[daffi-990]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

tagged by @diazheartsbuckley @tizniz @spotsandsocks and @smilingbuckley

It's actually Wednesday for me but meh, who cares lol

Have some more ouch from the Rivals sequel ...

After that, everything blurs like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. One moment, he's standing outside Chris's door, then he blinks, and suddenly he's perched on a plastic chair in the shower, warm water cascading down his back as Carla gently massages shampoo into his scalp, her fingers working through his hair with practiced care. Another blink, and he's lying in bed.  Their bed - his and Eddie’s - the familiar scent of their sheets enveloping him.  Just this morning they had been tangled together, their bodies fitting effortlessly like pieces of a puzzle, lips branding their love and devotion onto their skin with every kiss. Now, the bed feels too big, an endless expanse of emptiness stretching around him, his heart echoing the loneliness that fills the space where Eddie should be.  Shannon is tucking him in, smoothing the sheets down with a practiced care he knows she uses with Chris. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and clasps her hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they wrap around hers. “Stay?” The question is a soft plea, one Buck can’t stop himself from making even though he feels like he’s asking too much. He just - he can’t sleep in their bed alone and he sure as shit isn’t letting Shannon sleep out on the couch. Thinks she might need the comfort just as much as he does. He’s been through hell today, but so has she. Maybe not as many levels as him, but still. They both love Eddie and almost lost him.  “Please? I don’t - I don’t want to be alone.”

No pressure tagging @rainydaybuckley @diazsdimples @kitteneddiediaz @inell @beyourownanchor6 @bekkachaos @dangerpronebuddie @elvensorceress @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @hotshotsxyz @honestlydarkprincess @devirnis @jesuisici33 @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @thelikesofus @lover-of-mine @lonelychicago @steadfastsaturnsrings @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @watchyourbuck @wildlife4life @monsterrae1 @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @daniclaytcn @eddiesprius @sofa-king-lame and always, anyone else who wants to join in -> consider this your official tag 🏷️

[wasyago]

uhh umm uhm random stuff

[moons-among-distant-stars]

you know what’d be sad?

if once when chloe’s older, she dreams of rachel as she was in life, not cold and scared and alone. and for once she is in her own body, as it now, older, bearing new scars and some more weight on her bones, hair a faded green. and she sees how young rachel is. how terribly child-like her face looks. it glows like the sun but it looks much too young. and she just sits there for a while, chloe and rachel, on a train to nowhere, nothing wrong. and when she wakes she is crying, and max is there, and chloe says to her “she was so young, max we were so young” and max knows, chloe doesn’t have to explain anything, she holds her close, lets her cry. and later in the morning, when the feeling passed and she’s drinking coffee and looking out the window. chloe price sees a deer outside, a doe. not a faun stumbling along but a doe, calm and happy in the morning sun. “hi rach” chloe says and the doe looks up at all, stars in her eyes. They stand there for a moment, just chloe and the doe. in the morning sun, going nowhere. but after a while the doe turns and bounds off into the forest. and chloe price lets her go