#tw vague drugging

[a-998h]

One

*Warning this contains some angst and some vague drugging*

Creator's POV

Turns out, the place I'm being housed is were Furina used to live. This placeis crawling with gards and Neuvillettecan visit me at any moment. However, I don't want to be stuck here. I'm running out of time and I'm still down two cores.

Panic sets in as I realize someone, or many someones, is trying to keep me here and it might have to do with people thinking I'm a fucking god! I'm screwed!

My cheeks feel wet, I'm crying. I just sit down on the sofa and cry my anger and frustration out. I think back to what lead me to this moment...

I found this cool game, tried it out and got hooked. The stories, the characters, and art, everything made me love this game. Now, that love has gotten me trapped in this world with only one day to find what I need to get out.

Maybe, I should just end it all, people back home have probably given up on looking for me, and I didn't want to live in this world. The tears keep flowing, harder and faster and snot comes out of my nose as well. They probably think I'm dead somewhere, because I have no idea how long I've here but is must been a long time. Maybe if I die, then I'll go home without the portal cause I know at this rate I'm not gonna go home and I'll be stuck with these crazy people till I'm old and I die.

"I can’t be with people and I can’t be alone," I mumble.

A show I watched had this line, and right now it fits. I want to be away from these crazy people but being alone with my thoughts seems to be a hell of my own creation. The tears keep falling and won't stop. Why, why can't I just put myself together to figure this out? I... I want to go home, with my friends, family, partners, everyone from my real life.

I'm pulled from my mind, by someone knocking on the door.

"Your grace, may I come in?" The voice asks.

The voice is female and sounds young. I want to be alone so I can process my thoughts, but at the same time I want to have a shoulder to cry on and a willing ear to listen to my problems.

Wiping my tears and snot on my sleeve I open the door and I see, Furina on the other side. Dressed in fancy clothes as always, I wonder how long it takes her to get dressed every day? She walks into the room, closing the door behind her, and sits in the sofa.

"Hi Furina... What are you doing here?" I ask.

She smiles at gives me a kind look, little a kind younger sister in a way and it kind of made me feel better.

"Neuvillette asked if I could keep you company. He's worried about you getting lonely while you settle in," she explained.

I smiled, was it because I had someone to talk to or because Neuvillette had it in his heart to care about me? She walks into the dinning room, and I notice she's holding two bakery boxes. She places the boxes on the table and looks at me. I keep waiting and see her taking out a tea set with a rainbow rose pattern and blue base colors. I keep my eyes on tea set just because it's pretty.

She catches me looking and gestures for me to sit at the table. She pulls out a chair for me and I sit. She pours me a cup of tea before doing so for herself. She then opens the bakery boxes and inside the first one is a blue frosted cake and the other has macaroons of every color of the rainbow.

"Here, we can't have a tea party without desserts," Furina happily chirped.

I smiled at her. It felt nice, we were silent but is wasn't awkward. We shared tea and desserts as the sun shines through the windows. Furina tries to get me to open up and it seems to help. She talks about herself and asks me things about myself and how I'm finding Fontaine.

I answer her questions and tell her about myself and I tell her my thoughts on Fontaine.

"The city is beautiful and the Melusine are so cute!" I accidentally squeal.

She nods her head and she then notices the bag. I freeze. If I tell her, then she might rat me out and I don't want to take that risk. I lie to her and say it's nothing. The once comfortable silence becomes awkward as we just stare and pick at the desserts.

Furina looks at me, with sadness in her eyes. She tells me that she can tell I want to say something. I try to deny it but she can tell I'm lying. My eyes start to water and I tell her about me wanting to leave and the cores. She has slight sadness in her eyes but she doesn't seem all that upset. She tells me she knows where the other two cores are. She tells me that she'll help me find them so I can go home.

Hours later

I... I can't believe it! Furina fulfilled her promise. She told me that Wriothesley had the Dendro core, and well let's just say I needed to start a problem so Wriothesley would leave his office. Once I got into his office I had to sneak the core out of his desk. It was nerve racking but I managed to do it! I put the core in the bag with the others and I exit. I swim around and explore, and then Furina tells me to focus.

When I'm back in the city I ask Furina who has the hydro core. Furina gets nervous and she looks away.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Ummm... Chiori," she mumbles.

I ask her to speak up and she says the person who has the hydro core is Chiori. Well, I'm fucked. Chiori is scary, but my want to go home is stronger than any fear I have of a seamstress lady who threw a pair of her fabric sheers at a rude customer.

I sneak through the city and make my way to Chioriya Boutique. The outside looks pretty and the outfits inside look awesome. I mentally take notes to do these as cosplay some day. Chiori is busy with a customer and I sneak around, trying to find that hydro core. I end up in the backroom and investigate. When I do find it I put it in my bag and dart out of the backroom. I feel relief as I realize I have all the cores I needed. Before I make it to Chioroiya's front door, someone grabs the back of my shirt. I look and see.... it's Chiroi. She holds her hand out for my bag and I shake my head. She keeps telling me to give her the bag.

This goes on for who knows how long until I mange to escape. I rush to the nearest teleport waypoint. When I do find it I think over Musk Reef. I'm expecting a flash of light and then appearing in the waters near Musk reef but I'm not. I open my eyes and I'm touching a streetlight pole.

As I go to leave I feel something in my arm before my word goes black, the last thing I hear is Sigewinne's voice telling me to relax and sleep.

[merakiui]

thinking about a concept in which your parent and step-parent are going through a bit of a rough patch in their relationship, so in order to resolve this tension, keep you and skully (mostly) out of it, and hopefully return with a stronger bond, they decide to live in separate spaces for the time being while the idea of divorce is constantly whispered about. you remain in the city with your parent and your step-parent takes skully back to their hometown—that little, misty town in the mountains and trees. the one where all the eerie folklore and stories skully adores comes from. the one with such a small population that you often tell your friends at school it's "that weird cult town."

well, (un)luckily for you, your parents want you to have an amicable relationship with your stepbrother. so when the winter holiday comes around, they make plans to ship you off to that weird cult town so you can spend the next two weeks shacked up in the woods with your step-parent and stepbrother. and skully will get to return to your home come summer break! the whole arrangement feels much too complicated, and at this point you just wish your parents would stop trying so hard and divorce already. :/

but there's no getting out of it, so you pack your bags and are shipped off to the place you've not-so-affectionately dubbed Cult Town.

you've actually never been here before. when your parents first met, it was in the city and so you've only ever known the rush that is city life. but everything is considerably slower here in a comfortable sort of way. there's no hurrying after taxis or packing yourself into a crowded train. it doesn't smell like the city either. also, the internet connection is horrible. you spend your first few minutes in this town trying to get proper reception while you wait to be picked up. it's only two weeks, though. you're certain it will go by quickly.

skully is…still strange. you were never really close when you lived in the same house. he kept to himself just as you did, but right now he’s immensely welcoming. he carries your bags, offers to show you around town, and seems so pleased you've come to visit for the holidays. your step-parent notes he spent an absurd amount of time cleaning up the guest room just for you, but skully just flusters and babbles about how it's only right to treat a dear guest with hospitality. there's even a vase of pretty flowers waiting for you on the bedside table when you enter the tidy room.

you're not very thrilled to be here, but you content yourself with the fact that it's only two weeks. skully has a long list of things he'd like to do with you while you're here. you're not sure what you can possibly do in a town this small other than look at the same trees and meet the same townsfolk over and over, but anything's better than boredom.

you fall asleep in that old, creaky cabin that never seems to settle, and your dreams are filled with macabre imagery. claws scraping at the door in angry, jagged crisscrosses, as if something wishes to get in. frostbitten corpses frozen in permanent poses of agony. a faceless, shapeless monster lurking in shadows. and cold. so much cold. snow. ice. frozen lakes. you even wake cold, shivering even though the blankets are thick and warm. it's too quiet and too dark when you look out your window. no civilization in sight unlike in the city, where there are plenty of people and buildings and traces of humanity.

out here, the people hardly use their phones and it feels so old-fashioned and it's cold.

skully doesn't like it when you talk about divorce. he's still hopeful that your parents will mend their frayed bond and then you can all live under one roof again. :D you can only roll your eyes: "they're basically divorced already. maybe not legally, but definitely physically and emotionally." skully frowns at that, refusing to argue your point further. when you continue onwards down the dirt path, bundled in a woolen coat and wrapped up in a scarf (a gift from skully), you miss the way his expression sours. the way his orange eyes cloud over.

skully tells you they find bodies in the woods all the time. accidents. murders. suicides. "a forest is like an ocean," he says conversationally while the two of you stroll parallel to a dense treeline. "sometimes you happen upon things that just don't belong. things you don't expect to find in the vastness."

that night, you're tossing and turning again. your sleep schedule has been a wreck ever since you came here and you're almost certain this cabin is haunted because you keep feeling sensations that aren't there. like a whisper of breath on your neck or a hand on your cheek. and something's moving around in your room or beneath your bed or just outside the door at night. something from the forest, maybe? a monster? one of the many restless spirits left to wander aimlessly, never to know peace? you bring it up with skully the following morning: "do you ever feel...watched?"

he smiles around a mug of hot chocolate. "of course not. we drive malevolent spirits away every halloween. there's nothing that can bother you here. aah, if only you could have been here during halloween. it's simply wonderful! you must come next year."

somehow you aren't satisfied with this response, but skully's sliding a mug your way and suddenly any thoughts of local haunts disperse from your mind.

supposedly, chamomile tea aids in sleep. hoping to get at least one good night's rest while you're here, you purchase some from the market with skully when you go on a grocery run for your parent. "there's something so beautifully quaint about shopping together!" he notes, perusing a stall of various winter fruits. "it's very intimate. wouldn't you agree?"

"sure, i guess," you reply with a shrug, not quite understanding the point he's trying to make. maybe that's exactly the point: you're never going to understand him and his unusual ideals. "but isn't that why people spend quality time with one another?"

skully beams and plucks a frostbitten flower from a nearby bouquet, tucking the beautiful blossom behind your ear. "we have similar thoughts, you and I."

do we really?

you make yourself a cup of chamomile, bundle up in the warmest sweater you packed, and drink in front of a crackling fire. skully's sat at the kitchen table, scribbling away in a book and humming to himself. you asked him about it before and he told you it was "a catalogue of daily musings. nothing of great importance." you wonder what he writes about in there... probably stuff about how wonderful jack skellington is, a figure revered in this little cult town. you've never heard of him, but he seems interesting from what skully's told you.

miraculously, you drift off in the armchair, and you sleep through the night, enveloped in sweet, sugary warmth. your dreams are pleasant, too. it's the best night's sleep you've ever had.

skully asks if you like it here. his definition of 'like' is very different from yours, but you decide to humor him anyway. "it's a fine town," you say even though just the other day you were trying (and failing) to text your friends about how unsettling this place is. how life here is just so different from the city. you can't explain it, but if you stay here any longer you think they might accuse you of being a witch next with your city slang and fancy technology box (phone). "the atmosphere and the town are both very cute. it's like a little dollhouse when it's all dressed up and festive like this."

"what a flattering description! as expected, you view the world through the eyes of a poet, seeing loveliness in every little thing," he praises, holding his hands over his chest and swooning.

you feel just a little lovelier now that your sleep schedule is fixed, so you're inclined to agree.

usually, the chamomile knocks you out for the entire night. this time, though, you've awoken to a ghost. you crack your eyes open and slowly but surely shake the heavy sleepiness off. something's on top of you, holding you down in bed, their fingers cold and bony like the ones in your nightmares. you shift slightly, and the ghost freezes, still and silent as death. in the shadows, a pair of eyes search for your face.

a mouth at your ear. something stiff prods at your thigh. "shh," the ghost murmurs. "go back to sleep."

somehow you do. you feel warm again, cradled in the fluffiest of dreams. there's an encroaching coldness, though, a frigid draft threatening to creep in. you sleep through it. you'll talk to skully about it tomorrow.

maybe some ghosts aren't banished during halloween.

maybe some ghosts are made of flesh and blood.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

anyways, meet Kiv, Vic's clone in one of the sci-fi aus. He's got all the baggage that comes with the position:

- has literally never felt a kind touch

- is full of a need to control but doesn't have the memories that make exerting his own power satisfying so he lives in a constant state of frustration

- physically and functionally in his early thirties but only has two years of actual memories and experience (all negative)

- has no real rights because he's a clone

- kind of an asshole so he has no friends

[moistrodent]

my favourite character in Hazbin Hotel, Phencyclidine. Who has never been shown being in withdraw.

And is basically never mentioned to have a drug habit (also the one scene in episode four doesn’t really count, because CRACK COCAINE DOESN’T CAUSE THE AFFECTS THAT ALCOHOL DOES! FOR FUCKS SAKE CRACK ISN’T EVEN A DEPRESSANT, IT’S A STIMULANT. Also crack can cause paranoia, seizures, aggression etc. It doesn’t act like alcohol, Vivziepop just doesn’t know anything about drugs, and yes drug use isn’t just a silly joke it ruins people’s lives, but Vivziepop doesn’t care!!!)

Also PCP, or Angel Dust, or Phencyclidine, was discovered in 1926 but the actual effects weren’t discovered until the 1950s. Ten years after Angel Dust died. So Angel Dust doesn’t have a PCP addiction, but he’s called Angel Dust for some fucking reason? That’s like naming your character Meth. It’s stupid and I hate it.

Fuck this show, fuck the was it portrays drug use, fuck the was it portrays voodoo, fuck the was it portrays rape. The entire thing is the writers poorly disguised fetish with a ton of cursing and a few (vaguely) well written characters.

[theseance444]

❛  i wish i could take away all your pain.  ❜

@magicalmystery-muses from Willow pls

On the ass end of a five day bender, Number Four could barely hold himself upright. Thankfully, his sister had come to find him--crumpled in an alleyway, looking like death, but still breathing. The bags under his eyes, the gaunt cheeks, the way his bones stuck out--they told what sort of life he was living, these days. One in which he would choose substances over sleep, food, and shelter.

Currently, Klaus found himself slumped in a booth at Griddy's. A classic "sober up" spot for him, historically. Diego, Willow, even Allison had taken him here before, giving him a talk about getting clean, before he inevitably went back to his ways. But Willow's words slowly seeped into the mush that currently made up his brain. Not harsh, not angry, but sad. Klaus would've rather her be angry.

"Nah, like three Percocets'll do the trick," he slurred, clumsily stirring sugar into his coffee. "Then I'll be outta your hair..." Though life had been rough since leaving the academy, Klaus had missed his siblings dearly. Especially shy little Willow.

[edge-oftheworld]

remembering how careful luke was with substances back when they first started out, it is actually heartbreaking that he did end up struggling with addiction. (I feel like we can often stereotype and box artists in, find excuses why they may end up using like it's their fault and if they happen to overdose and die then well, they should've not gotten into it in the first place. i can't shake that moment, in the 10yr podcast i think (don't quote me) he mentions he wasn't even into weed in 2015. just another 19yo aussie getting drunk and pretending to be tough like every other 19yo aussie, way more conservative and cautious in terms of substances than he probably would ever have admitted at the time.) how well he's always seemed to look after himself physically vs how much he'd given up on himself for so long. the fact he's always loved food and yet struggled with eating. actually I think diamonds should break our hearts. so should bloodline and heck, even baby blue. I think we should listen to starting line and be like hey, maybe we should treat our celebrities better. our artists. we all enjoy what they create, tear themselves apart so we don't feel alone in whatever we're experiencing and yet did we ever stop to think, how can we make this system work for everyone? how can we make fame be less deadly?

I think we should look at songs like motion and repeat when we're thinking of, hey, how should we approach this conversation about mental health? especially in the workplace with pressure to perform and take every opportunity lest we miss out on a big break and that's not only in creative industries. STEM can be like that too. and don't get me started on business/finance. we should look at the way we interact with each other--are we creating a space that's safe to feel and be honest with ourselves and each other and breathe enough to do that? or is it 'r u ok' and it's all about feelings and if you feel to numb to even know what you're feeling, then you're probably fine? we're hopefully beyond blaming parents for everything their children go through by now, but if ever we're not, we can listen to mum and see that you can have this beautiful relationship with your parents and still struggle, still blame yourself and be drowning in it and have the best morals around personal responsibility and still in a bad season be able to weaponise them against ourselves sometimes and only see our mistakes. still put on a farce for the world. still fear that people will leave whenever we take that off. are we creating a world where we're free to be ourselves, and I mean all of us? slip away and place in me should break our hearts even more when listened to in context.

and maybe these insights seem obvious to you but how are we really going at living as if this is what we need to be doing as humans? do we really live like we believe none of us are that invincible but at the same time are so, so capable and should be given the chances and accommodations every person, no matter their unique needs, need to really fulfil that (of course without being blamed for their perceived failures)? or are we still being ableist? are we still deciding we have a bar of perceived success for people we see to be 'like us' and feel like everyone else is somehow doomed and unable to succeed and so we don't need to worry about caring for them too? they either have to pretend to live up to our standards or slip into oblivion and shame? don't you see how this, something we often don't realise we're perpetuating, simply causes even more harm?

and maybe this is a lot to be dragging out from one (expertly done) album. or maybe we have someone who's told their story and we'd be foolish not to listen to it, not to think twice about the connotations of what we're seeing. maybe part of beholding this masterpiece is to use a bit of that same overthinking that went into creating it and do something productive with it. because luke's okay. things did get better for him, and he's coping, just like the rest of us. but what about the next young artist who is thrust into stardom from oblivion, who, clinging to music as a lifeline in a chaotic, unpredictable and lonely world, basks in it and chases it so hard without a thought to its dangers. what if they don't have a loving home away from the chaos to return to, and a close knit, unshakeable group of friends going through it with them? I don't get how you can listen to wfttwtaf and not think of this. also, luke didn't need to share any of these things with us. but I bet, in a world of facades and roles to play that others create for us, simplistic and superficial and suffocating, it's a relief to simply be honest. maybe it's just me. maybe he shared it just to get some money from his art, or to help others feel less alone. but either way he did share it. and he did give incredibly vulnerable descriptions of each song (to apple music i believe it was) which he didn't have to do either. but he did and so let's heed the protest intrinsic in it and cultivate that sense of empathy, be respectful and encouraging to him and the band, yes, but also think. if we have a case study on how to protect and better care for young artists and creatives, are we just going to let it entertain us and then do nothing about what we hear? wfttwtaf is a protest album. it might not mean to be. it might be the saddest and least angry one we've heard. it might be pure in that it pulls at our heartstrings and demands nothing from us. so let your impact be that pure and free of demands too and just. be kind. not only to the people you see in person, but everyone who might be impacted by your individual and collective actions--not only kind but smart about what is actually helpful, actually encouraging. it's pretty simple isn't it? or is it just the wild ideas of my intuition?

[riality-check]

b-sides, part 1 of who knows how many

(Related to my Daisy Jones and the Six-inspired fic, runnin' with the devil. You don't need to read it to understand this little thing. TW: mentions of drug & alcohol addiction.)

Eddie was ten years old when he found out that most other people don’t have “kids’ spoons” and “good spoons” in their houses. To him, before finding that out, it made sense. He used the plastic spoons - washed them after every meal because it wasn’t often that they got new ones - to eat, and his parents used the metal ones, the ones gifted to them on their wedding day by the few relatives that didn’t hate the idea of showing up.

It made sense. After all, plastic melts if you hold it over a lighter.

The metal just scorched. Blackened a bit due to the heat. Each spoon had a little black circle on the bottom, one that never washed out or faded, one that was never given a chance to do either.

It shouldn’t have been so surprising. Eddie found out at six that Santa wasn’t real when he heard his parents fighting over money they didn’t have for Christmas presents. He was seven when he found out that the cops would come to the door if he answered his teacher honestly about having eaten that morning, or last night. He was eight when he realized that almost everything in the house was illegal, save for the food, the cigarettes, and the beer.

He had a sip of beer for the first time at nine. The can was lukewarm, sitting by the overflowing ashtray in the living room. It was gross.

Eddie took another sip anyway.

[venstm]

my brain has been feelingv like cotton byu 2pm for the last like 2 days oml

[yuungmenace]

* ◟ : 〔 ARCHIE MADEKEW , NON BINARY + THEY / THEM 〕 BEAUREGARD ADEFOPE , some say you’re a THIRTY YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both INDIVIDUAL and EGOCENTRIC, one can’t help but think of TRUE FAITH by SOPHIE ELLIS BEXTOR when you walk by. are you still THE GAZELLE / DRUG MANUFACTURER for THE NEON PARIAHS, / SELF-EMPLOYED, even with your reputation as THE AMARANTH? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and LEOPARD FUR COATS FLUTTERING IN THE BREEZE, THE DIZZYING EFFECT OF A SPARKLING PINK PILL, A FACE BURNED INTO MEMORY NEVER FORGOTTEN, although we can’t help but think of DORIAN GRAY ( THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY ) + ICARUS ( GREEK MYTHOLOGY ) + RUBY RHOD ( FIFTH ELEMENT ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

FULL NAME: Beauregard Adefope. Not their real name. NICKNAME(S):Beau, Gazelle AGE: 30 GENDER:Nonbinary PRONOUNS: They/Them BIRTHPLACE: Texas OCCUPATION: Drug manufacturer, previous Anunnaki Pharmaceuticals researcher. GANG AFFILIATION: Neon Pariah’s Gazelle FC: Archie Madekew

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOUR: Black EYE COLOUR: Black HEIGHT: 6”5 PIERCINGS?: Both ears, upper lobe, mid & upper helix on left ear, nose ring on right nostril. TATTOOS: Eye of horus on right side of neck, Gazelle skull on right ring finger.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: Independent, Eccentric, Passionate NEGATIVE: Dramatic, Egotistical, Selfish

BACKGROUND

trigger warnings for child abuse, mentions of homophobia, drug mention, body horror

You’re an outsider, you’ve always been an outsider. You were not your fathers child, when the babe presented your father took one look at you and uttered ‘not mine’. That has been your crowning achievement, even amongst 7 others, you belonged to nobody. Mother was busy with little ones, sisters raising each other, brothers doing whatever they wanted. Left to your own devices you discovered things about yourself – who you were, what you liked, what you were good at. School time was spent playing the fool, acting loud and making others laugh, their attention something you relished. Everytime teachers rang home, the belt was applied to your back legs but you never stopped, for their mirth was far greater than the pain you felt. One Sunday after church, you were caught wearing lipstick and kissing yourself in the mirror. Mother said it was fine, you were pretending to kiss a woman. You were smart enough not to tell her otherwise.

Despite all this, you are intelligent, far greater than anybody ever gives you credit for. Tests? You don’t study much, you just need to remember. Gifted, they call you, gifted. Such a word should’ve never been ascribed to you, its poison corroding your young and fragile ego. It doesn’t matter if father calls you wrong, or mother ignores your odd behavior because you’re gifted and they aren’t. You will die believing yourself to be special.

Except – you aren’t. You are barely above average, a fact that is too much to bear once you reach college. All your teenage awkwardness begins to leak out of you, identity crisis hitting an all time high. You are so easily influenced by others, wishing so badly to escape a spiral you are already trapped in. You’ve always acted out but, now? It grows worse, you spend half your time ingesting something to feel better. It goes hand in hand with your genius, you say, your test scores falling, falling falling down. There is little hope for you now, once a beacon of brilliance now barely scraping by. That is until an opportunity presents itself, one that will allow you to show your brilliance once more; write a 500 word essay for the Anunnaki pharmacy scholarship in NYC! The city calls, the excitement of breaking free from small towns small minds is delicious, the chance to be the center of attention. The best, the brightest, that’s all that matters.

You don’t smash it – in fact, you sabotage one or two other students so you get in, yet you flourish while there. Chemistry is something you can get into, and the social life provided by the city scratches two itches. Anunnaki have you working with their top researchers for months, studying and making notes, testing and trying before you’re asked to present your work. The drug that numbs physical pain, simple at first. A punch amounts to no flinch, a hand on a stovetop, even live surgery yields little feeling. Anunnaki are pleased, and kit you out to be a proper manufacturer. 

They take your work. Anything you had ideas on, for, is confiscated, your name stricken from the records and head of manufacturing put on instead. You hear whispers of the things they’re working towards, begin to do a little digging into the company, and you’re caught red handed. THEY TAKE YOUR EYES and fit you with a rusted pair they make your skin itch, your face hurt, and then you are so easily chucked out by the company who once hailed you a hero. Turns out, your knowledge can help you rebuild. A small chem lab, a couple of meth users and you, all working together to make a product. The product, the one that makes you a rockstar; Slow Tempo.

The Neon Pariah’s catch your attention, and you’re eager to join. To take back your work from Anunnaki, and bring them down. They’ll learn that even a Gazelle’s horns can still gut an animal.

OTHER

Middle child of 7. Big yikes am I right?

Anunnaki replaced their eyes with mechanical when the scholarship lead to a job. They allowed Beau to read and understand data and substances much faster and be able to work quicker. Think - Techie, from Dredd? Or just how ur eyes work in Cyberpunk 2077. However, after the mild stint of corporate espionage, they were taken out and replaced with older models. This is why Beau wears sunglasses a lot, as the skin around them is often sore / his eyes weep a lot.

Slow Tempo is a drug that essentially slows down the world around you and is taken much like an inhaler. Some gangs buy from him as they give it to torture victims before carrying out the deed. COOL!

They're currently working on drugs 2 give people false emotions / a boost of them. It's not 100% at the moment as it needs more human trials <333

They're larger than life! They're full of stupid nd never shut up!

Has their own booth in a few clubs / bars that all dealers to distribute their drug! So kinda in bed with certain gangs to!!!

a fashion icon (my words)

apartment has like 80 half-melted candles

has a sphinx cat named liza

needs some casual flings, som clients, som friends!!! needs someone who can see the insecure little bitch under all that inflated ego bullshit

killed their younger sister in a car accident but i couldnt think how 2 work it into the backstory....

they speak french and r...usually some form of high at all times

[themetalbabygirl]

I was so intense when I was 17. Like, my religious rants? My suicidal tendencies? I was so full of rage and sorrow and regrets looking back at it it's insane.

[theloveinc]

got high tonight on half an edible and it was like my entire bloodstream was replaced with Loving Bakugo Fluid

[befuddled-calico-whump]

What would It take for Hunter to end Up doing drugs again (and potentialy overdosing)?

losing his implant

Hunter's never really had much of an issue with addiction. (At least not an obvious one.) He mostly used weed and party drugs, usually in groups, probably at least a few times a week, with other people who had similar habits, so it all always seemed normal to him.

If he would've had to quit everything all of a sudden, he'd struggle a bit, but since in canon he went from recreational use to the implant, he didn't have a hard time leaving everything else behind

The implant kind of gives him a gentle, constant buzz, and he's able to be consistently stimulated, so losing that would have him attempting to replicate it, and that could easily put him in a dangerous spot

[alldayeveryday-candycandycandy]

[eliaswyler]

THE BASICS:

FULL NAME: Elias Brian Wyler

NICKNAMES: Ellie, to close friends

AGE & BIRTHDAY: 37 & May 11, 1987

BIRTHDAY PLACE: Honolulu, HI

GENDER IDENTITY: Cis man, he/him

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

MARITAL STATUS: Married (technically), but separated

ZODIAC: ☼ Taurus ☾ Aries ↑ Aries

+ TRAITS: Empathetic, Spontaneous, Sensual, Practical

- TRAITS: Pretentious, Stubborn, Cynical, Unreliable

NEIGHBORHOOD: Cardinal Hill

OCCUPATION: Fisherman & Charter Guide @ Finest Catch

PERSONALITY:

His good days are good and his bad days are the worst -- Elias leads a life with no middle ground. He tends to exist on a high frequency, abundant energy transformed into a tunnel vision focus for errant hobbies, often shirking basic responsibilities and bailing on those closest to him. He's little talk and all action, impulsivity and passion creating a colorful reputation in his wake. Even when he's deemed pretentious and cynical, he still takes pride in the fact that no one could ever call him lukewarm.

BIOGRAPHY:

Elias would tell you that he was born on the run (most likely while sitting in a nondescript bar, fishing cherries out of a Dirty Shirley), but that's not quite the truth. It sounds like it, on the first telling, when he carries on to list everywhere he lived between the ages of zero and eighteen; Hawaii, Georgia, Italy, Japan, Washington, Illinois, etc. It's a lot, sure, but there was never any urgency to it. No fear or rush as the Wyler family packed up for the umpteenth time and moved across the country again. The excitement of getting a fresh start in a new neighborhood and new school district wore off somewhere around the sixth grade for Elias. It had become routine. After all, that's just the hand you're dealt as a military brat, huh?

For being a Marine, Elias never viewed his father as a particularly strict figure in his life. He was absent, mostly, sometimes even missing holidays at home. And his mother, overburdened with five children and a part-time job as a school nurse, never became a fully-formed individual in his mind, either. As he grew up, he became thankful for their habitual moving, frequently acting out and never facing consequences because of it. It wasn't until they moved to Illinois just before the start of his junior year that Elias felt like anything would ever be permanent -- and even then, it still wasn't. He made sure of it.

With stars in his eyes, he graduated from Blue Harbor High in a rush, desperate to start his life in every conceivable way. The first thing he did was get married, impulsively (AKA stupidly) tying the knot with his then high school girlfriend. They ushered in a rocky relationship that had no chance at lasting. Elias stuck it out for a few years, determined to believe that he'd put down roots for good, but after a few summers working at The Finest Catch, he cashed out. He left without warning, not telling a soul when he booked a one-way ticket to Australia and just went.

Elias would argue that it's his upbringing that kept him on the move for so long. After a paradoxically sheltered yet cultured life experience, he wanted to explore the world in his own way. To literally broaden his horizons, bounding between countries and states. Somewhere along the way, Elias picked up photography, becoming half-decent at it and garnering a few minor publications. His recognition peaked with his thirties, taking him to New York and thus beginning his lover era. Meeting and falling for Danika turned Elias into an idealist, swept up into the notion of a charmed life he'd never known before, but reality came knocking when they started to talk marriage -- and he remembered he had a wife back in Blue Harbor. Using his mother's hometown and the inheritance of a fishing boat as a two-pronged excuse to transplant their lives, he hoped to make quick work of his divorce in private. Naturally, it didn't go that smoothly. He was found out, his relationship unspooled right before his eyes, and he still didn't get those damn divorce papers signed. If he wasn't so stubborn, Elias would've hit the ground running, but with a lease hanging over his head and the accidental rekindling of histories starting again, he's making a valiant attempt at weathering the storm… for now.

HEADCANONS & EXTRAS:

one of the least judgmental people you'll ever meet! considers life to be one big joke of an experiment and maintains that nothing is ever set in stone.

that being said, elias has his bouts of pretention -- catch him on a Sad Drunk night and he'll for sure lament the death of print media.

very much a failed photographer (emphasis on failed as his professional career petered out over the last 2-ish years), but he still enjoys the rare silence of a darkroom now and then.

has several scattered tattoos that lack any sort of meaning. his oldest ink is the marine corps emblem on his upper arm, which he got to match his baby brother who'd just enlisted at the time -- jake didn't find it as funny as elias thought it was.

partied hard in his 20s, dabbling in all sorts of substances, but he's since pulled back. he won't turn down a good offer if it comes his way, buuuut... yeah, he's feeling his age more often than not.

unironically could still describe his nights out tho (catch him gettin' booted from the pour house!)

for as flighty as he is, elias is exceptional at his job. he's felt at home within the sway of waves, often extending his visits to more tropical locales, so he's right at home on the docks. the only drawback? charters. he gets reprimanded a lot for rolling his eyes at people who don't know how to bait a hook.

never had any pets growing up, so he's one of those freaks that sort of treats animals like independent human beings themselves.

[timey-fandom-stuff]

a doodle compilation of Kriptid Kris the undead creepypasta tryhard being an unnecessarily edgy dork. they might ALMOST be scary if they had anything rattling around in their goofy skull other than moss and poor impulse control, but... alas. don't do bath bombs, kids.

[razoreesharpe]

sticking out your tongue for the picture, you're so pretty, you're so popular