#writing these posts takes SO long
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Another aroace Ford idea that came up. I just really like the idea of Ford going to Mabel for these types of things :’)
#gravity falls#stanford pines#mabel pines#ford pines#grunkle ford#sea grunks#my art#comic#aroace#asexual#aromantic#ford & mabel bonding#sketches#long post#i just find it really endearing that ford takes notes about aroace#oooough I love aroace ford so much TwT#artsy’s attempt to write dialogue
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why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏
afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33
#ask#chloe-is-slightly-epic#ghostsoap#doodle#i'm trying to get better at letting myself be a bit more open online#a bit more uncool if you will#im an anxious perfectionist so a lot of art and posts end up in drafts forever#like this sketch i drew..... 4 months ago#hope you all wont mind if I start posting a bit more#unfinished work like sketches or fic snippets#Im constantly making stuff and writing but I just dont post#womp womp anxiety#so yeah decidedly uncool but im happy you like my art :')#btw if youve ever sent an ask or asked a question that i've never answered... yeah its probably in my drafts because i got stuck on somethi#and then forgor#and now its been so long that it feels weird to reply#sorry!! I super appreciate everyone who take the time to write
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Me, an author, side eyeing my WIP: you're not going to do anything weird, are you? We've discussed this. There's a plan. We're going to stick to the plan, aren't we?
The WIP: *presents subplot, presents additional conflicts, presents character development, laughs in my fucking face*
#raetttriestowrite#fanfiction#writer problems#raett rants about writing#look honestly it's not that bad but it's relatable#so feel free to reblog#just. Bless This Mess is a disaster of a series and there are way the fuck too many things going on#and i'm staring at the word count of the next part#and am really hoping that isn't an indicator of how long this is gonna be#but don't hold your breath#i am very very slow. and i'm not that far through the plot. and it's uh. 3.5k#so. this may take a while. hopefully not six months but we'll see#considering i'm fully expecting to be laughed at by my plan as per the post
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birthday boy 🎂
#river dipping#theodore doe#matthias evanoff#a burning house to live in#echthroi#ts4#ts4 edit#simblr#ts4 screenshots#theo i hope you're having the most insane birthday sex rn i hope it's ******** and ***** and ***'** **** *** **** ***** :)<3#sorry i put off making your birthday edit for so long that i had to pivot and post this edit instead of the one i wanted </3#...very funny how similar this is to that LAST render i posted... well so WHAT!! if i think matthias looming is sexy!!#this is based on a photo that everyone was drawing their ocs as so really it's not MY fault he's back there clinging and being a freak#actually if y'all want this pose lmk... i'll share it but fyi it's only meant to be seen from the waist up and idk how it'd look#on a sim that doesn't have the same muscle mass and like. bulk. that matthias has......................................#just got rock hard after typing that... anyway.#HAPPY BIRTHDAY THEO <333333333 LOVE YOU SO MUCH I PROMISE I'M GONNA KEEP WORKING ON THE //ACTUAL// BIRTHDAY EDIT!! like .#posted abt this on the sideblog but the real edit i have planned for him is making me lose my fucking gourd#and it'll probably take me :))) a few more days to figure out#expect a depressing theo-as-a-teenager edit eventually tho. with writing!! accompanying it!!#matthias's face has changed again btw 😭 i redid it almost immediately after i posted that first render attempt so he looks DIFFERENT!!#i posted screenshots of him in cas just the other day on my other acc and he looks so good in them i might post them here too#oh and!! this edit looks massively different than my last because this screenshot was taken with a new preset i made specifically for#the real birthday edit i'm working on... it's a hallway scene so i figured out depth and density to get this really cool fog effect#i'm really excited for it!! in my head the way it looks makes me crazy but idk if i can pull it off properly. but like i WAS SAYING!!#new preset is sooo sexy after i post this i'll reblog with the before and after to show you how good it looks even w/o any editing#like. the colors....... literally have always wanted a preset like this i'm so glad i spent yesterday fucking around with it#ALSO!! i've been doing those oc/ship dynamic templates for fun recently so i might post a few of them here soon#realize i'm rambling so much in these tags bc i haven't been here in forever kfjnkfjhn ummmmm. let me stop.#EVERYONE WISH THEO HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIGHT NOW 🫵‼
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I also like the idea of Bakugo coming home from a long, overseas mission only for you to be surprised when you meet him at the airport cuz he’s twice as beefy and four times more scary looking.
#Bakugo#UGH IM IN A CAR so I can’t write this f*ck#but meeting him at the airport and being shocked he’s HUGE and a little bit shy abt it#and you take him home and are all quiet bc u think he wants to rest#meanwhile he’s all confused bc you didn’t seem so excited to see him? only gave him one measly kiss????#and knows he gained weight and is kinda… nervous u hate it#and when you get home you’re kinda creeping around him#and he just bursts out to ask if you’re not attracted to him anymore or found someone new#and all you can do is like whisper#‘I am so attracted to you right now I feel like I could d*e’#‘and I didn’t want to bother u after a long flight of other how wet my p*nties are’#and then u f*ck like animals for a whole week#gen#shii posts
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WIP:
“You have a bat themed computer?! This is somehow worse than my dad naming everything after our family.” “Wait, does he actually do that?” “Yeah, dude. We have the Fenton Bazooka, the Fenton Boo-merang, the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle, the Fenton Phones, Fenton Rocket, Fenton Skateboard…” “Wait, wait. You own an assault vehicle? A rocket?” “What? You're saying it as if you don't.” “Yeah, but my… He is Batman. Not exactly the poster boy for sanity, you know?” “Well, look at the bright side! You don't have to feel awkward about it anymore. If anyone gets it, it's me.” Jason smiled, a bit dizzy, and guided him. Jason had never brought anyone to the cave before. It felt oddly heavy in his chest. He had to resist the urge to keep turning around to check on Danny. He felt a bit like Orpheus in a way.
#dp x dc#dead on main#danny phantom#fanfic#jason todd#danny fenton#dp x dc fanfic#fanfic writing#dead on main ship#tsdloo#I'm sorry for taking so long to post this chapter#I've been struggling with it a little#like trying to rein in a bunch of wild horses#it keeps getting out of my control#and the angst is getting closer and i'm scared lol
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heeyyy gaaanggg
the pose and the background of the album version (left) are based on oingo boingos only a lad album art. not cause i think he has anything to do with it but just cause ive been wantin to draw that pose for like. weeks and i didnt know who to put there. so why not my latest bug man.
#my art#digital art#digital painting#fanart#resident evil 7#ethan winters#goddd PLEAAASEEEE#i havent known if i was gonna post this or not multiple times in the process of drawin this. but ultimately i spent too much time on it to#NOT post it. embarrassment be damned#but at the same time what am i even doin yknow. what is this what is goin on pleaaseee PLEASEEEEE#I DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RESIDENT EVIL!!! I DONT KNOW N O T H I NG I KNOW LESS THAN NOTHING#HOW?? HOW DID I GET HERE??? WHY DID THIS HAPPEN???? i know exactly the answer to all those questions but it still boggles me how fast this#happened. usually it takes WEEKS if not MONTHS for me to start makin fanart. this was faaasttttt TOO FAST and im like. genuinely constantly#thinkin about this game. im ALWAYS thinkin about this game. part of why this took me so long to do is cause i always wanna play re7 or thin#about re7 in a strange and deranged way. ive actually genuinely been SICK WHAT HAPPENEDDDDDD#im losing it!! anyways this took me a looonggg ass time and i redrew it soo many timmmessss#i did like. 3 lineart passes. the album version i did 3 shading passes. i really struggled!! and ultimately i dont know how i feel about it#like i kinda resent it. for takin so long and makin me suffer so much#never again. never again will i spend that much time on a drawing. i HATE when drawins take a long time. i HATE that. it makes me madddd#ive been insane. ive been so insane. and im not gettin better like i cant sleep sometimes cause im thinkin about this game and this guy and#that gal like i think about them!! so! so much!! oh my god!!#in the time it took me to finish this ive done like 10 sketches for other pieces like. and ive had like 3 ideas ive written down.#and like 50 that i havent written or sketched.#IVE WRITTEN POETRY!! P O E T R Y !!!#i write the occasional poem when im feelin some kinda profound emotion but i NEVER write poetry about media SOBBING#anyways thats the post i think this is the beginnin of the end so lets hold hands and pray. ugh sorry if i get sick. im shakin.
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I want you to know that your art is very important to me, and I'm very invested in all of the characters I have seen from you. Also, the discussion about Finnish and other languages having gendered words or not has been the last little push to get me to start learning Finnish which I think is fun.
I'm making this a little compilation post of all the language asks I got. Thank you for sharing, this was genuinely really interesting!
#answered#anonymous#long post#the-biornicles#procyon-caffeinaeus#also this may sound childish but it's always thrilling whenever I get to read posts like these#I dunno it's just so outlandish that there are a bunch of people living in the various corners of the planet who like my art and characters#and take the time to read the nonsense I write in tumblr tags#you'd think you would get used to the idea but no it still makes me giddy#also to the anons learning Finnish I'm cheering for you#Finnish people are typically extremely stoked/flattered/shyly pleased whenever someone deems our language even a little bit worth learning#and they love to tell you that Finnish is hard but it's mostly because it's not an Indo-European language#so chances are it's going to be sort of different and incompatible with the language(s) you already speak#English for example is more closely related to Sanskrit Bengali and Persian than Finnish
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Things I make for myself when insomnia kicks in
Just a chart about what I wanna change up and keep consistent in my art - I mainly wanna draw Raph with a tail because he deserves one, it fits too well. Donnie gets a long tail too because I didn’t realize how dino-like he looks until I gave him one, and now it’s a must for me haha.
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt headcanons#note these are veryyy much for my own art so by all means ignore this completely for your own unless it resonates#these are just my personal headcanons#I’ve been getting more and more fond of the turtles having tails - especially Raph whose design honestly feels more complete with one#I also am now attached to Donnie having a long tail too because 1) he looks cute with one and it really works for him and-#2) I LOVE giving the Brains and Brawn duo more stuff in common#I could write an essay about how many things Brains and Brawns duo has in common in general#but also portal duo as well!!#we already know that Mikey and Leo look a LOT alike#so I think it’s cute when Raph and Donnie have stuff like that in common with each other too#like how canonically Donnie’s sclera are on the yellow side like Raph’s#anyway I’m sorry if this is a random post I am very tired and still have not slept#ALSO yeah i wanted an excuse to doodle April it’s been too long i missed her#I’m excited to finish this comic up to show the OTHER reason I gave Donnie a long tail#I made this in like five minutes because working on my comic was not working out#also Draxum totally has a tail he’s a sheep#I lean away from Mikey and Leo having longer tails mainly because their designs are already so busy#with all the colors and shapes present on them#so to me longer tails kinda takes away a bit#meanwhile Raph and Donnie are more monochrome in comparison so I feel like tails only help them?#I think as well Donnie’s torso/carapace being on the shorter side makes a tail balance him out#(me trying to justify the visual gag im putting into the comic for literally only two panels)#didn’t draw the caseys because I am tiredddd#and they would have just ended up where April is anyway
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Bakugou loves you, he really does, but he can’t help but be a little prickly sometimes. it’s not because he’s mad at you or anything that’s actively your fault, no. Sometimes he just likes to pick and be an ass to you because he finds your reactions funny, likes how your lip pouts, and how you huff at him whenever he pokes at you.
But it always irks you whenever he rejects your physical affection. It’s playful, the way he softly taps your fingers away from him when you wrap your arms around his middle while he cooks. You bite at his shoulder blade and he wiggles in your grasp, grumbles for you to stop fucking with him while he makes your damn soup.
And that irks you to no end, more than usual, for some reason. Chalk it up to pms or the weather or whatever the fuck, but you’re sick of it. You step beside him, turning until your butt hits the counter, folding your arms as you glare up at him.
“Well, if I can’t touch you, then you can’t touch me.” You declare childishly, and it makes Bakugou smirk at your petulance. He stirs the soup a few more times in silence, adding in more seasoning with a shake of his head while you stare him down.
After what feels like forever, he lays the spoon beside the pot and faces you with a hand resting on the counter and the other on his hip. He cocks his head at you, grinning now when he meets your frowning face.
“My poor baby,” he coos to you condescendingly, reaching out to grip your hip but you lightly smack his fingers away, same as he did you earlier. He expects that, and the next one, and the next. However, he doesn’t expect for it to last for the rest of the night, being unable to touch you.
At this point, he thinks he might be going stir crazy. He’s so used to the casual touches; squeezing your butt when you walk past, patting your cheek when you eat, rubbing your shoulders, massaging your calf on the couch. But he’s been rejected every time, and goddamn you, it’s not funny anymore.
So he blocks you in where you stand trying to leave the bathroom. To anyone else, he would look menacing, but to you, he just looks like an overstuffed teddy bear as he hunches his shoulders to his ears. He doesn’t look you in the eye, instead at your mouth, as he grumbles,
“M’sorry for being stupid. Now lemme touch you. Please.” He tacks on when he sees your eyes narrow. You stand there with your arms crossed for a few seconds, before humming and placing your hands on your hips.
“I’ll forgive you if you let me hold your boobs.” You counteroffer. His face scrunches up for a second at that.
“They’re not—you know what? Go ahead, have at it.” He tells you with a dramatic sigh, mirroring your position as he looks up to the ceiling. But as you cup his chest in your hands and squeeze his pecs and bury your face in it, Bakugou can’t help but smile a little. As long as he gets to do it back to you, he doesn’t mind one bit.
#posting all my drafts bc the lack of interaction is making me sad lol#I don’t post and then when I don’t get any interactions I get so sad like ?-&/!:&:$:&:#sorry writing has been so hard for me lately#I just needed a long break from anything creative for a while#so I’m taking baby steps by writing these#next up is a fic hopefully#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫
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“Come in my mouth like a good girl… I want to taste you.” - Emmrich Volkarin, probably
#i am on the floor#what have I done#it’s taking me so long to write this because I have to keep peeling myself off the ground#emmrich volkarin#emmrich#dragon age emmrich#emmrich smut#emmrich nsft#emmrook#emmrich x rook#emmrich romance#v writes#dragon age#dragon age the veilguard#datv#this is an emmrich thirst post#rook over here like: 🫡
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i’m so happy y’all like my writing ngl 🥺 for a long, long time i wanted to be an author and part of what made me okay w gaining this weight was knowing that even if i get too fat for many things. i won’t be too fat to write :3
but fr i wanted to write a horror/fantasy novel. paleontology and body horror. i still dream of this but im BUSY and writing is hard when u have to write academically constantly
#it’ll happen one day god bless#and just so y’all know. even tho i graduated and am taking a gap year#i am still deep in the throes of academia#aka preparing a manuscript for publication and this bitch is LONG#i will provide no details on that for safety#but jsyk if you wanna read more like what i posted last night#everything i’ve written + some asks are under the tag ‘writing’#talk
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I WANT ENDLESS BLISS!!!
HALF-AWAKE, HALF-DEAD, HALF-LIFE CRISIS
ALL NATURAL POMEGRANATE PULP.
FERMENTED TO PERFECTION, SAVOUR YOUR SAVIOR.
Q: What's your favourite food? A: THE ALE THEY SERVE AT THE TAVERN!
other versions : )
#uhhhh happy pride month have a fucked up chilchuck that im really proud of#i took so long on that hair rendering just so i could cover it up with the stars...#this was a reaaaally experimental one#if i had another go at this id change a lot of things but sometimes you gotta know when to stop#ive learned my lesson from this one so ill do another one with my knowledge now ykyk#ive discovered i reaaaallly reaaaaaally like thin lines#still figuring out how rendering + painting works but hey it was a nice attempt!!#this is my first finished peice in a looongggg loooooongggg time and it makes me really happy how well it came out#i guess switching things up really helped with things.. i usually get stuck at flat colors because i get so bored#cw alcohol#cw alcoholism#eyestrain#<- maybe? its really saturated#chilchuck#chilchuck tims#dungeon meshi#by the way i always thought him saying “ale” as an answer to “favourite food” was odd#maybe its a translation thing where theres a japanese wprd that covers both food and drink and the translator just estimated it to “food”?#cause if its not... sir??? chilchuck thats not a food... my man... you have a problem...#this is#[ tragedy au ]#but honestly you could take it as set in canon#by the way do you like my little poem : ) im pspspsps-ing at the dungeon meshi fandom/fandom in general to write more poetry/short lit#maybe ill tweek it and post the poem on ao3.... shrug !
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Safe (M, cold)
Well, here I am.
It's been a few months since I've written anything in the Elliot's universe, but recently someone asked for a Mark-centric story, and this behemoth is what ensued. Allow me to preface by saying this: Mark is basically my self-insert. This was a very hard story to write. If it sucks, my apologies, hah.
In this, Mark gets sick from Matt and wants to hide it from Elijah. It is significantly more hurt/comfort-slash-sickfic than snzfic, honestly. It starts fairly benign, fluffy, and silly and gets really intense a few pages in. There's a lot of musing, a lot of being inside Mark's head. Idk. I'm not sure if I love it or hate it. This is the first story I've written on here that has taken me a full week to get down, and that I've written and scrapped multiple scenes. It is very long. I really hope you enjoy it if you read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but also understand if it's just too long-winded for people to read. Also, there's a real chance of spelling/grammar errors because I just can't look at this monster of a fic any longer, ha.
Anyway. Onward.
CW: Male snz, illness, coughing, contagion. 6K words (almost exactly)
Safe
“Don’t go near them.”
It’s the first thing that hit his ears as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors; no ‘hi, Mark,’ no, ‘good morning’, just a barked order with absolutely zero context thrown in. Mark whipped his head in the direction of the stern voice of his boss.
“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, making his way towards the office, where Elijah was stationed, seated, but not doing any computer work. “Who and what are we avoiding?” he asked as he entered.
“The chefs,” Elijah said, moving his chair to let the younger manager in to sit. Mark placed his backpack on the ground, tossed his coat over top of Greyson’s on the second office chair. Waited for further explanation that did not come.
“Okay…” he said, sitting beside his boss. “And we’re not going near them because…?” Mark hadn’t even seen Greyson or Matt yet this morning. The avoiding was being done for him, so what was Elijah’s deal?
Elijah hummed a low disapproval – of what, Mark couldn’t guess – and turned towards his computer. “You’ll see,” he said, shaking his mouse and pulling up an order guide. “Just don’t breathe your boyfriend’s breath, okay?”
Mark colored at the implication; it had only been a couple of months since Matt and Mark had been outed to the restaurant, and the floor manager still wasn’t used to their relationship being casually dropped into conversation. While Elijah busied himself with admin work, Mark stood – time to figure out what the fuck Elijah was on about.
You would think that finding chefs in a kitchen would be a relatively banal business; they’re chefs. They’re cooking. Hardly a moving target – but you’d be wrong. Somehow, the second a front of house manager starts looking for a chef, they become a ghost. They haven’t existed for a thousand years – are you sure this restaurant even has a chef? Mark couldn’t help but ponder how the fuck this hundred-square-foot kitchen somehow became a labyrinthian nightmare the second he wanted to find his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boss; c’mon, he’d checked the walk-in, the back kitchen, even the dock to see if they were smoking, where the fuck were they?
Maybe Elijah had told the two of them to stay away from Mark and the front of house staff before the floor manager arrived, and they were playing a cat-and-mouse style keep-away game that Mark was unaware of. Or maybe they had gone to the store to pick up chicken or some shit. Either way, Mark was done looking. Elijah said don’t go near them, he thought to himself, heading back towards the front of the kitchen, easy enough.
Of course, it was the moment that Mark decided he was done looking that he quite literally bumped into his boyfriend coming through the kitchen doors.
“Oof,” Matt grunted as they collided. Greyson, not even a step behind him, turned their two-person bump into a three-car-pileup that nearly ended in hot coffee being spilled over all of them.
“Christ, Chef, watch where you’re going,” Matt muttered untangling himself from the middle of the pack.
“Mbe watch where I’mb going?” Greyson asked, wiping his coffee-covered hand on his chef’s pants. “The two of you are practically grinding on each other here and I ndeed to watch where I’mb going?”
Mark clocked it in the chef’s voice immediately – oh. That’s what Elijah meant.
But… he had said both of them… right?
Mark’s head shot up from checking to make sure he didn’t have coffee all over his button-down to look Matt directly in the face – ah. Fuck.
“Hh-! Hh’ITSHZH-ue! HRTSHH-ue!” Matt collapsed to the side to sneeze, seemingly in lieu of responding to Greyson’s dig. “Snf. Fuck off, Chef.” There it was.
“Bless you,” Mark said, attempting not to sound accusatory. Matt just nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
Before Mark could respond to the unnecessary apology, Elijah’s voice rang out once again from the office. “Mark, I told you to stay away from them!” The GM stood from his desk chair and strode into the kitchen, physically pushing Mark and Matt away from one another. “Six foot distance,” he said, pointing at both of them. “And you,” he said, addressing his counterpart, “didn’t I tell you to go get some tea and sit the fuck down? We have a big night tonight and I need you conscious, please.”
Greyson rolled his eyes and held up his cup. “I was on mby way to sit when the children starting gyrating on each other in the mbiddle of mby kithcen,” he said. “Don’t put this one on mbe.”
Elijah squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “First of all,” he said, moving towards Greyson and plucking the cup from his hand, “that isn’t tea.”
“The tea we buy is gross,” Greyson whined. “And I’mb ti – hh! Hh...hhuh-ETSHZH-ue! Snrf, fuck.” Greyson took a moment to collect himself, to wipe his nose on his sleeve and cough – a wet, concerning sound – before finishing his sentence. “I’mb tired,” he said, snatching the cup back.
“Which is why I told you to go sit down,” Elijah said, pressing his palms together and accentuating each word with his hands. “And please do not get my front of house manager sick. I beg, Greyson.”
“Talk to him,” Greyson said, thumbing towards Matt. “I’mb ndot the one with my tongue in Mark’s mbouth twenty-four-seven.”
Mark’s face flamed once again, but Matt, either too sick to care or beyond the embarrassment that was a public relationship in the work place, just rolled his eyes.
“Jealous, much?” Matt asked under his breath. Greyson shot daggers with a glance at his sous, and Mark decided it was probably time to step in.
“Listen, how about I go grab the two of you some medicine from down the street, you both take a rest, and then by the time the meds have kicked in, everyone should be good for service.” Mark looked to Elijah for his blessing; his boss was obviously mulling it over, considering. “And this way, I’ll be out of the metaphorical splash zone,” he finished, which finally prompted a nod from Elijah.
“Okay,” his boss said. “Good idea, Mark. You two – come with me.”
The GM led the two chefs back into the dining room to lay in the back booth while Mark let out a sigh. He was happy, of course, to be out of the fight, to have seemingly calmed everyone down, and to have put his boss’s mind at ease.
Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that – despite Elijah’s eased mind – it was already too late for keeping himself away from the newest restaurant pestilence.
***
“Elijah is going to kill me, Matt.”
“Oh, please, he is ndo – ITSZCHH-ue! ndot,” Matt said, swiping the bottle of Dayquil from Mark’s hand and chugging it. “You gonna sit?” he asked, sniffling and patting the milk crate beside him and shivering. Mark sighed.
“I’m not gonna sit, because Elijah is going to kill me even more if he sees me sitting right next to you.”
“I’mb gonna go out on a limb here and say that’s ndot possible,” Matt said, dissolving at the end of his sentence into a chesty cough.
“You’re coughing now, too?” Mark asked, worry about Elijah’s anger usurped very suddenly by concern for his boyfriend. Mark placed a hand to Matt’s head. “Oh, honey.”
“Sorry,” Matt said, not bothering to move Mark’s hand. Mark huffed out a little laugh.
“Don’t apologize for being sick. Please,” he said, moving his hand to cup Matt’s cheek. “Even if Elijah might kill us both.”
Matt smiled, pressed his face harder into Mark’s hand. “You might ndot get sick. You ndever know,” he muttered, eyes closing as Mark held his head up.
“Matt,” Mark laughed, “I mean… I don’t think that’s, uh, possible after last night.” Matt’s eyes blinked open at the mention of it, and a little smile flitted across his lips.
The apartment had been quiet.
“Matt?” Mark called as he stepped inside. “Babe, are you home?”
He strained his ears; the shower was on. Mark had an idea.
He tiptoed across the cold apartment floor, quietly stripping as he went; by the time he got to the bathroom door, he was nude as the day he was born. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so he pushed inside silently and pulled back the curtain.
A fact about Matt that shocked Mark more than anything was that the man did not get scared. He had yawned through their first haunted house together; he fell asleep during the Terrifier movies, for Christ’s sake. So Mark was unsurprised when, instead of screaming bloody murder the way he would’ve if Matt snuck up on his in the shower, his boyfriend simply turned away from the spray and smiled.
“You’re early,” he murmured, ushering Mark in.
“I came right from the gym,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “I wanted to see you.”
“Mmmm,” Matt hummed, pressing himself into Mark’s arms. “That’s nice, baby.”
They stood that way for a few minutes, until Mark tipped Matt’s chin up towards his face. “I wanted to see you,” he said, pressing his lips onto Matt’s neck, “but I also wanted to… do things. With you.”
Matt’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low. “Like what?”
Mark stood back to his full height, and pushed Matt against the shower wall. “Let me show you.”
“Fair enough,” Matt said now, lifting his head. “But, I mbean, are you feeling okay right ndow?”
He was, for the moment. But, Matt had seemed alright last night, and clearly he’d already been on the trajectory towards ill – despite that fact that he had been very good at hiding it. Whatever he and his boss had picked up was certainly quick to come on.
“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me,” Mark said, rummaging through the drug store bag to hand Matt, who’d fallen into another paroxysm of coughing, the Robitussin. “I’m more worried about you than anything.”
Matt snapped the top off and chugged this medicine as well, seemingly without any concern about mixing two medications. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I kndow Elijah is worried about getting through the weekend, but it’s ndot like any of us haven’t worked with a cold before.” He shrugged then, handed Mark the medicine, and stood. Mark stood as well, and once again cupped Matt’s hot face – this time with both hands.
“Please just take it a little bit easy tonight, okay?” Mark said. “I know Greyson is sick, too, but don’t try to do too much. We don’t need another moment like a few months ago.”
“And to think I’d just forgotten about that,” Matt said, going on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend. “I’ll be okay.” Mark kissed him back, a little longer than was maybe necessary; long enough that neither of them heard the back door open until it was too late.
“Mark, what the fuck are you doing?”
Oh, fuck.
Elijah.
***
By the end of the night, Greyson and Matt were shadows of their former selves.
“Hh-! Hhhuh… hhNGTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! ETSZCH-ue! Fuuuck mbe,” Greyson muttered as he wrenched into the sleeve of his hoodie – chef coats had been abandoned about an hour into service, when both he and Matt started shivering hard enough to fuck up the plating on more than half the dishes – for the millionth time that night. He attempted to clear his throat, prompting a flurry of congested coughs.
Behind him, Matt was sitting on the cold, industrial kitchen ground, head between his knees. “I’mb gonna pass out, I just kndow I am.”
“Don’t fuckigg pass out,” Greyson growled, pulling his sous to his feet. “You ndeed to get your blood mboving, you gotta stand up. Idiot.”
The two of them, bickering and sneezing in near-unison by the pass, had captivated the attention of both front of house managers, who had turned away from their computer work to watch the mess unfold.
“Hope you like what you see,” Elijah said, finally. “Because that’s gonna be you tomorrow.”
Behind his boss’s back, Mark rolled his eyes. “Boss, I’m fine. I don’t feel sick at all, trust me, I’m going to be okay.” It was mostly true; he’d sneezed a few more times today than was normal for him, yes. And he was a little tired – no more than usual, surely. The rawness in the back of his throat was easily ignored with huge gulps of water. He was fine.
“Mmm,” Elijah said, swinging his chair around to look the younger man in the eye, “sure. Whatever you say, Mark; just remember, if you look even close to how bad Matt does tonight, you’re off the floor. And I mean off the floor until you return to normal. A cold is one thing; whatever these two have is entirely another. Understood?”
Mark swallowed around his burgeoning sore throat; off the floor. Off the floor didn’t mean relegated to busywork behind the scenes; it meant sent home. Being sent home meant days without a backup manager to help Elijah on the floor, and no one to help on the floor meant Elijah would realize there was a gap in their team. A gap in management. Mark had been the only floor manager in all the years Elliot’s had been open; Elijah had mentioned a few times that maybe they should hire another person, someone to cover if both Mark and Elijah couldn’t come in, but Mark had been vehemently against it. Elijah couldn’t hire another manager, because if he did, he’d see how truly unqualified Mark had been for his position all this time. Once he saw how unqualified he was, he’d be out on his ass. No job, no money… no second family. No place he truly belonged.
Mark’s face flushed, and he cast his eyes towards the floor. “Yes, boss,” he said. “I understand.”
“Good,” Elijah said, nodding. “Now, go collect your boyfriend and take him to bed.”
***
The first time Mark was sick while working at Elliot’s was well over a year into his tenure.
Elijah had regarded Mark with concern, clocking him as unwell the second he sat in the office. “You don’t look well,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”
Mark’s face had flushed, embarrassed; not getting sick for over a year working front of house was honestly a feat of accomplishment in the restaurant industry, but he still felt guilty for coming down with something, despite its inevitability. He shrugged, an attempt at playing it cool.
“I’mb okay, boss,” Mark croaked. “Just a cold.”
Elijah nodded slowly. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You feel okay to work?”
Mark raised an eyebrow, confused. Did he look that unwell? “I mbean… yeah?” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”
“Well,” Elijah said, opening a drawer and pulling out cold medicine, along with a small bag that looked like it could’ve come from his mother’s medicine cabinet. “A cold, we can work with.”
The GM explained to him, then, that there were marked differences between the front of house cold, and the back of house cold. “You’ve seen Greyson sick at work a dozen times,” Elijah said, passing Mark a cup full of pills and a water bottle. “Right?”
“Sure,” Mark said, swallowing the pills around a painfully sore throat. “It’s ndot like he’s hiding it.”
“Right. Right,” Elijah said, popping open a stick that looked like – was that concealer? “The chefs, the cooks – they don’t have to hide anything. Us, though? No one wants to be served soup by someone with a stuffy nose. We all get the same shit, but only they’re allowed to look like shit.” He dabbed the concealer under Mark’s eyes, used an expert finger to blend it into his skin. “That’s the industry for you.”
“Are you… putting makeup on mbe?” Mark asked, laughing a bit.
“Sure am,” Elijah said. “A little concealer goes a long way in this profession, Mark. Concealer, and enough meds to tranquilize an elephant.” His boss closed the little concealer pen, put the medicine and makeup away. “I want you on the floor, but I want you to look… alive.” Elijah shut the drawer, shrugged. “Let me know if you start feeling really shitty. Otherwise? Come to the back to blow your nose, and feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in here.”
Mark blinked, a little confused, but grateful for the advice. Elijah seemed… almost fatherly, like this, and he could feel embarrassing tears welling in his eyes at this, the smallest gesture of being cared for. Mark looked down, cleared his throat. “Uh… okay, boss. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said, patting Mark’s knee. “We’ve gotta take care of each other in this hell hole of an industry, y’know?”
Mark couldn’t look up. The thought of his boss seeing him cry was entirely too much for him to handle. “Right,” he whispered. “Right.”
***
The hardest part of hiding an illness, Mark knew from experience, was speaking.
Putting on makeup and looking like a human instead of a corpse? Easy. He’d learned how to apply concealer so it didn’t look like he was in drag – just enough that in the dim lighting of the restaurant you couldn’t tell if those were dark circles or shadows. He’d learned if you added a tiny bit of blush to your cheeks, no one noticed that your nose was also red, and he’d figured out the hard way that there was never a world in which he needed eyeliner, even if it made his eyes look less bloodshot.
He always dressed immaculately when he wasn’t feeling well; extra-crisp button down, sport coat, his expensive Ray Ban glasses, not the cheapos from Zenni he usually donned. Mark shined his shoes the second he felt a tickle in his throat, broke out the cuff links if he suddenly sneezed more than thrice in a row. He’d been trained well by Elijah to hide the visual cues of any oncoming malady.
Hiding how he really felt came even more naturally; he’d been practicing that since childhood. Complaining wasn’t in his nature, or had maybe been stamped out entirely at some point – either way, Mark could be actively passing out, unable to breathe, coughing so hard he couldn’t form a sentence, and he wouldn’t even mention it. Of course, he’d been sent home from work for being ill before, but never once had he chosen to go. Even the thought of saying ‘I’m sick’ made him dizzy with unease. You need to work through that in therapy, Matt had said to him multiple times, and he knew it was true, but it was also helpful. In this industry, admitting defeat was akin to admitting you sucked at your job.
The voice, though? That was always what gave him away. No matter how much medicine he took, he could always hear the rasp that overtook his voice immediately. His m’s and n’s turned to rounded shadows of their former selves even if he blew his nose every five minutes. His timbre lowered considerably, to the point that when Matt first saw him sick he asked how it felt to be able to do a perfect Johnny Cash, but only when he felt like shit. It was a problem, but Mark was a pretty quiet guy in general. If he was quieter than usual, usually no one was the wiser.
That’s what he hoped – that his boss would be none the wiser – as he dressed in his perfectly-tailored suit that morning, stifling sneeze after painful sneeze into handfuls of tissue all the while. Just don’t talk, he thought as he dotted Maybeline under his eyes. No one has to know.
Of course, not talking was a bit… difficult when his boss was around. “Good morning,” Elijah called to Mark as he buzzed through the kitchen, trying to make his way into the dining room without having to make small talk. Dammit. Mark stopped, begrudgingly, and nodded at his boss, who raised both eyebrows at the younger manager’s outfit choice. “Is there an event tonight I’ve forgotten?”
Mark shook his head, straightened his tie. “Just felt like dressing up,” he said, tactfully avoiding words with too many nasal letters. “How’re you, boss?”
“I’m well,” Elijah said, pointedly. He patted the empty chair next to him, prompting Mark to sit; don’t let him get a good look at you, a voice in Mark’s head chastised. Don’t get taken off the floor. “Greyson’s not coming in till three, if you want to do your preshift report in here today.”
“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I like the dining roomb.” Fuck.
Elijah cocked his head to the side, but didn’t mention Mark’s voice. “How’s Matt feeling?” he asked, another pointed question.
“He’s okay – a little better. Said he’d be here at four.” Mark patted himself on the back for maneuvering around any pesky m’s or n’s that time. Elijah nodded slowly.
“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said, standing. The younger manager was several inches taller than his boss, but Elijah was still able to look him fairly closely in the eye. Once again, one word rattled around in Mark’s head: fuck. “How are you feeling?”
Mark allowed a smile to form on his rapidly-chapping lips. “Good, boss. Ready to work,” he said simply. God, he needed to clear his throat. And more than that, he really, really needed to blow his nose.
Elijah nodded. “Alright,” he said, apparently placated. “Go ahead, then.”
“Thanks, boss,” Mark said, stepping out of the office doorway and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors before Elijah could say anything else. He’d made it through the first test, somehow. Just in time, too, he thought, making a beeline towards the bathroom. Because I really fucking need to -
“NTSHH!” Mark stifled a near-silent sneeze into his wrist as he yanked open the guest bathroom door. Finally, locked in the bathroom alone, he allowed himself to be as disgusting, as sick as he really was.
“Hhuh -! Hh- ETZSCH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Huh… hh’RRSHH-ue!” Mark collapsed in on himself, scrambling to collect a handful of tissues so he wouldn’t ruin the sleeve of his suit. He blew his nose as thoroughly as he could – not that it made any difference, he was still stuffed up to the gills. A pathetic little cough escaped his lungs, prompting another tickle in his sinuses. “HUHTTSCHH-ue!”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chastised himself, blowing his nose again. He’s going to fucking hear you.
He waited a moment or two to see if Elijah would push through the door – he didn’t – before sitting fully clothed on the toilet and pulling out his phone.
11:56AM
Mark
what is this, the fucking plague?
Almost immediately, Matt texted back.
11:57AM Matt
o shit, did we get you already? baby im so sorry. u shouldve told me u weren’t feeling good last night u couldve stayed over
11:57AM Mark
not your fault. and I’m ok, just trying to avoid Elijah, he’s gonna be so pissed.
11:59AM
Matt
omfg he’ll get over it. its not like someone in that restaurant isnt sick every other week
Mark sighed, his lungs crackling at the effort. Matt was right; someone was almost always sick at Elliot’s, that was the way of things in this industry. They all shared drinks, they worked in close quarters, it was bound to happen. This was less about the illness itself – of course he’d been sick at work before, who hadn’t? - and more about the look he knew he’d see on Elijah’s face when he’d finally have to crack. He’d gone directly against his boss’s orders, had put his job and the restaurant second to his baser desires. That’s no way to get ahead in this world, his dad’s voice bellowed from the base of his brain. Mark shuddered; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Elijah’s look of pure disappointment. He wasn’t sure he had it in him.
Slipping his phone into his pocket, Mark stood and washed his hands. He took an inventory of his face in the mirror – eye bags poorly covered by drugstore makeup, his nose raw and red, his mouth slightly open to allow him to breathe – and realized how truly awful he looked. Was there even a chance that Elijah didn’t know he was sick? Doubtful, his dad’s voice muttered.
You have to just try, another voice in his head pleaded. Just push through, you know how to push through. You’ve done it a million times before. He doesn’t have to know.
That voice, Mark knew, was delusional – a child’s gnawing plea to be accepted, to not get in trouble, to not be thought of as a burden – but he knew that sometimes you had to be delusional, had to listen to the saddest, smallest part of yourself to get through a day. He pulled his phone back out before leaving the bathroom.
12:04PM
Mark
just please don’t say anything to Elijah when you get here, ok? I’m fine, I promise. its honestly probably just in my head, it’s probably nothing so just don’t say anything. see u soon.
Pathetic, his dad’s voice spat, and Mark knew the voice was right. But that was nothing new, nothing to dwell on; he’d always been pathetic. Mark switched off his phone then, not wanting to be comforted by his boyfriend, and stepped onto the floor.
***
“Mark,” Matt said, reaching up to touch the front of house manager’s forehead, “you really need to go.”
Mark pulled away before Matt could touch him, though not by choice. “HRRSHH-uhh! Hh-! HhNTZSHH-ue! Snrrf. Leave mbe alone.”
Matt’s hand recoiled at the ice in his boyfriend’s voice, obviously hurt. Normally, Mark would’ve nearly fallen to his knees at the thought of hurting Matt’s feelings, but today, with the cold from hell progressing quicker than he ever could’ve anticipated, he couldn’t even find it in himself to apologize. Obviously he needed to go, but that would mean admitting to illness; it would mean begin taken off the floor until god-knows-when. It would mean Elijah replacing him.
No. He wasn’t about to go.
“Honey,” Matt said carefully, touching Mark’s hand across the expo board, “I’mb sure Elijah would understand. It’s a slow ndight, he already sent Greyson back home. What are you trying to prove?”
Of course, Matt was right; last night’s crazy shift was in stark contrast to this evening’s steady pace. There were hardly twenty more covers for the evening, and yes, even Greyson had admitted defeat and slunk out right at six p.m., in a fevered haze. The only reason Matt was still here was because his fever had broken this morning and, despite the lingering cough and stuffy nose, he was clearly feeling better. Good enough, even, to have gone behind Mark’s back and talked to Elijah.
“Matt told me,” Elijah had cornered him right before preshift started, in the back server station while everyone else ate family meal. Mark felt his stomach sink. Fucking Matt, he thought, clearing his throat to address his boss in the most normal voice he could muster.
“Told you what?” he asked, straightening his tie. Elijah gave the younger manager a knowing look.
“You don’t look like you feel well, Mark,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. This time, Mark’s stomach knotted; he felt, for a moment, like a little kid, wanting to fall to the ground in front of his mommy and just allow himself to be comforted. He thought for a fleeting moment of how good it would feel to just admit it; I’m sick, he would say, if he were a normal fucking person, I want to go to bed.
Instead, Mark shook his head. “I don’t kndow what Matt told you, but he doesn’t kndow what he talking about,” he managed, his voice cutting out only once. “I’mb fine.”
Elijah sighed. “Mark, listen, I know I was an asshole yesterday -”
“Boss,” Mark cut Elijah off. “Please. I’mb okay. Just please, let mbe work.”
He’d walked away then, hadn’t let Elijah say whatever it was he wanted to say, and had avoided Matt as well as he could throughout service. Now, mid-shift, when all the cooks and servers were side-eyeing them from he expo board, was not the time to hash this out.
“I’mb ndot trying to prove anything, Matt,” Mark said now, grabbing two plates from the window. “Just stay out of mby business. What table?”
Matt bit his cheek, peaked at the chit. “Please don’t be mbad,” he said, voice quiet. Mark prickled; he couldn’t help it. He was mad. He’d asked one stupid thing of Matt, and now here he was, career in trouble, embarrassed in front of both of their staffs, and once again gearing up for another painful -
“HTTSHH-ue! God, fugck,” Mark swore, ducking expertly away from the plates he was holding. He sucked in through his nose hard enough to make himself dizzy, and looked back at Matt. “What table, Chef?” he asked, pointedly. Matt winced.
“Thirty-three,” he said finally. Mark nodded.
“Great. Thangks.” He turned on his heels and pushed out the kitchen doors.
***
Before it happened, Mark found himself thinking exactly what his boyfriend was moaning the night previous: I’m gonna pass out, I know I am.
The only difference was, Mark was correct.
He’d been feeling shittier and shittier as the night went on. It began with spells of dizziness that came anytime he moved his head too fast, then moved on to an ache in his chest every time he coughed. A cold is one thing, he remembered Elijah saying the night previous. Whatever they have is entirely something else.
Elijah the prophet.
He kept pushing through. Plate after plate came out of the kitchen on his aching arms; he shook drinks while coughing into his shoulder, and sniffled his way through seating guests. Mark could feel Elijah’s eyes on him, though his boss refused to speak to him throughout the shift. I’ll show him, his fever-addled mind kept saying. I can do this. I’m fine.
It wasn’t until the last table had sat that his body well and truly told him he’d had enough. Mark was seeing stars when he grabbed a filet and swordfish, and once again he ignored it. He ignored the room swimming before him as he pushed out of the kitchen. He ignored the sway in his step.
“Shit, Mark!” was the last thing he heard, standing in the middle of the dining room with hot plates in each of his hands. There was no way to tell who said it – Elijah? Matt? – but it didn’t really matter, because before he could respond, his vision became a tiny pinkprick, his knees buckled, and the lights went out.
***
When the world came back into focus, he had somehow teleported into his bed.
At first, Mark tried desperately to get up; he’d fallen in the middle of the restaurant, that he unfortunately remembered immediately. There had been people around, guests watching, and he immediately felt his face flame with embarrassment. Oh, Elijah is going to kill me.
That was when he realized he was no longer in the restaurant. Mark placed a hand over an aching eye; was it all a dream? He looked down – no, it couldn’t be. He was still in his tailored suit, the tie and ciff links missing, but otherwise dressed to the nines.
“Whoa there, kid,” a familiar voice came from the doorway. “Go ahead and lie back down.”
Mark blearily glanced towards the voice. There, just outside his bedroom, stood Elijah, a steaming cup in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Fuck.
“Shit, Elijah, I’mb so sorry I ca – HTSHH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe,” Mark, any facade of health finally washed away, used his expensive suit jacket to wipe his nose. Elijah glided across the small room and sat on the foot of the bed, handing the younger man the cup. Tea.
“Save your breath,” Elijah said. “You already apologized about a hundred times at the restaurant.”
He had? Mark gave Elijah a confused look, and sat back on the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come to at the restaurant at all.
“Mmhmm,” Elijah said, nodding. “To me. To Matt. To the guests. To the EMTs. I would think you’d be apologized out.”
EMTs? Mark cringed; as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. He wanted to ask, but at the same time he figured it was probably better that he didn’t remember. Small mercies, he thought.
“Lij,” Mark croaked, taking a sip of the tea, “I really amb… sorry. I mbean, I can’t imagine how mbuch I embarrassed you. Thangk you for bringing mbe home… I understand if you can’t…let mbe, uh. Work there. Anymore.”
Mark, destroyed by fever, and aches, and what was probably some sort of bronchitis-sinus-infection super-fucking-hybrid, couldn’t help but let the angry, ashamed tears fall as he said it. Matt wasn’t here, which most likely meant he was out both a boyfriend and a job. You fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot, how dumb could you -
Elijah broke through the screaming in his head – he took Mark’s arms in his hands, placed his cup on the side table, and pulled him in for a hug. “Mark,” his boss said, “you really had us worried.” He pulled the younger manager back, concern painted on his face. “Of course you aren’t fired, I don’t know why you’d think that of me,” he said, a moment so raw that Mark felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You should’ve just told me you were so sick. So you could go and rest. I would’ve even let Matt go with you.” Elijah patted his knee then, and handed Mark back the mug. “It’s just a restaurant, Mark. You’re more important than service.”
Mark felt his eyes well up once again. Had anyone ever told him he was worth more than the work he did? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure, and that felt like an even harder gut-punch.
“I just…” he managed, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just didn’t wandt you to replace mbe. I’mb sorry for letting Mbatt get mbe sick.”
At this, Elijah actually laughed. “Mark,” he said, “you’re young. You’re in love; it comes with the territory. I was annoyed because Greyson and Matt are constantly getting everyone in that restaurant sick. I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He smiled then, a small and slightly sad smile. “I’m sorry if that’s how to came off.”
Mark didn’t know what to say; he felt awful, like he’d been hit by a semi, and he just wanted to sleep. See Matt. Apologize for being a dick. And sleep.
“Is Mbatt mad at mbe?” he croaked, pulling his legs into his chest. This time, Elijah actually laughed.
“I don’t think Matt knows how to be mad at you,” he said. “He’s just closing up the line; he was actually the one who brought you back here, but you were racked out so I said I’d come keep an eye on you till he got back.” Elijah shrugged, gave a little knowing smile. “He’ll be back soon. Okay? We don’t have to talk any more about this now. Just… try to sleep.” He patted Mark’s shoulder; a fatherly gesture from a man who claimed to know nothing about being a parent. “I’ll call Matt.”
Finally, finally, Mark conceded. He wanted to thank Elijah, or maybe apologize again, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words. Instead, he just nodded, grateful, and sank back into his pillow. He felt his eyes close, and allowed himself, for once, to let someone else take care of him.
He knew, maybe for the first time in his life, that he was safe.
#whiskeyswriting#snz#sickfic#snzfic#snzblr#coldfic#male cold#male snz#whump#whump writing#hurt/comfort#this is such a long fic and does it even make sense??? idk#the beginning and the end are so drastically different it feels insane to even post#but whatever. i've spent like thirty hours on it at this point so it's getting posted#i need to write something fun and silly after this hahaha#if you take the time to read this you're a saint
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PSYCHOANALYSIS ON CHARACTER PASTS IN WRECK IT RALPH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!
ok... so you know how some characters were never given a backstory to play off of? (like Turbo for example)
i dont know for certain the psychological impact that not having a past could have on video game characters (or if they would even care), but what i do know is that it is objectively damaging to not have anything that came beforehand to work with.
imagine being tossed into a world, have whatever code implanted into your brain tell you specifically what you need to do, not have any choice in the matter, and then be forced to go from there. whether or not the individual believes they need a past is irrelevant; they lack one, regardless.
the psychological differences between video game characters with a past and those without come into question... are those who have a solidified memory of who they were before more or less susceptible to growth over time? or are they both intrinsically equal? maybe it depends on who it is, what game theyre from. some could thrive off of the idea of not being latched onto a past that was chosen for them, while others could long for at least some semblance of an in-between.
all things considered, it would be significantly more difficult to have a broad understanding of emotions when you aren't granted access to the same grace that those with a "before" may have. without any memories, you'd have to rely on your external surroundings to achieve any kind of development; a noticeable contrast to those who already have at least some internal understanding of themselves that came with their programming.
characters who begin their life with a clean slate may be bound to being more actively involved with the world around them because it's how they have to learn. if they don't, they're going to get stuck in the same mindset for an indiscernible amount of time until some kind of external force pulls them out of it. they don't have knowledge of their initial life; all they have is the current moment.
a big factor that correlates with all of this is the psychology of nature vs nurture. in short, "nature" is the deterministic aspect of genetics (or in this case, code) influencing who one may be, while "nurture" is how one's development is influenced by the role that one's surroundings might play. in humans, we experience both of these; they go hand-in-hand. in the WiR universe, however, it's not always guaranteed that a character will have a chance at having both at once.
those with a past get both nature and nurture, bundled into one package. however, those without are only presented with nurture, tossed into a world and expected to move on from there (maybe with a faint sprinkle of nature, but not anything that goes beyond an implication of what their life was like before spawning in). they have limited options compared to the ones who don't have to start off on a blank slate.
something else to keep in mind is how without the presence of a past, there will be far more variations between the same character across different locations. without any code telling them who they used to be, they will learn about who they are through their environment and go from there. of course, no single character will be the exact same, but code largely determines the mindset of a character and how they process the world around them.
in Turbo's case, i personally think it wouldn't matter a whole lot to him because of its irrelevance to his main concerns, but it undeniably had a strong hold over his behavioral development as an individual; he is very immature. he had no foundation to start off with... well, other than the message that was branded into his mind, dictating every decision that he has ever made: he has to win.
he acted like a child when he first came around because, in a sense, he was one (not literally HAHA, i think of him as in his late 30s). his game was plugged in for about five years before he had the biggest tantrum of his life, and keeping in mind how game characters are technically immortal until the moment they're unplugged (unless they die in another game before then), this really wasn't that much time in the grand scheme of things. it was hardly anything at all.
without a healthy outlet to process his feelings, coupled with an unnerving lack of life experience beforehand, of course he'd lash out a lot! of course he'd be overwhelmed by his own emotions to the point of not knowing what to do with himself!
that doesn't excuse his behavior at all, as he did have opportunities to change for the better or learn from his mistakes, but he chose not to. he was too stubborn for his own good.
maybe part of the reason he's so hellbent on being the best is not only because it's lodged into his code to feel that way, but also because it would feel like betraying what little personality he was coded with to go against it. yes, he's never been too keen on the idea of having anything or anyone tell him what to do, but consider this: he's clinging to his own identity, protecting what small fragments he was given and holding onto them for dear life. he doesnt have a past; he has goals, and losing said goals would be losing himself and the footing he has on his own identity. he's defined by succeeding, and he refuses to let this go. this is more headcanon-territory but it is fun to explore concepts like these!!! bro is internally empty.......
Felix has a past, yes, but it's vague and uncertain. he had a father, but does he even know what the man looked like? who he was beyond a name and an heirloom?
notice how it took thirty years for the handyman to shift his perspective on who Ralph was as a person. this could likely both be a product of the nicelanders and himself all being programmed with the belief that "Ralph is a bad guy," thus internalizing it, combined with the external influence and pressure Felix upheld being the good guy. (EDIT (LOL!!!!!): i know felix doesnt hate ralph but constantly being surrounded by everyones fear of him would have at least made him cautious about interacting with him)
his younger years have no hold on how he makes decisions, especially considering how absent said years are. his code only hints at the idea of a father, alongside the foundational belief that he is good.
his lack of a clear upbringing contributed even more to his sheltered persona, oblivious to the hardships that everyone else might face. combine this with how every NPC he surrounded himself with never dared to criticize him, he was prone to experience stunted empathetic development. he was never a bad guy by any means, but his lack of exposure to difficult situations did not fare well for his psyche.
that isn't to say he hadn't ever been in any difficult situations before. the roadblasters incident absolutely shook him to his core and likely cut deep into him, as he hadn't ever experienced anything similar to it before. without a fleshed-out past, he didn't have a bright idea of what hardships might linger just beneath the surface.
to his credit, he has changed for the better, now having more awareness of how others feel and function outside of himself. he makes sure to treat everyone with equal amounts of dignity, regardless of any preconceived notions he might have. :-]
when it comes to Calhoun, her experiences shape her significantly, directly being the cause of her hypervigilant and instinctual nature. it can't be ignored that she suffers from PTSD due to how her character's life was mapped. this demonstrates that having knowledge of who one was before isn't always necessarily a wholly good thing. not to say that her condition makes her broken in any way! it just brings difficulty into her life that wouldn't have been present otherwise.
there is some goodness that can be brought to the surface from this; just as it isn't completely good, it isn't completely bad, either. on the opposite end of the coin, she knows how to keep herself and others safe. if it weren't for her predetermined past, she'd potentially face more struggles on the battlefield.
not only that, but it helps us, as the audience, empathize with her character, along with Felix. we learn that she isn't simply intense and nothing beyond that; she's just been through a lot. on top of all of this, she is very emotionally mature and understands how to push through horrific situations, especially when necessary. it is her job to do so, after all!
Calhoun's heavy experiences may be part of her character's mold, but they do not define who she is. a past only steers a character in an approximate direction; it does not 100% determine how they grow from there. we directly see evidence of this when she moves forward and marries Felix :-]
and then there's Vanellope :-] she did have a past, but it was ripped away from her. how does she cope with this? by defining herself and becoming her own person, unrestricted by her code. she didn't start off as a princess, she started off as Vanellope.
even when she had the chance to reclaim her status as princess, she didn't, instead choosing to stick with the version of herself that she passionately created. there's a great chance that she wouldn't be the silly little booger we all know and love if it weren't for her time to think about who she was and who she wanted to be; the omission of her past was a significant contributor in how she now presents herself, unconfined to how she is apparently "supposed" to be. she has more room to choose for herself.
she doesn't let anyone else tell her who she is, holding her handcrafted identity with pride. her eccentricity is nowhere near a flaw, making itself known as a strength. her perspective of the world is unique to her and allows her to emotionally connect on a deep level with Ralph.
one doesn't need to be tied to a past to be a person. it doesnt put any more or less weight on anyone's worth, and we see this as clear as day with her character! starting off with nothing, she grew into her own skin and found her sense of self all by herself without the guidance of anyone else. i am so proud of her. i love my baby ok
above all else, having a past isn't a surefire way to predict how one may develop; it is only an aspect of who someone is. an important aspect, yes, but there are many other things to consider in the sea of personalities and experiences...
the biggest difference between having one and lacking one is ultimately how an individual character might go about how they change over time and how long said progression might take. the past is only a starting point; a pre-written map without a marked destination created in order to provide a basic concept of who exactly one was earlier on. being left without one leaves some with a need for more effort to figure life out, and this distinction will affect everyone in many different ways. at the end of the day, though, a map is just a map. the road itself is what matters most 👍
#long post#wreck it ralph#i was going to write a little thinkpiece on ralph as well but i feel like his past (or lack thereof) is irrelevant to who he is#he seems to be more focused on the current moment or his future#i could be wrong!!!#i write these for fun not for grades#dont worry ralp we still love you <3 wreck yeah (heck yeah but wreck it ralph version)#i also dont want to write too much and burn myself out but im not good at that#character analysis#psychoanalysis#analysis#WHO SHOULD GO IN THE SOUP FIRST:#calhoun wir#sergeant calhoun#felix wir#fix it felix#vanellope von schweets#vanellope wir#turbo#turbo wir#turbo wreck it ralph#choose wisely..take your pick..#👶AAAUUGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!#psychology#or saomething#i dont knoe#i like writng essays a little bit i dont know maybe just a little bit#i love semicolons but i worry i use them too much; i also dont care FUCK;YOU HEHEHHHEHEHE!!!!!!!!!!! RUNS AWAY; MY FEET SLA;P ON THE GROUND#i struggle with past tense and present tense so if this looks weird i am working on it
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t, gen, humor, 4.9k, 1/1
“It’s fine, Jason,” Dick says. “Chill out. I’m a grown adult, it’s not like Slade’s bothering a teenager anymore. It’s enrichment for me. I get a little shot of adrenaline and a bug treasure hunt. Sometimes he even makes me coffee.” “And you drink it?” “Well, yeah. It’s my fucking coffee, I’m not going to waste it.” “I’m going to kill him,” Jason decides aloud. “Next time I see that man, I’m gonna kill him.” “No, Jason, do not,” Dick says in the same tone Jason uses to tell his dog not to chew on his boots.
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#dc comics#jason todd#dick grayson#bruce wayne#batfam#god this is possibly my fastest turnaround time on a fic ever. hi guys im still alive i just dont have wifi to post 99.9% of the time#i got medicated and its working SO WELL. everyone go take wellbutrin so you can write more fanfiction#ive been writing a very long and emotionally intensive fic for the last. months. and sometimes apparently i need to take a break#and fart out something like this. which is so silly. enjoy#my writing
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