#its somewhere around a full year since this has been operational

[thoughts-of-the-unheard]

totally off topic but the us military is allowed and able to pull every single file on you that they can and if there is even an inkling of mental illness, you are barred from serving unless you choose to undergo a tiresome series of steps for them to bypass it

this is called genesis and has been decimating us military recruitment

#i find it kinda funny #us military #genesis #its somewhere around a full year since this has been operational #they are down thousands of recruits because of this

[bcitisthelight]

hey remember when we were discussing how weird the whole cliegg thing is in AOTC. and you had thoughts, feelings and emotions. tell me about those XOXO

(Big TW for this post - I discuss human trafficking, sex trafficking, rape, child abuse, slavery, and PTSD in this post. It's about the realities of slavery and Tatooine and how it involves the Skywalkers.) Something that I almost never see in any discussion on the Lars family is how sharply the fanon headcanons and characterizations of diverge from the ones we get in the moves. Like, particularly Cliegg and the prequel trilogy. Like - I feel like there's this automatic assumption that the Lars loved Shmi and that they cared for Luke out of dedication to her and her family, and it's this huge found family vibe but like can I be real. Can I be super real right now. It’s something that I find kind of baffling, because when I watched Attack of the Clones, and on every rewatch since (and there have been many), it always seems kind of obvious to me that Cliegg bought Shmi as a slave, presumably as a house slave, if not outright as a part of sex trafficking. And I don't mean in one of those "He bought her to free her, he's a good guy, etc etc". I mean, he bought her as a slave with the original intention of keeping her as a slave. And what's really interesting, is you can get pretty much all the clues about that from the exchanges between Anakin has with Watto, his and Shmi's former master.

Again, I want to stress that, because I think it's crucial that we see this for what it is - not an exchange between a former employee and his boss, not an exchange between a kid and a member of his former community. His former slavemaster. The man who won him and his mother in a gambling game like so many fancy necklaces. The source and object of Anakin's childhood enslavement. Watto would have beaten them. He made Anakin, a child of 9 - and I read somewhere once that Anakin started in the races at 6 - ride in a pod race that no human has ever won before, with the full expectation that he would die. This is a being whose entire life has revolved around the certainty that society is not only capable of functioning, but functions best, when sentient beings can be bought and sold like property. And, to be real with you, because this is a thing that happens to people who suffer enslavement, he very likely loaned them out temporarily for sex trafficking purposes for a quick buck - a practice that is noted historically in virtually every society that operated on a system involving slaves.

It's important to recap that, because I do think it's impossible to understand how deeply horrifying the conversation they have is without that context. Like, let's look at how he tells Anakin about Shmi -

This scene is....so telling to me. From the outset, Watto said he sold her as a slave. Like, it was a slave exchange. Watto heard about her freedom later - clearly, Cliegg bought her, and behaved in a way - intentional or not - that Watto believed he was buying her as a slave to own as a slave. That part is not subtext, that's just actual text.

"But Mikhayla" some will say "he freed her the second he bought her - he bought her in order to free her." Except....there is genuinely nothing in the movies, and off the top of my head, the wider narrative, that ever indicates that that's true. In fact it makes no sense in that case, for Watto to have not known that Cliegg was buying her in order to free her. Why would he have to hide that? Watto presumably doesnt care what happens to her, because he's selling her. In the larger materials, its said that his shop fell on hard times, and in the movies, we can see the proof. The script says he's sitting outside his shop, but at that point it resembles more of a kind of beaten down stand. He's still selling junk, but less and of poorer quality - presumably, he's spent all his money on gambling debts. And the thing is, slaves are expensive. He sold her years prior, and I bet he fed himself on that money for a very long time - he was a very motivated seller, as barbaric as that language is to use about a transaction involving a human person. He's not going to be fussy over why the person buying her wants to buy her. There's also the fact that this is a society that vastly runs on slavery, and large plantation owners would often "rent" out slaves to smaller but still profitable farms. And Cliegg is a moisture farmer with presumably a large tract of land for water vaporizers. If anything, I can see Watto having rented Shmi to her, Cliegg taking a liking to her, and then approaching Watto to buy her. I mean, if he's profitable enough to just buy a slave, then he clearly had at least some money. "He spent his whole savings!" Show me that in the text. "He loved her from the start!" Show me that in the text. "But Mikhayla," yet others will say, "he did free her! And then married her! He clearly meant from the start to free her, and only bought her to get her away from Watto. He could have never seen her as property. Who would marry their slave?" Except, in the real world, this is...another thing we see across multiple historical records, masters buying women as slaves and then later freeing them in order to legally marry them. PARTICULARLY in societies that operate so heavily on an entire caste system involving slaves - we can look to the Roman Empire, for example. Countless Roman officials, merchants, and military officials bought women, fell in love with them, and freed them in order to marry them. "But maybe she said yes!" (I know these are not your objections, but as you know, I'm an attorney, which means I constantly have to find an argument to fight against). So, to this imaginary detractor I say: I feel like it should be rather obvious, but I'll say it just in case - it is impossible for a slave to consent to any action they perform at the request of a slave master. It cannot happen. A woman who is enslaved cannot consent to marrying the man who bought her, and who has very likely been raping her up until this point, and wants to now marry her - usually, to make any children he had by her legally his children, and therefore citizens, rather than slaves themselves.

So really, whether or not Cliegg had a change of heart doesn't actually change my mind about his actions towards Shmi. I don't care if Cliegg DID love her - in fact, I'm sure he DID love her. People can and have convinced themselves of all kinds of moral superiority, people can claim to love someone while owning them as property! Shmi could never consent to marrying a man who held her as a slave. Even if he freed her, and she willing chose to stay there for a few years, and then he asked her to marry him. In my head, you can't overcome that power imbalance. Cliegg will never not be a man who once believed Shmi was a thing to be owned. He will never be a man who didn't see her as property. Like, at some point, it actually becomes kind of more and more unlikely that this is a guy who took up this transaction for non-malicious purposes. Because we simply do not see it in the movie. What I see in the movie is a slave owner saying he fell on hard times and sold his slave to a farmer who probably needed help on his land or in his house - he has no wife, so the latter is probably more likely. I see him saying that at the time of the transaction, he had no idea that Cliegg intended to free her. And for all that Cliegg calls Shmi his darling, his love, his wife - not once do we ever hear of any evidence that Shmi saw this as a love match. In fact, the only thing we find out about her daily life with the Lars family is that in the mornings, she wakes up early and goes to pick mushrooms. You know. A task for the house. An unpleasant task, done before everyone else is awake, that she does absolutely alone. I'm just saying. These implications are not good ones. I will say though, for all this, do you know what really sells me on the idea that the relationship between Shmi and Cliegg is is not a consensual one, is Anakin's reaction to it. This is a boy whose entire hopes and dreams have revolved around his mother's freedom. You have more excellent writing than me on this, but the moral injury Anakin suffers leaving his mother behind is. Intense. All he wants is to one day free her. In a way, a part of him is always that tiny boy who couldn't bear the idea of leaving behind his mom, who swore, the last time he saw her, that he would free her. And at this moment, all of his dreams have seemingly come true! His mother is free. According to Watto, she's found love, and married. For all he knows, she's had other children. Maybe that could involve SOME complicated emotions, but mostly you would expect that he would feel, at the very least, relieved. Happy. Interested, curious. Instead, this is his reaction:

He's grim, business like. He is not happy. He is not relieved. He doesn't even seem to acknowledge that she's still alive - the way he reacts is not a man who thinks his mother is out of danger. To Anakin, who grew up enslaved until 9 and knows how this society works, it seems almost immediately apparent that the Lars are just a different kind of danger. There's also this rather interesting detail:

This is a boy who bleeds, every second of every day, longing for a family. He basically begs at obi-wan's feet day and night, to be acknowledged as a son. His reaction to his wife's pregnancy is radiant joy - his reaction to know she could die, profound existential horror. I mean good god, he basically turns Palpatine aka Satan Himself into a father figure, because he's that desperate for one. And here, this man is claiming him as his family. He's talked about being excited to see him. He talks about planning with Shmi to meet him. He calls him "son". And Anakin doesn't give him another moment of his time, the second those words are out of his mouth. It's silence. For a boy who is so starved for intimacy he genuinely falls in love with the very first girl who was ever nice to him, to react to a claim of relationship this way. It's bizarrely out of character for him. Unless it isn't. UNLESS he's disgusted by that claim, instead of relieved by it. If he thinks his mother has been bought and then forced into marriage, of course he hates Cliegg. I remember when we were watching the movie together, and remember I said to you "You can just tell Anakin is thinking, 'Call me son one more fucking time'" And can I be real, I have so much more to say about this. As you know, I actually have essays of opinions and feelings about Shmi Skywalker and her horrible life, and how Anakin was the one bright point she had in that horrible life. I have feelings about how she gave away her only happiness, because she knew he did not deserve the life of a slave. I had ideas about how you could turn this into a way to actually fix AOTC and make it better, a way you could use it as an excuse to get rid of the Tusken arc entirely without losing the tragedy of his mother's death. But this post is already so fucking long and I'm sure you're tired of me talking xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

#star wars #human trafficking tw #abuse tw #csa tw #rape tw #slavery tw #all the trigger warnings #GOD THIS MADE ME REALIZE HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE SHMI SKYWALKER #BECAUSE SHE HAD JUST #THE SHITTIEST LIFE RIGHT #LIKE SHES BORN INTO SLAVERY AND SHE DIES IN SLAVERY SHE LOSES EVERYTHING HER SON IS GONE SHES MARRIED TO HER SLAVE MASTER SHE DIES IN PAIN #BUT HER LOVE FOR ANAKIN WAS SO GOOD #SO INTENSELY AFFECTIONATE AND VALIDATING #EVEN IN ALL THAT HELL #THAT WHEN ITS RIPPED AWAY FROM HIM FOR GOOD ANAKIN BASICALLY LOSES HIMSELF ENTIRELY

[iamthekaijuking]

It’s been about a year since I drew the Flesh God, so new sketches were overdue, and yes it took me roughly around 2 months to work on these on and off.

As a recap on the face for my content, he’s an infinite paracausual expanse of flesh that occupies the space between galaxies across the multiverse and the spaces between universes, and has the genetic code of everything. But what I’ve actually drawn are pseudobodies, little bodies he sends out to interact with things.

So more deets on him under the cut

- he’s actually a plastic cell colony with genetic singularities and cellular processes that operate faster than light. Each cell can operate and move independently but work together and move like a slime or liquid, but usually just acts like solid flesh. The perfect light speed shapeshifter. He basically moves like the player character from prototype, Atom Eve’s siblings, venom, and the thing but fast.

- pseudobodies can be anywhere in size from a few meters to the size of celestial bodies. The biggest ones have neutron stars suspended between their horns. They’re are often stored in “recharge cysts”. They basically sit suspended in amniotic fluid with umbilical cords attaching to their spines supplying them with power. All the heat from the cellular processes are vented out a pseudobody’s back, but his main body doesn’t really need to worry about overheating much by virtue of being in space and having his own internal pressure and in some places his own atmosphere.

- pseudobodies have a set amount of energy (granted it’s enough to end worlds) and biomass, and while they’re creative with what they can do, they can’t violate conservation of mass. But they can open up a portal to the main body inside of themselves and establish an umbilical cord connection to get unlimited power and biomass and become unstoppable.

- attacks often involve lots of spinning and rolling while shape shifting and redirecting kinetic energy. He also uses a lot of jukes and rapid flurries of hits and slices. And while I didn’t illustrate it, to give himself an extra kinetic push, pseudobodies will usually shoot tendrils into things in the direction he’s going to move and yank himself forward or steer in midair like they’re grappling hooks and/or utilize controlled explosions to blast himself somewhere. Ultimately its about hitting as fast and hard as possible in short bursts while outsmarting attackers and maintaining momentum when sending them flying.

- he can form organs as needed in an instant and just as quickly reabsorb them. The pseudobodies don’t necessarily need organs but he just likes to have them. Usually a full skeletal system, digestive system, adrenal system, and a circulatory system with a six parallel heart set up.

- when he’s nervous he starts waxing and waning limbs and body parts, but usually this doesn’t happen because he just redirects all chemical signals that induce stress into a “stress sack” so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

- he actually used to be human, and he’s just arbitrarily appointed himself as the god of life and biodiversity, not that anyone can contest him.

#art #sketch #sketches #the flesh god #flesh god #kaiju king the flesh god

[ice-fire-or-clear]

Until We See The Sunlight

Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x f!Reader

Word count: 766

A/N: Hello have a fun little idea that’s been bouncing around my head for a couple of weeks now! It’s short but cute I think!

masterlist

CW: None :)

Somewhere, tucked away under the layers of clothing or books or operating manuals that often adorn Natasha Trace’s personal space, there’s a sheet of letter paper, faded yellow with time and perfectly folded into thirds. The creases have been well worn in with use, and the edges had lost their crispness over the years. Few people even know of its existence; Phoenix really likes to keep some cards close to her chest.

It’s been with her through flight school, on aircraft carriers, at Top Gun. It’s been thousands of feet in the air and thousands of miles away from home. (She doesn’t really need it at home, though.)

Bob’s seen it, once or twice. Never what was actually inside, just enough to know that it exists and it means something. Once when it rested in the open second drawer in Phoenix’s dorm, bathed in the soft warm light of the bedside lamp and nestled safely on a pile of soft t-shirts. And once more, he saw it tucked safely in the left pocket on the inside of her flight suit as they were lining up for a mission. Bob’s never asked what it is, but he has a pretty good idea. Most people like to keep a piece of home close by, especially when they’re not sure they’ll ever see it again.

Phoenix is grateful for Bob’s silence. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her backseater, but there are some things that live best in the secrecy of your own mind. If she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t even really need to read it anymore. She had it memorized years ago, and it’s more about the physical effect at this point anyways. The idea of having a piece of you near, something that you’ve touched, is usually enough to quell most homesickness and longing.

She opens it after the mission for the first time in months. She could feel it crinkling against her chest, her heart, as she threw the plane in every direction, the frame creaking around her and the comms ringing in her ears. It was the first time in a really, really long time that she thought she was actually going to die.

So, after the target is destroyed, and everyone makes it back, and she feels her throat constrict and her eyes sting in relief, because goddammit she had heard the comms go dead, heard them go down, she makes her way back to the showers, sits down on an empty bench in an empty row of lockers in an empty room, and pulls the letter out of her pocket. She runs her finger over the edges absentmindedly as she scans the page. Reading your handwriting is almost like hearing your voice, and this time, the tears actually do come. Instinctively, she holds the paper to her face, searching for the scent of your perfume though she knows it’s long since faded. She lets her eyes briefly drift over the enclosed polaroids, something she was exceedingly careful to keep to herself for lonely nights only.

She had originally received the letter several years ago, when she entered recruit training after graduating from the naval academy. It had been the first time the two of you had ever really been separated in the course of your young relationship. She remembered the overwhelming since of belonging and relief she felt when she finally, finally held you in her arms after completing boot camp. You had been grinning madly, tears streaming down your face, which only served to invoke waterworks from Natasha as well. You were so goddamn proud of her, looking at her like she had gone and hung the moon and stars. And at every milestone since then, career and otherwise, the look in your eyes had never faded, never wavered. It brought her great comfort to know that while the world had gotten bigger, scarier, more demanding, you had never changed in all the years you had been by her side.

Well, she considered, running her thumb over the signature at the bottom where you had signed your full name with a flourish, maybe something had changed. She brought her free hand up to the silver chain she wore around her neck, tugging on it to reveal the simple, solitaire band that had been hidden safely under her collar.

Soon enough, she would be able forget all about the letter for a few weeks. She would have the real thing in her arms, and there was no letter on earth that could ever do you, or her love for you, justice.

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!!

#phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix x reader #top gun #top gun maverick #phoenix imagine #natasha phoenix trace imagine #natasha phoenix trace x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #imagine #x reader

[chapitre7]

strawberries and cigarettes

 23.5 องศาที่โลกเอียง | 23.5 (TV 2023) fanfiction

NorthNight

Rated M for mild violence and referenced child abuse

5k words

Read on AO3

The hours between sundown and sunrise can appear to last days. They exist in a kind of darkness that operates by its own rules. When you stare at that kind of darkness, you can feel time slow down. When you listen to music, it lingers in the air like dust. You can stretch your body and feel taller, longer, beyond the edges of yourself. You can dream with your eyes open, lying awake in nightmares of your own making. You breathe, listening to your own heartbeat. Only a minute has passed, perhaps two. You turn, and submerge into a different song. The notes play against your closed eyelids; the lyrics course through your veins. A song lasts a lifetime. Only four minutes pass. You turn the music off and wait in the silence. Somewhere, there is always a clock ticking away the time. There is no light coming through the window. It feels as though light will never come again.

For Night, his teenage years are not so different from the dark hour of early morning. There is a kind of abandon that is promised on the horizon of adulthood, but there is no guide to achieve it. He waits for his mother every day until the lights go out, and she always seems to come when his body has given up the fight. Every morning he discovers he’s slept through her arrival, even though it feels as though he waited the whole time. He never wakes her up before he leaves for school. He doesn’t know what kind of questions he would begin to ask anymore.

Words, words. He takes all the notes, and he remembers them, but they don’t hold any value. A girl sitting by his side giggles at poems, and he wishes he could see what she sees. Beyond the words, giving them meaning beyond what the book says it means. He looks outside the window, at the overcast morning. When they had to read a book last year, Ongsa would say, “sometimes blue is just blue.” Night understood how blue could be many things. But didn’t someone once say the moon could speak for love? He wishes the words could carry something for him, as well.

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

He carries this: pulls and shoves in a dirty alley. How come they always picked him for this? He’s not that different from anybody else. His height is average, as are his looks. But still, the kicks. The sneers. A couple of the boys hold him back while another opens his bag and throws the contents on the ground. They take the little money he has and beat him up for it. At school, the next day, they’ll approach him and mess up his hair as though they’re friends. No one says anything. He has no one to tell. In the future, soon, he won’t have to endure it anymore. In the future, he’ll be an adult, and he’ll be able to leave.

Where?

How?

What for?

The days pass by like seconds on a clock. The weather seldom changes. How long as it been since it last rained? When Night is pushed against a pile of garbage, a cat screeches and runs away. It’s fully black, but its fur still catches the light, showing off a sleek shine. He’s never had a pet. Would it run from him if he approached? He’s on the ground, mouth full of filth, so he cannot approach it. He tries to protect his stomach from the kicks but he bites his tongue and feels the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He thinks if the cat would be around tomorrow, could he try again?

He thinks, he thinks. Tomorrow is the future and the future will come. How do you make the dawn approach faster?

There is a voice calling out from the light at the end of the alley. Night can’t make out the words being said against the ringing in his ears, but the boys harassing him don’t seem to like it. Night watches as they turn to the owner of the voice, intimidating, but they take a step back when the person moves. He’s carrying a baseball bat. A red baseball bat. The boys take a step back, synchronized like the hands of a clock as it marks the passage of an hour.

From then, time shifts again. Bodies moving too fast, in flashes of beatings and screaming. Night carries himself up, to sit against the wall, as the figure with the bat is pushed down to the ground. Subdued, but not defeated. Night knows he cannot be defeated easily. Night recognizes that laugh when the boy lands perfect hits, when his kick makes one of Night’s assailants shout and curse. Night knows who has that kind of fun. Who would wield a red baseball bat with the confidence that no consequence would ever come to him.

When the bullies flee, Night is left with his questions. He’s moved schools for months now, but there North stands. On his neck is a silver chain that once belonged to someone else. In his home, wherever he lived, there was a hoodie that once belonged to Night. He decided it was nice, and he asked Night for it. It had never been a request. North never requested anything. Night’s hoodie, snacks for lunch, answers to tests. He took and took. But he never made Night bleed.

There is blood at the corner of North’s mouth. He takes a step closer to Night, and Night flinches, tries to back away. North has never made Night bleed, but North breaks the laws of stillness. Night had moved schools. Night had moved away. When you move, things are supposed to change. But still, even after all that, Night’s mother never talked to him, never showed up. And there North is, red baseball bat in hand. He had never hurt Night before. There was a first to everything.

North tilts his head, amusement playing on his lips. “Get up,” he says, and for a moment, Night just stays where he is. North arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t move either. He waits until Night picks himself up, using the wall to support himself. Night doubles in pain before he reaches his full height, and he sees North’s feet move, but he doesn’t touch Night. Time is slow, seconds passing by like drops falling from a broken faucet. Time is liquid on the shadows that play against North’s face.

“Why did you help me?”

Night can’t bring himself to look away from North’s eyes. He never could. If he did, he didn’t know what kind of trap would be set for him. The slow hunt of a predator, or the quick attack of a viper.

North’s lips stretch into a grin.

“Who says I helped you?”

The bat that North had kept to his side rises. Night flinches when he catches the glimpse of it out the corner of his eyes, and presses harder against the wall. There is nowhere to escape. There is nowhere that doesn’t hurt.

He’s not hit. He opens his eyes to see North tap the bat against his own shoulder.

“I didn’t like them. I had a score to settle.” He tilts his head to the other side, never taking his eyes from Night’s. “I was bored. So many reasons, none to do with you.”

Night can feel himself grit his teeth, but he tries mask it up, pressing his lips tight together. He looks down at their feet. His shoes are dirty and old. North’s shoes are also dirty but they’re new. There’s still a shine to them, and the soles are high, no sign of being worn down like Night’s. His feet probably don’t hurt after wandering around the whole day. Does North ever hurt? Picking up fights, chasing bruises day after day? Does he struggle to breathe after being kicked down, or does he feel like drowning in the air?

North shifts. Whatever he means to do — to touch Night, to push him, to hit him — is cut short as Night pushes him away and stumbles out of the alley. North doesn’t give chase. The only thing that follows Night home is the sound of distant thunder.

Waiting for his mother to come home, with the lights out, Night thinks about North. He thinks about the swing of the bat on the bodies of his bullies. He pictures the grin he thinks he saw on North then. Whenever North picked on him at his old school, there was always a look of self-satisfaction on his face. The cat that calculates his next move on the mouse. The eyes that reflect in the dark. Somewhere in North’s house, there is Night’s hoodie. A piece of Night in the puzzle of North.

With North in his thoughts, Night stands up from the floor, picks up a picture frame and throws it to the ground. The glass shatters and scatters across the floor. He’s never liked looking at old pictures anyway.  A vase in his mother’s living room is next. Then Night moves to the kitchen and throws a glass against the wall, then another. The crystalline sound of destruction fills the air, and then, silence. The sound of breathing. His own, labored and loud. The tears that emerge aren’t of sadness. Night doesn’t truly know what they mean. He wipes them away, and sits on the floor again, next to the broken glass. He stays there, and after a while, he falls asleep. When he wakes up, everything is the same, and he has to clean the mess himself. He doesn’t think he understands North more.

North doesn’t leave his mind. He doesn’t leave him alone.

He’s there when Night enters a stationery store. He’s there when Night tries to study in the public library, away from school, away from the boys that glare at him and would use any excuse to beat him up (but haven’t tried again yet). He’s there when Night stays out and the sun begins to set and the streetlights start lighting up in harmony. Night sees him out the corner of his eye. North comes up to him and steals one of his pens when he’s studying. He passes Night by on the street with the red baseball poking out of his bag, looks back and winks before walking away. Sometimes he has a crowd of boys with him, but mostly, Night sees him alone. Like a duplicate of Night’s own shadow.

He’s like an itch that Night can’t get rid of. His presence isn’t oppressing like when they were at the same school, hovering over his desk, asking for something or other. But he’s persistent and it’s worse, because Night understands bullying. He understands being played with. But he doesn’t understand... whatever this is. Dreaming about North’s silhouette and wanting him to come closer, his hands drenched in red. North keeping his new bullies away for what? Exclusivity? There’s a bruise at the corner of his mouth and it’s red and ugly and Night wants to press against it, watch North wince. It’s all a dream, a dream. North’s lips are pretty, not chapped at all. Night touches the bruise and the lips and North opens his mouth and Night’s thumb touches his tongue. It’s a dream. There’s nothing to read between Night’s lines.

The stifling hot days remain. The season should have mellowed down into cooler evenings, but not yet. Summer lingers, clouds his mind. His school days go by in a blur. No one wants to talk to him. He misses Ongsa, who would fill his silences with her chatter. What has she been up to? He forgot to reply to her text and then it felt wrong to reply days after. Staying in touch is complicated. Night hasn’t been thinking well lately. Too hot. Too many dreams.

He sees him. North. For the first time in memory, it seems that he’s noticed North before North has noticed him. He’s alone, bag thrown over his shoulder, earbuds in his ears. Night follows him. Is it wrong? After all that has happened between them?

The late afternoon hour tinges the sky with orange. Night starts to question if he’ll know his way back home after walking for so long. He has enough battery to pull up the GPS if needed. He continues to follow. The streetlights come on like fireflies. Sweat trickles down his back, and his head is starting to hurt. He wants to know North’s destination.

Abruptly, North climbs and jumps over the wall to a building that looks abandoned. Night watches him from around the corner, waits. While the sun is out, time is quick to pass, so spying doesn’t take long. Soon, he’s moving over, climbing over that same wall, and landing on the other side. No one on the street seems to pay him any attention, so he waits until the beating of his heart isn’t deafening against his ears, and then, he moves.

It doesn’t take much to discover where North is — all he has to do is follow the sounds of destruction. Night flinches at first, walks with cautious steps towards the noise.

It is just what it seemed to be from a distance. North swinging his bat at objects, at furniture. He smashes toys, the wood of an old wardrobe. He peels the dusty sheets off a bed and rips it with his hands and throws it to the side. It once had been a child’s room. Night can still see stickers on the ceiling that would glow green in the dark. Now, North shatters the old lamp by the bedside table to pieces, and Night watches.

Sweat drips from North’s chin, makes his hair stick to his face. His fringe is too long now, and when they studied together, Night would see teachers nag him about it. He brushes it away from his eyes, and Night takes in his flushed cheeks, the slight parting of his lips as he pants.

How long does Night stay there, watching the spectacle? There is no artificial light in the room, just the afternoon glow coming from the window. The orange sunset is draped on North’s face when he looks at Night.

Night cannot move. He cannot look away. He’ll remember that red baseball bat always, and those eyes. Unflinching, unrepentant, looking straight at him. That has always been the problem with North. It’s not just his looks or his confident demeanor that pull you in. It’s his eyes, calling for your gaze.

North moves towards Night. As he walks closer, a million things go through Night’s head. What would happen if he ran. What would happen if they were caught. What would happen if he touched the curled tips of North’s damp hair. He cannot do anything; he cannot move or tame his frantic heart. He watches North approach, almost as if it were one of his dreams, where he’s pulled from one moment to the next without a thought of his own.

It more or less happens like that. A blink, and North is taking his hand. Another blink, and they’re running through the corridors of the old house. There is less light now, but Night can still see the dust in the air, the old-fashioned wallpaper on the wall, the red baseball bat and North. North. He places the baseball bat in Night’s hand and covers Night’s hand with his own. Like a teacher, he stands behind Night and guides him to make a dent on the wall. There are so many porcelain trinkets, who owns so much shit? North breathes against Night’s ear and they move as one. If anything is valuable, they make it so it isn’t anymore. Around and around they move and the bat comes swinging down. Is North’s breathing loud or is it Night’s, now moving in perfect sync with him? A whole glass cabinet is reduced to a million pieces on the floor. Night has to jump away so he doesn’t hurt himself on them.

Night laughs. He looks over his hands which are scratched but fine. Fine. He feels fine. He laughs and doubles on his middle and he laughs and he feels good. His body that still aches feels good and he takes a deep breath in the dusty air and he giggles and looks behind him.

He looks behind and there is North, several feet away. How...

How long has it been just him with the bat in hand?

North approaches, firm steps, long strides. There is no smirk on him, no ghost of a smile. He’s pulling at Night’s arm, nothing violent, it’s almost — soft, if he were capable of such. A firm and hot touch on Night’s forearm, a gentle pull, the dim light catching in his eyes and his lips parted and mirthless, Night’s still holding the bat but he wants to let go and—

There is a noise outside.

A car horn, lights flashing through the window. It startles them into movement. The touch North had on Night turns into a grip on his wrist and he’s pulling, running out of whatever room they found themselves in and into the corridor where the windows faced the opposite side. They rush, crouched, trying be quiet, but Night can’t help himself, he giggles. North slows down, doesn’t stop, looks over his shoulder and shushes Night, and it only makes him giggle more. North pulls his wrist and Night pulls back, and there, in the corridor, the young moon, high in the early evening sky, smiles down at them as they pull and push against each other, trying and failing to suppress their laughter.

What is that amuses them, what is it that bubbles in Night’s chest? Night has sacrificed so much of his sleep trying to understand his placement in the world, his future, the broken glass of his family portrait. North. What North wanted, what North saw. There had never been any answers, or at least none that stuck, none that satisfied him. Every thought went on and on, down endless roads, around torturous corners, until Night was too tired to pursue them anymore. Now, there is no thought. There is this: North taking the bat from his hand and shoving it aside, his hands pushing against Night’s shoulder, tickling down Night’s side and making him laugh. There is Night, hitting North, not with any real force, but just to push back, to fight, not a real fight, nothing as real as the hold he keeps on North’s arm as he tickles him, because he wants North there. Since when did he want North? In what form? This form. Bodies falling over, North’s breath on his cheek, North’s giggles playing in his ears like his favorite song.

Like this: North’s lips touching his own, making his breath stutter. Still, Night smiles. As if that, too, is their inside joke. Something only they will ever understand.

Later, he will find dirt on his back, and North’s fingertips on the white of his uniform shirt. Later, after showering, after there is no more light outside, when time is liquid and has submerged him in insomnia again, he will lick his lips and miss North, North, North. Is it wrong to want a person so much? Is it even wrong to want? Night has wanted so much for so many years but it’s been like wandering in a maze, just longing for the exit. He wants North like he’s his compass. No, not quite, just — maybe North is the maze. North is the heart that beats fast in his chest as he finds the thrill in the game.

Later. There’ll be much to think later. For now, they kiss unhurriedly. Night has no experience to speak of. He holds on to North, to his shirt, to drag this moment on. North has a hand on his neck, a finger on his jawline, accompanying the motions of their kiss. His hair tickles Night’s face and he smells of sweat when they part, briefly, to breathe, before they’re pulled back into each other. All the outside world is gone, there is only the wet sounds of their kiss in that forgotten place. He can hear his name in North’s voice; he can taste it. He wants to hear it again. He can’t speak, lest the moment ends. How do you capture a moment?

You can’t. Night doesn’t recall how or when they stop. A blink, the moment is gone, and he’s jumping over the wall again, back into the street. The world exists and North walks with him until he doesn’t. Lying on his bed later, the world doesn’t seem so suffocating anymore, but it’s silent. Night keeps a hand on his chest, following the rhythm of his breathing, and he falls asleep like that. Hand over his heart.

When he wakes up, he has a message on his phone from an unknown number.

You forgot something.

There’s laughter in the text, and the picture of a hand holding a button. A button from his uniform shirt. When did he even lose it?

North stops following him, because they meet face to face. For reasons Night cannot comprehend, North hangs out around him even when he’s quiet and studying. He picks up books from the library seemingly at random and flips through them while Night glances at him from one of the tables. After, Night buys them both ice cream and they stay together until dark. Night watches North when he smokes, the shape of his mouth as he exhales, but Night never tries to smoke himself. It’s not friendship. It’s not not something.

It’s not always like that. North still has a group of loud boys who wear the same uniform as him and who linger around him like dirt, but Night can see North’s head turn in his direction even when he’s in their company. North still messages him when the hours are late and long.

North asks him,

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

And Night surprises them both with honesty.

“Somewhere that is not here.”

North doesn’t make fun of him. He simply asks, “Studying or working?”

Night answers all of his questions. Sometimes, North calls him and talks and talks and Night just listens. He seems agitated. He asks Night if he ever picked a clock apart. Night never thought of such thing, but North seems to enjoy picking things apart and then putting them back together. He says that all the mechanisms of a clock serve a purpose and they work in perfect harmony, and that nothing that they teach him at school comes close to that type of satisfaction. He wonders if university would be better. Night asks him if there is something he wants to study. North hums and tells him that he doesn’t know. There is a loud sound in the background of his call and it makes Night afraid. He tries to keep the conversation going, and it’s surprisingly easy when North is willing to talk. When he’s talking to North, the night seems disappointingly short.

On his graduation day, he and North find a new abandoned apartment building to break into. North holds his hand this time, holds him as he jumps over the fence and he wipes the dirt off Night’s clothes. He has a lollipop in his mouth and he grins through it as he swings his bat around, destroying memories that people left behind. Before he passes the bat to Night, he slips his lollipop into Night’s mouth. It tastes sweet. So sweet.

When they sit on the ground, surrounded by broken things, tasting artificial strawberry and cigarettes on their tongues, North says,

“I’m moving out tomorrow.”

Raising his eyes from where he was just staring right ahead, Night finds North already looking at him.

“Do you want to come with me?”

There is eternity in a second. In the ba-dump, ba-dump of his heart.

Night exhales through his mouth, much in the manner he’s seen North exhale smoke all this time.

And then, he answers.

***

North is always typing when Night gets home.

The living room is his space, and it’s usually cluttered with paperwork and sketches. Night doesn’t even bother to clean it, both because he’s too tired to do it and because he knows North finds himself somewhere in that mess.

And without falter, every day when he opens the front door, it only takes one, two seconds before,

“Night, come here!”

His feet ache, but Night goes. He tiptoes around North’s mess until he can sit beside North and then he’s pulled closer and North shows him something he extrapolated from class that day. North has clever ideas, and since Night isn’t in university, his head isn’t busy with subjects of his own. His patrons are behind him now, and his payment is secure, so he lets North’s words fill him. Maybe one day, all the interesting theories will be enough to make him pursue a field of his own. For now, Night is content with very little. That there is someone who calls his name when he walks through the front door.

They split the rent, but not evenly. North’s elder sister is the one paying for most things, and Night has ceased feeling guilty about it. There are too many complicated family situations involved in that action and North is not interested in talking about it, so Night let go. North wanted a roommate—

No.

North wanted him there. He had said so. And Night wanted to be somewhere else, so he went.

Now, there are no picture frames of faded memories in the living room. There are a few plants with no flowers in every room. Night had bought just one, once, on a whim, and North had bought the others. There are plates and cups and utensils for two and they’re used every day. The leftovers no longer rot in the fridge.

It’s a life. Night sleeps longer, his body demanding rest. He goes to bed thinking about all the things he has to do the next day, and even plans his weekends. He’s living.

But he doesn’t know if that’s love. He has very little experience of it. Everyone who sees what they share make their own assumptions, but Night does not name it. If he names it, if he brings it to light, is it not susceptible to end? What is love any—

“Night, come here.”

He goes, even if his eyelids are heavy. He stands beside North as he stands by the window. Night follows his gaze at the moon. A perfect full moon, illuminating the sky, cascading moonlight on the city like a veil.

“I heard it’s a blue moon. I thought you’d miss it, but the sky cleared up in the last minute.”

Night turns to North, suddenly awake.

“You. . .”

How did you know I like it? How well do you know me? All the questions must be clear in his face, because North only chuckles.

“You always used to look up at the moon, but you’ve been sleeping early.”

Night looks down, suddenly shy. Even though he’s known North for a while now, even though they’ve been sharing the same space for months now, he’s still not used to someone looking at him. Seeing his details, the cracks where the pieces of him meet.

North is tickling him, and he’s trying to push him away, but he’s never been good at pushing North away.

“Are you surprised?” North says, when Night tries to hide his face on North’s neck.

Don’t look, Night thinks. Don’t look at me.

“Night, did you know?”

North pushes him gently away, but keeps Night in his arms. He nudges Night’s face up so he stops looking away.

“Your eyes have always been loud.”

Night feels his whole face flush.

“What does that mean?”

North grins.

“It means I like your eyes. I’ve liked them ever since I first saw you.”

Night’s fingers close around North’s shirt. He thinks that it’s his own; despite being the wealthier one of the two, North seems to always be wearing something of his.

“Is that why you bullied me?”

Is that why you followed me? Is that why you called me and called me until I couldn’t stop following you? All across the night, all across space, until we’re here, finally here, in this place of our own, under the blue moon?

Night wants to punch him. He wants to hit him, to push him away, because North knows too much, he sees too much. He doesn’t do any of those things. He leans forward instead, when North, still beaming, leans down to kiss the outer corner of his eye. He kisses Night’s cheek next, right where his mole is, and then Night is the one pulling, hand in North’s hair, asking to be kissed where he likes being kissed. North still tastes of nicotine —  he’s intoxicatingly sweet. He tastes like a rainy morning, smells like autumn. When did kissing North turn into all of his favorite things? A person shouldn’t be someone’s favorite. A person could leave at any time. Become just a faded silhouette in the endless darkness.

Night kisses North. Step by step, they stumble towards their bedroom. Pieces of them are everywhere. In the wardrobe is a hoodie that was once Night’s, but now smells like North, belonging to them both. Here, the blue moon shines, too. It follows them through the steps of their intimacy, it stays with them until their high comes down and they fall asleep in each other’s arms. In the morning, when Night wakes up, North will still be there. He doesn’t have any early classes, so Night can watch him until his alarm goes off. He can touch him, trace his features with his fingertips. His hands — and North’s hands, too — no longer seek to break. He can be calm. In the early morning, watching North, he can exist. If one of them is awake and the other is asleep, doesn’t time slow down, too?

Is love a kind of understanding?

Slowly, North opens his eyes, and ah. There it is.

Night finds an answer in between North’s lines.

#NorthNight #23.5 the series #23 point 5 #GeminiFourth #alternate universe: canon divergence

[ruvviks]

ok i always get a little stressed out trying to figure out what emojis to send for ocs that ppl havent sent already so please feel free to pick 5 emojis you haven't done yet that you wanna do for nathan with this ask!!! :^) <3

nathan asks!

🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?

nathan can play the violin! he was taught back at the jdc he had to stay in for a few years and despite hating it back then, he will occasionally pick it up again nowadays as a way to relieve stress. he's a pretty advanced player and occasionally comes up with his own stuff too, but it's not something he boasts about at all. if anything it's a hidden talent he never mentions to other people to begin with

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

nathan is a very light sleeper but he can also easily fall back asleep when woken up by something. whenever he does slip into deeper sleep he tends to have very bad nightmares or gets sleep paralysis due to the longterm effects STEM has had on his psyche. he's not all that bothered by noises or light around him and could fall asleep easily in a room full of people; he will get woken up the whole time but is not bothered by that either, and can generally get a good amount of rest with it either way

he sleeps about six hours a night on average, which is not a lot and tends to be even less when he's working on an important project. all of this generally results into him being out of commission during the weekends which he tends to spend in bed for most of the time, albeit wide awake. later on when he gets some proper medication, he starts sleeping a lot more and ends up with an average of nine hours a night

🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?

as a mobius operative from a pretty high rank, nathan has been taught how to use any sort of weapon, ranging from smaller melee weapons to heavy assault rifles and the like. he's been training since the age of 16 and generally prefers knives and handguns over anything else; he likes the control it gives him

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

nathan is not much of a smoker, but he did smoke for a while when working for mobius. he quit pretty quickly since he's always been a drinker and the two together made very expensive habits, and he preferred the taste of alcohol over smoking. the drinking is still a problem as of this day and it's never really occurred to him that he can try to stop; it would be very hard for him to quit drinking if he ever gets to that point, but especially when he gets his medication he has no other choice but to quit. needless to say it's gonna be an interesting first month for him

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

nathan was born in sacramento, california, which in my canon of the tew franchise is close to krimson city. he moved to the latter when he was 16 years old and started working for mobius, since its headquarters would then be closer to his home. he doesn't like his hometown at all because of the memories of his family and hasn't been back there in a long time now, and he's not planning on ever going back; krimson city may be a shithole but he's made it his home, and he's planning on staying there for the rest of his life. however many years that may be

#asks #ncytiri #ask:nathan #oc asks #THANK YOUUU <333 sorry for being ominous with the last sentence but i'll be honest with you #i have not figured out a satisfying ending for nathan yet. i'm gonna be working more on my story for after the game events today #so hopefully i can get somewhere with that :]

[goodfish-bowl]

The Haunting of Amity Park: The Neon District

Ectoberhaunt Day 13: Abandoned

AO3 Link | Part Two

Summary: Amity Park is a literal ghost town, with it's only remaining residents being the dead, since anyone living moved away 40 years ago. No one dares wander into the city boarders since it's not only claimed to be private property, but the dangers of the dead still lurk around every corner. This, of course, does not stop Wes Weston from dragging two of his classmates, Sam Manson and Tucker Foley, with him to record and investigate the place known as the "Most Haunted Town in America".

Words: 3055

Notes: I really enjoyed writing the dynamic of Wes, Sam, and Tucker. Also, the idea of Val staying in the vicinity to continue protecting people from ghosts lead me to including her as local law enforcement. She knows Danny is still in the city, and he actually went and told her there were trespassers, which is how she knew they were there. Danny also gave out an SOS to the ghosts to avoid the teens. Box Ghost didn't get the memo and obliviously had priorities. So, I feel like its important to note, that most of the people moved away, and did not die unless I say so or its relevant.The Neon District is something I picked up from... somewhere (can't remember), but I've used it before in some of my other works. I definitely like to think of it as where most of the fights take place, making it a secondary ground zero, the first being FentonWorks itself.

@ectoberhaunt

The camera flickered to life, full battery, complete with four sections, in the corner of the screen. It was out of focus for a few moments, before focusing on a scrawny teen in the center of the camera, blurring out the bedroom scenery behind him. His red hair was a disheveled mess on his head, and he frantically waved and silently shouted at someone off camera. There's a countdown in the top left corner, but he’s still arguing. 

“-promote your next protest on camera! It’s completely unrelated! No one is going to care about the faux fur industry on a ghost hunting video!” He shouted. 

“Hey, Wes, Sam. It’s recording,” another male voice interjected from behind the camera. 

Wes froze, and turned to face the camera, narrowing his eyes at whoever was behind the camera. 

“You’re going to edit that out, right?” 

“Sure.”

Wes cleared his throat and straightened his posture, swiping imaginary dust off his jersey, before getting into a good stance. 

“Hello, fellow conspirators and ghost hunters-” Wes began.

“Lame!” A female voice shouted off screen. The guy behind the camera snickered. 

“Shut up! We’re rolling!” Wes took a deep breath in before starting again. “Hello fellow conspirators and ghost hunters, I’m Wes Weston and today I’m joined by two… acquaintances of mine, Sam Manson, who will be our lore and mystics expert, and Tucker Foley, operating the cameras and handling the editing. We’re going to be covering our investigation of the literal ghost town, Amity Park, Illinois. For those of you who have been here a while, you know I’ve been planning this trip out for the past few months. Now, for my newer viewers, who aren’t yet familiar with Amity Park and its associated lore, I’ll leave explaining that to Sam.”

The camera panned, turning away from Wes and onto a young goth girl, dressed heavily in black and a few other colors that the quality of the footage made it hard to make out the exact shade of, besides the fact her eyes were a bright, unusual purple… Sam snorted, her boots still kicked up onto a desk of some sort, and didn’t make any movement to change her position before going into her part.

“Amity Park, for those unfamiliar, boasts the title of the ‘most haunted town in America’, and has for the past couple of decades. It has no living population, only its supposedly ghostly residents, making it a bona fide ‘ghost town’ in all meanings of the word. It was abandoned by its residents approximately 40 years ago, after a large number of incidents severely damaged the town, leading to widespread infrastructure issues, along with the danger of being caught in one of these incidents. While the incidents were never recorded, several local newspapers at the time reference ‘ghost attacks’ alongside ‘ghost hunters’ as the leading causes. And that’s just solid facts and 1st person sources.

On the more speculative side, there’s actually an agreement that ghosts were the cause. Malevolent spirits causing havoc and whatnot, although there has been no living people connected to these ghosts. There have been theories that these conflicts were actually conflicts between the ghosts themselves, with the ghost hunters acting as a third party. We have reports of a few particular ghosts, including a motorcyclist, a cafeteria worker, a warehouse worker, and a ghost that’s simply known by the name Phantom.”

“Wait, we have a name for one of them?” asked Tucker.

Sam perked up. “Yeah! This Phantom seems to be involved in a large number of the fights, and we even have several depictions of him in the newspaper. Supposedly, he’s young, wears a hazmat suit, and has bright white hair. There are numerous sightings of this ghost all over the town throughout the ‘ghost attack’ period, from start to finish.”

“Explain what caused the attacks!” Wes shouted from off camera. Sam shot him a look.

“I’m surprised you want me to change the topic off Phantom, since you seem to have a few theories on that.”

“I do! And we’ll get to that, but I need you to explain the cause of the attacks first.”

Sam let out a long sigh, “fine”. She turned back towards the camera. “Right before the start of our danger period, there were reports from the most notorious ghost hunters in town at the time, Doctor Madeline Fenton and Doctor Jack Fenton, self-proclaimed ghost experts and parascientists, having managed to open a portal to the realm of the dead. Shortly after they claimed to complete their project of two decades, the attacks began. Before this incident, there were no records of large-scale ghost attacks like would occur in the following months. The Fentons were found at the scene of most of the larger ghost-related events, and frequently opposed Phantom, claiming to want to capture him for scientific research. There have been theories that the Drs. Fenton intended to let ghosts ravage the town, but after finding and reviewing their papers, this is revealed to be untrue, since they simply wanted to study ghosts. Of course, there is a strong anti-ghost bias throughout all of their papers, and visible in some of their other creations, most of which are weapons targeting the undead.

Most of which is known about this couple is found in their papers, and in the autobiography of Jasmine Fenton, their daughter. It’s an interesting read, and I definitely suggest it to those of you who want to learn more.”

The camera panned back to Wes, who sat up straight in his chair, staring directly at the camera. “This leads me onto my chief theory in the haunting of Amity Park.”

Wes quickly stood up, and dragged over a white board with magnets, string, and photos all over it, layered on top of a jumble of writing.

“Oh god,” Sam mumbled, while Tucker just burst out laughing. Wes went red-faced, embarrassed.

“I worked hard on this! It’s not like you can complain, I’ve seen your tech collections!” Wes defended himself. Tucker’s laughter turned into a choke.

Wes took a second to clear his throat. “Anyways, now that the Fentons have been introduced along with Phantom, I’ll direct your attention to the board.”

The camera zooms into a photo of the Fenton family, from Jasmine Fenton’s autobiography.

“While not as commonly known, then Fentons had two children, the famous psychologist Jasmine Fenton, and her younger brother, Daniel Fenton, who was reported missing not long after the town was abandoned.”

Wes drags his finger to a second image and the camera follows, this one is a section from the Fenton Papers, what seems to be notes on the portal, claiming it did not work when originally turned on, only to be found open and the youngest Fenton somehow injured in the lab, alone. “The portal didn’t work until Daniel did something to it. Later in the notes, Drs. Fentons write down that their son merely turned it off and back on again and received a nasty shock.” Wes’s hand and the camera shifted to a small article in the news about the portal successfully turning on and the hospitalization of the youngest Fenton.  

The camera zooms back out to Wes resuming an intense eye contact with the camera. “I  believe that the youngest Fenton died to turn on the portal, and became the ghost known as Phantom, who only vanished once the town was abandoned, following the deaths of the Drs. Fentons and the departure of Ms. Fenton from the town.”

“That sounds cool and all, claiming that the ghost hunters’ son is a ghost, except for the fact that Daniel wasn’t ever reported dead until long after the town was abandoned, and no body was found in the empty portal. He was also still seen around and alive after the portal was opened,” Sam called out.

Wes snapped towards her. “He could easily appear human with how powerful he is, or maybe he’s possessing his own body or something?!”

“Seriously? No wonder no one else believes your crack theory on Phantom. It’s completely bogus. I’m more a fan of the theory that links him to a sighting during the Salem Witch trials.”

The two started yelling back and forth, arguing about the validity of Phantom sightings throughout time, and the possibility of Daniel Fenton being Phantom until there is an exasperated sigh from Tucker, and the video cuts off.

   The video comes back on, this time both Sam and Wes are visible in the frame. The battery is down from four bars to three. It’s evening, and the setting sun easily lights up the sign behind the teens. “Welcome to Amity Park. A nice place to live,” it reads. There’s noticeable damage to the sign and has clearly been vandalized multiple times in the past. The countdown begins, and both teens converse patiently, occasionally sending the other sour looks but otherwise getting along. A few snippets of conversation are caught about the legality of trespassing while the two talk quietly.

There’s a signal from Tucker behind the camera and both straighten up and Wes begins talking to the camera.

“Welcome to Amity Park. We’ve made our way to the town, and the plan is to go over the most haunted portion of America’s most haunted town!”

Sam cleared her throat. “The section of town we will be investigating is colloquially known as the Neon District but is technically known as the Historical Downtown. This section of town has the highest recorded number of ghost attacks, and the highest number of ghost sightings. It was one of the first areas of town to be abandoned, years before the rest of the town was evacuated.”

“Why is it called the Neon District?” Tucker prompted.

“This section of town gained the name ‘Neon District’ after the color of ectoplasm, which is basically ghost blood, which has coated this part of town. Supposedly, it glows neon green just as the sun goes down,” Wes explained.

“Then let’s hurry up to get it on camera,” Sam huffed.

   The video picks back up panning across the abandoned street. The camera is only at half battery now. There wasn’t anything blocking the street, no cars or trash left behind, just broken buildings and cracked concrete. Nature was slowly reclaiming this section of the city, with weeds and small trees growing in every available space. Visible nearly everywhere were splotches of bright green, dried and staining nearly every surface. Not all of the damages seemed to be caused by the passage of time, but like a tornado and a war had run through the street, leaving broken buildings and craters in its wake.

“Wow,” Sam breathed.

There were mummers of agreement from the two boys. The group began walking, while Tucker continued panning the camera back and forth across the street.  

“It’s amazing how easily nature adapts once people move out. In another 40 years or so, this place will probably be completely overrun and overgrown, returning to part of the wildlife,” Sam commented.

“If it doesn’t ever get reinhabited, that is,” Wes added.

“With the rep this place has, I don’t think anyone is coming back here,” Tucker finished.

Quiet conversation was used to fill the silence. Wes talked about some random things to the camera, while Sam and Tucker engaged in some conversation about some local curiosity and events. None of them noticed as the camera caught one of the glowing green spaces moving from place to place. It floated about, nothing more than a bright dot on the camera, refusing to let the camera put it in focus. It floated from stain to stain, then slipped into the shadows.

“So, do you think we’ll see any actual ghosts on this trip?” Tucker asked.

Sam sent him a flat look. “I don’t see why not. If we’re going to get a ghost on camera at any point, it would be here.”

“Of course, we’re going to find ghosts here,” Wes huffed, “This would be a wasted trip otherwise.”

On top of one of the buildings, there’s more movement. A bright spec of white and black. Unlike with the smaller dot, the camera glitched out, drastically lowering in quality and cutting frames, sending static in between blurry images of the being.

“What even was the point of coming all the way out here? My feet are starting to hurt from all this walking, and I didn’t bring enough battery packs to rechange Jalisa all the way,” Tucker complained.

It was on top of the building, and then down in the alley. The group was getting closer to it and had yet to notice. It leaned out, seemly inspecting the group.

“It’s still really weird that you give all your tech feminine names,” Wes commented.

The figure in the alley in leaned a bit closer as the group approached. The camera was able to focus just enough to identify that it had white hair, gloves, boots, and a belt, while everything else was black.

“Says the one who runs a conspiracy channel,” Tucker retorted.

The figure slipped back into the alley as soon as the group approached. The camera seemed to buffer, before returning to its previous quality. When the group walked by the alley the figure had been in not a minute before, and Tucker panned the camera to the side, it was completely empty.

The image on the camera trembled, while Tucker made a shivering noise. “Does anyone else feel like they’re being watched?”

The video cuts once more.

   When the video resumes, the battery only has one bar left. The trio is no longer in the neon district, but somewhere back by their car, which is a vintage black Volkswagen. It’s visibly dark out, with only a couple flashlights and the headlights of the Volkswagen lighting up the area. There are a couple of cardboard boxes scattered nearby, probably used to hold recording equipment and other materials for the video. Sam and Wes stand clearly in frame once more. The countdown goes down and both patiently wait this time. Both are clearly tired, and the image on the camera dips down a few degrees then right back up every few seconds.   

“With that, our investigation of Amity Park is complete. While we did see some very interesting things, we sadly didn’t see any ghosts. I will be making a follow up video going over what we saw here today, and hopefully I’ll see you all for the next video, and please comment on what you found interesting, along with your own theories regarding the Haunting of Amity Park. With that, I’m Wes Weston-”

“I’m Sam Manson-”

“And I’m Tucker Foley-“

“And thank you for watching. Please make sure to like, subscribe, and turn on notifications to make sure to catch my next video,” Wes finished, but the camera continued rolling.  

After a moment, Wes’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a heavy sigh. “Damnit. I was really hoping to see a ghost.”

“Why are you so interested in catching a ghost on camera anyways?” Tucker asked.

Tucker let his arm holding the camera fall, so it was now recording a set of boxes upside down behind them.

“My brother doesn’t believe they exist, and thinks Amity Park is an alien and or government experiment gone wrong. I want to prove him wrong as the better conspiracy theorist.”

Tucker snickered. “Honestly, aliens might not be too far off.”

Wes let out an undignified squawk, but his response was cut off short as a police siren sounded, and the area was flooded by the much brighter lights of a police car.

“Fuck,” Sam cursed.

The flashing blue and red lights painting the cardboard of the boxes accordingly. The sound of a car door opening and slamming shut was easily audible.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” An older, feminine voice shouted, clearly upset.

“Hi, Officer Grey,” Wes winced.

“God damn it, Wes! Am I going to actually have to put you behind bars before you get it through your thick head that trespassing is illegal?!”

“No ma’am.”

“And you two? What the hell are you doing here? Wes is expected, but not Ms. Protester and the local hacker.”

“Aww, Ms. Valerie, it almost sounds like you like me,” Tucker purred.

“Shut it, Foley. Just because you helped the department solve that one case involving the bank transfers, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for hacking into the ad screens across the city to play your personal fragrance ads.”

“Damn it, Foley by Tucker Foley is a work of art, and you know it,” Tucker whispered.

“Officer Grey, we are currently on public property, and therefore not trespassing! We are doing nothing wrong!” Sam proclaimed.

“But you were in the city proper.”

“You have no evidence,” Sam refuted.

Officer Grey gave a long-suffering sigh. “Amity Park is dangerous, and not for some teens to go trampling about. It’s closed off for a reason. But you’re right, I don’t have evidence. But you all should still scram before something happens. It’s not safe here, even this far from the city, I’d know.”

“How would you know, Officer Grey?” Wes asked.

“I grew up here.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by some hushed whispers. During this pause, the boxes the camera was focused on glowed, lifted, and floated silently off screen. A soft “God damn Box Ghost,” was picked up from Officer Grey.

“Can we interview you?” Wes asked suddenly.

“Sure, as long as you get the hell out of here and schedule it properly. Also, Tucker, your camera is still on.”

The camera was lifted up, the final bar of battery on the screen blinked. It revealed Officer Grey to the camera, a middle-aged Black woman with hair shaved short to her head.

“Oh shit. Forgot to turn it off, it’s still recording too. Damn, that’s going to take forever to go through on top of everything else,” Tucker sighed.

“It’s still recording?” Officer Grey sounded worried. “Can I look through the last couple minutes of footage?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not, as long as you don’t delete everything. It would’ve just been recording audio and the boxes behind … us.” There was a pregnant pause. “Hey, where did the boxes go?”

The camera died.

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt22 #eh chaos #day 13 #abandoned #goodfish writes #god this is late but it's mostly dialogue so it's fine #perhaps I'll catch up soon but it seems unlikely #but I should be done with the second part to this soon #hopefully

[sasskarian]

2, 6, 19, 24 and 30 from fifty (more) 👀 I loved reading about Io!!!

2. Your Shepard is making a sandwich. What’s going in it?

Io has dined in some of the finest places in the known galaxy—including a very unfortunate sushi place on the Citadel, as if anyone will let her live that down—and run down diners alike. But her favorite sandwich is made in her father Kahele’s kitchen, with crispy fried spam and a slice of tamagoyaki.

If ever another apocalypse falls to them and there's no spam in the house, leftover huli huli chicken with fried ginger crisps would probably make an appearance. And unless the Reapers personally hated her and burned down her favorite shops, malasadas would make an appearance somewhere.

(But probably not in the sammich.)

(...probably)

6. What would they be doing, if Shepard never joined the alliance?

Io’s bloodline, on her father’s side, can be traced by to wayfinders. Her family’s inn is named after the Hokule’a, a canoe that voyages from Hawaii to Tahiti using the traditional methods of star navigation. She’s always wanted to pay tribute to that, grew up loving the stars and all the spaces between them. If she hadn’t joined the Alliance, Io would probably be working on the frontier, exploring space navigation, establishing routes, etc. But she enlisted first, and then Elysium happened a few years later, and she became Commander Shepard instead of just Iolana.

Spending most of her childhood, island summers aside, on Alliance ships left Shepard with a deep love of stars and all the secrets of space. That Shepard, that long ago, lost child, had found it full of promise, mysteries waiting to be solved. She’d wanted to see things no human eyes had ever seen, go where no human had gone, voyaging out into the unknown like her wayfaring ancestors had sailed the seas.

[S&S ask]

19. What was Shepard’s first interaction with an alien?

Hm. I haven’t thought this one out that much. I feel like she’s seen at least a few, those who can brave visiting Earth. She's probably made out with at least one or two during her younger years; shore leave can get pretty wild at times. I don’t think she worked with many before Elysium, and she tries so hard and sometimes fails to not let that haunt her, so aside from a few seen on shore leave, her first real working relationship with them might have… actually been Nihilus. (Who she completely did not have any crush on whatsoever.)

I’d have to think about that one more. And consult my timeline notes lmao

24. How does Shepard handle house arrest? How do they fill their time?

She hates it. There’s a part of her that wishes, however unlikely, that Garrus would come up with some obscure married law that would let her go free—maybe there’s some old treaty that would allow a shipboard hasty marriage to give her some political asylum or something. But that’s unlikely, and she knows it.

Still. For an explorer’s heart and a soldier’s restlessness, house arrest is awful but she tries to stay busy— the nightmares of Aratoht aside, she keeps her mind sharp, her manners intact, and works out the night sweats and restlessness as much as she’s allowed to.

30. What did Shepard think of the thorian? How did they feel about killing it? What did they decide for Shiala?

Io found the Thorian equal parts horrifying and fascinating. She regretted killing it; it’s age, the last known of its species, the sheer knowledge it must have had. But keeping it out of the hands of ExoGeni and freeing the dozens of people it had enslaved took precedence.

Shepard spared Shiala, and they’ve kept in semi-regular contact since. (Shepard, like her mother and her father both, have a habit of adopting any stray person in need of family or home)

By the time the Reapers invade the Sol system, Shiala and the colonists are fighting as an elite unit against them, and find themselves in the side battles around London, assisting Operation Hammer as backup.

#i did the thing #iolana shepard #shakarios #sher does mass effect #my fic

[rockislandadultreads]

Book Recommendations: Action-Packed and Fast-Paced Stories

Deep Sleep by Steven Konkoly

Countersurveillance expert Devin Gray is unwittingly thrown headfirst into dangerous new territory after the death of his mother. Helen Gray, a paranoid and disgraced former CIA officer, believed she was on the verge of preventing a national catastrophe - a mission worth dying for. Others, including Devin, believe she was chasing delusions. Until he finds what she left behind. With the help of longtime friend and former Marine helicopter pilot Marnie Young and a loyal team of covert operatives Helen summoned just before her death, Devin is propelled into a high-stakes chase across the country. What he uncovers, clue by clue, is a conspiracy more widespread and insidious than anyone could have imagined. Now it’s Devin’s mission to destroy a covert network poised to deliver a fatal blow to the future of the United States. And also to vindicate his mother, by seeing the mission through to its treacherous end.

This is the first book in the “Devin Gray” series. 

Chrysalis by Lincoln Child

Like millions of people around the world, Jeremy Logan (famed enigmalogist, or investigator of unexplained things) has grown to rely on his incredible new tech device. Made by Chrysalis, the global multi-billion-dollar tech company, the small optical device connects people in a stunning new way, tapping into virtual reality for the first time on a wide scale. And yet, when Logan is summoned by Chrysalis to investigate a disturbing anomaly in the massive new product rollout, Logan is shocked to see the true scope of the massive company. He also quickly realizes that something in Chrysalis’s technology is very wrong, and could be potentially devastating. The question is what, and where is the danger coming from?

This book is the sixth volume in the “Jeremy Logan” series. The first five volumes are Deep Storm, Terminal Freeze, The Third Gate, The Forgotten Room, and Full Wolf Moon, respectively. 

Eclipse the Moon by Jessie Mihalik

Kee Ildez has been many things: hacker, soldier, bounty hunter. She never expected to be a hero, but when a shadowy group of traitors starts trying to goad the galaxy’s two superpowers into instigating an interstellar war, Kee throws herself into the search to find out who is responsible - and stop them. Digging up hidden information is her job, so hunting traitors should be a piece of cake, but the primary suspect spent years in the military, and someone powerful is still covering his tracks. Disrupting their plans will require the help of her entire team, including Varro Runkow, a Valovian weapons expert who makes her pulse race. Quiet, grumpy, and incredibly handsome, Varro watches her with hot eyes but ignores all of her flirting, so Kee silently vows to keep her feelings strictly platonic. But that vow will be put to the test when she and Varro are forced to leave the safety of their ship and venture into enemy territory alone. Cut off from the rest of their team, they must figure out how to work together - and fast - because a single misstep will cost thousands of lives.

This is the second book in the “Starlight’s Shadow” series. The first volume is Hunt the Stars. 

A Black and Endless Sky by Matthew Lyons

Road trips can be hell. Siblings Jonah and Nell Talbot used to be inseparable, but ever since Jonah suddenly blew town twelve years ago, they couldn’t be more distant. Now, in the wake of Jonah’s divorce, they embark on a cross-country road trip back to their hometown of Albuquerque, hoping to mend their broken relationship along the way. But when a strange accident befalls Nell at an abandoned industrial site somewhere in the Nevada desert, she begins experiencing ghastly visions and exhibiting terrifying, otherworldly symptoms. As their journey through the desolate American Southwest reveals the grotesque change happening within his sister, one thing becomes clear to Jonah: It’s not only Nell in there anymore. Pursued by a mysterious stranger who knows far more about Nell’s worsening condition than they let on, the siblings race to find a way to help Nell and escape the desert before they’re met with a violent, bloody end. But there are far worse things lurking in the desert ahead... some of them just beneath the skin.

#fiction #thriller #fast-paced #action-packed #new books #book recs #book recommendations #reading recommendations #TBR pile #tbr #library books #to read #booklr #book tumblr

[hollownostalgia]

{ MOON JUNSU } | he/him, 25 years old, manhwa artist for THE MOTH publishing company and the webtoon DREAM PACT underneath the alias of NIGHTINGALE. find him drawing on floor 28, room #2802. penned by axel, 21+, he/they.

༻⸻ { PROFILE }　 　 | 　　 { PLOTS } ⸻༺

hey everyone, im looking forward to being able to meet and plot real soon, but for now, here's a quick rendition of junsu. if there's any plots underneath the link that you feel like fit, feel free to message me. i'll try to come and say hello otherwise if you leave the heart colored!

resident sleepy boy— hardly rests due to frequent nightmares and so he always looks like it, too, and probably is always holding a coffee in hand. his fingers, too, are probably always stained with some kind of ink.

grew up as an only child, he still keeps in contact with his parents even after he moved out for college. his mom's lullabies he learned when he was younger are one of the few things that can actually get him to sleep.

went to college for an art degree after spending years drawing his dreams and nightmares after their tormenting frequency, and during school, started posting regular updates for a webtoon named DREAM PACT, underneath the alias of NIGHTINGALE. it follows a character named seonyul and his cat, coffee, trapped within a universe where he isn't sure if he's dreaming or awake. full of elements of fantasy and horror that's inspired by own dreams, it's something he's continued to update since its start in 2020.

he works for a manhwa magazine underneath his real name, and still keeps both of them separate. everything he posts underneath nightingale is more personal, a therapeutic way to express his dreams, just like all of his overflowing notebooks have been over the years that he still keeps jammed into a bookcase.

usually operates underneath odd hours, up during the night and barely during the day. he's more used to things this way— can often find him wandering the halls and rooftop when he needs a break to smoke or find some sort of inspiration.

he's usually quiet and keeps to himself, though he opens up slowly once he gets to know someone. usually never mentions his own manhwa and brushes it off as work for his job instead. just because he's quiet doesn't mean he isn't up for adventures— he appreciates a certain kind of chaos, and admires people who are straightforward.

he moved into his apartment quite soon after he graduated, so he's been in the building for about a year. if he ever sees any stray cats around, he has a habit of leaving food out in bowls for them, and often returns to make sure it's eaten and puts fresh out.

some quick plots, other then what i have outlined on my plots page!

muse always tends to frequent the same coffee shop, in which junsu is trying to remain caffeinated and focused, and end up sitting alongside each other in tables frequently enough they occasionally chat. it isn't until quite awhile into it when they both happen to leave at the same time and realize they live in the same apartment building.

{ tw: drinking } college friends? junsu didn't put himself out there much in college, but he did tend to frequent parties and bars just to have somewhere to be, and often, to try and inspire himself for another chapter of his manhwa. maybe they drank together or had a shared class, but they bump into each other one day to find out they live here and proceed to catch up. { end tw }

muse recognizes junsu's name on the manhwa magazine he works on and upon sharing that they may enjoy it, he makes an effort to show them some of the rough drafts he has that he's allowed to. maybe they continue to meet up to speak about the issues and the continuing chapters of the manhwas featured in it.

art friends? junsu enjoys traditional art even though most of what he does professionally is digital, but he often uses ink and watercolors on his own time when he can. maybe they meet up to draw/paint in shared silence or while sharing airpods.

#itsthq: intro #| { OOC } |

[rpmtrish]

READY OR NOT, IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN!

It seems like just yesterday that we stripped away the car cover, checked the air in the tires, disconnected the trickle charger and fired her up at the first sign of spring. Unfortunately, many parts of the country suffered through a cold, wet and snowy "spring" so their car season has been a short one. With beach weather wrapping up and "wrapping up" including long pants and real shoes, it's time for us to offer you our J&L Oil Separator Co. Hibernation Guide for Your Ride. If you live somewhere that you have the ability to drive your car year-around, you can use this handy list as a reminder that sometimes you have to give that baby some TLC. Bath Time! Let's face it, it's more fun to drive it than wash it, but let's use a warm-ish day to truly wash away the remnants of summer. Proper mitts, two buckets, high quality car wash detergent (not Dawn) and maybe a once over with a clay bar. No real need for a wax job at this point. Save that for a Cabin Fever Weekend in early February. Fluids. All of em. Check them, top them or change them. We see a lot of engine bay pics with low brake, power steering or clutch fluid. Empty your J&L 3.0 Oil Separator. Now's the time. Tire inflation. Everyone has their own way to combat flat spotting during periods of extended stillness, but frankly, a +5psi fill and a monthly roll in and out will handle it. Yeah, we know, "jack stands". You don't really want to have your springs, shocks, struts at full extension for 3 months, now do you? STOP! Seriously, this is a great time to head to a reputable shop and have them do a brake check. Pads are cheap and if you can drive and bed them in before you tuck your car in, so much the better for spring. Interior. Lots to do here. A quality leather cleaner and balm is a great idea before cold, dry air takes its toll. Don't spray some synthetic junk on it. Do your homework and take the time to clean the dirt, body oils and McDonald's residue off before you treat it to some hide nourishment. Your leather will love you for it. For fabric seating, nothing will top steam and extraction but that also requires time and heat to fully dry it. There are some new "dry shampoo" entries to the market that actually do a pretty good job. But remember, read the instructions and yes, TEST an inconspicuous spot first! You don't generally need to shampoo the carpet but that will depend on a lot of things. So if it's not grungy, give it a really good brushing and vacuum job. Pro-tip: remove your mats and toss em in the trunk. Let the carpet fibers breathe and expand. Glass....yeah, nobody likes to do windows, but do it anyway. As your vehicle sits for extended periods of time, the plastics in the dash and other areas will emit vapors that will coat your windows. You know the look; like driving on a foggy night. You use the wipers and realize you can write your name on the glass on the inside. Take the time to do it now and it's one less thing you have to screw with in March (well, at least it will be less gunky). Glovebox, console, etc. Really? A receipt from Memorial Day? Lighting. Inside and out. Do a walk around and make sure all lights are in operating condition. If you live in an area where headlights develop an opaque coating, fix it before it becomes permanent. There are a number of DIY kits for this and we can tell you that unless you really like tedious detail work, there are people who do this for a living and normally guarantee their work. Give them 30 minutes and your lights are clear and bright. Or go DIY and spend hours if you really want quality garage time. Electronics. Beyond the obvious lighting portion of your electrical system, we rarely find an old/older/old-ish car without something inoperable with the electrical system. From power ports to wiper motors to the CD that's been stuck in the slot since 2000, there's almost always something. Address it and you'll feel better for it (we speak from experience). And here's a not so obvious tip- Have you ever vacuumed your fuse/junction box? Pop the lid and use a detailing brush and vacuum. Fuses and relays age just like everything else. Critters. They get cold, too. There's really no barrier to entry when it comes to places for animals and bugs to relocate, but you can certainly be proactive when it comes to the major entry and exit points. You don't want anything blocking your intake nor exhaust, so some light fabric or even a paper towel and rubber bands can seal off your intake and exhaust tips. DO check the engine bay with a flashlight monthly to see if anything is using your ride as a VRBO. Fuel. There are as many "right ideas" on this matter as there are opinions on brands of oil. The basics are simple: Before hibernation, burn off old fuel, add the correct amount of a fuel stabilizer and fill the tank. Drive it 15 minutes to let it get through the system. Done. When it comes time to take that first blast down the highway on a warm winter day, just don't. Fuel stabilizers tend to exacerbate knock. It's certainly ok to drive it, but don't beat on it until you've fully exhausted that tank and put a second one through it. And remember, in most of the country you'll still be using "winter blend" fuel well into late April and yes, it's more prone to detonation as well. Oil Separators. We did mention them previously but we know that not everyone has one. Now is the time! Whether your engine is naturally aspirated, turbo or blower, every engine can benefit by keeping the recirculated gunk out of its intake tract. Click the here to learn more! Read the full article

[mugenfinder]

Someone sent me Anonymous Ask relating to what I wrote about Resident Evil Revelations and I accidentally deleted it, sorry.

I think the explanation for the final boss teleporting was illusions and invisibility?

That Ask really got me thinking about writing for the series.

I know no one plays them for the story, but I have a hard time completely ignoring writing especially if it's bad.

To summarize it, I can't imagine how RE games are written. I get steamed trying to figure out why they make certain decisions. Like Chris being a different person every game has to be on purpose, right?

It's weird how RE4 is so cartoonish yet it's somehow way more grounded than games that came after? The plot sounds stupid crazy on paper, but it ends up being more coherent than its sequels?

For the record,I know Resident Evil stuff but I haven't played anything pre-4, I've watched 7 and seen nothing of 8.

RE4 is pretty self-aware, right? Like it obviously understands how cartoony and over the top it is.

I think after 4 up to Rev 2, the games seemed to take themselves WAY more seriously but got goofier?

Note that the games became more "movie-like" after 4, which had obvious action movie influence. But they started trying to BE those movies with 5, which is mainly in the presentation. Then Rev 1 was more like a show and 6 was full-on action set piece party. Rev 2 really leaned on a show-like presentation and 7 dialed back and is more inspired by grindhouse horror and doesn't get crazy with cutscenes.

I can only imagine what it would have been like to follow the series up to 5 and getting hit with everything in it.

They were building up Wesker as the big villain since 1, but Chris and Jill have a "final" big showdown with him in a flashback which ends with Jill and Wesker presumed dead.

So the plot of an entire RE game that people would've wanted happened in the intro. And the DLC retelling of it made it look dumb because they basically enter and stumble around after losing all their stuff.

Also starting with 5, it seems

I bring this up because in 4, you're somewhere in rural Spain. Implication being that you're basically in the middle of nowhere away from larger civilization. So it makes relative sense someone could corrupt a population without authorities noticing. Saddler's operation was more slapdash than previous villains but he was repurposing rural areas.

So if anyone reading this didn't know at the time, when RE5 came out, there was a bit of controversy regarding the setting.

You know, playing as a white man killing tons of black African people , in generally normal town settings before you know.

Meanwhile in 5, Umbrella somehow built an impossibly large facility underneath Africa that is in relatively good condition?

Apparently, the Plagas were spread in the game within a year but I guess the excuse is Bio-Weapons are a full-on thing at that point?

What was Wesker's Plan?

Uroboros was just an exponentially growing pile of worms, what was his end goal for himself?

The main villain who was getting built up since the first game's plan was to cover the whole world in worms? How would that make anyone a "god" if it's just gonna eat everything regardless?

#long text #resident evil #anonymous ask #thoughts

[tomthefanboy]

Just Exegol things

As Star Wars Celebration begins in anaheim this weekend, I am up in Oregon thining baout the Rise of Skywalker.

One of the (many) things that left me wondering about TROS is the fleet at Exegol and how it operated. Somewhere in the film and novelization there is mention that the First Order personnel are needed to help operate the ships and navigate them through The Red to go cause havoc in the galaxy, yet there's already a bunch of Sith Troopers and lab techs and choir acolytes that have been on exegol the whole time worshipping palpatine, cloning snokes, and BUILDING the Final Order fleet.

I know that this is mental gymnastics to manuever the scripts plot holes, but that's what we do, right?

So I was considering how the First Order was the most evil and cutthroat loyalists since they all stuck with their posts after operation cinder and made it through the kidnapping/brainwashing/backbiting of the unknown regions until they re-emerged with the destruction of Hosnian Prime. These are officers who know the modern galaxy and how to manipulate its people. Palpatine didn't NEED them, but he wanted them because they would be able to make more precise strikes to cause the maximum damage to galactic morale while his exegolians worked the levers and pulleys in the bellies of their ships. (edited)

But the otherside of the question was where the heck to the Exegol cultists come from? Has there really been a whole planet full of sith cultists tinkering and chanting for the last 60 years? Every other sith world is completely barren and Exegol doesn't look much better, even if it was protected by The Red how would so many acolytes survive. Occam's Razor says they didn't.

The Bad Batch shows us that the Empire scooped up all the relevant cloning technology and data from Kamino before doing their genocide there and we know that Palpatine's failed clone body was adult aged and waiting for him when Vader tossed him off the OSHA violation in TotJ. Meaning that the clone lab on Exegol was there about 20 years before the Battle of Endor, right around the end of the Clone Wars.

The jars of Snokes show that they weren't just a small operation built to make goo-slick vampire palpatines like Dark Empire, but a large scale facility. Creating force wielding clones viable for Sith soul transference is the tricky part, making normal DUDES is old hat. So my hypothesis is that Palpatine's sith troopers and sith acolytes and all the ones that had been toiling in the background over the decades were also clones. A mass produced, behaviour modded clone slave race whose entire purpose was to build the Final Order and meet up once a week for choir performances in the throne room.

Now the fun part from here is guessing WHO Palpatine cloned for all of this. Whose face is behind the sith trooper helmets and whose is beneath hoods of the acolytes?

Are they all Rey's dad?

#star wars #the rise of skywalker #exegol #sheev palpatine #the bad batch

[hisirdovx]

girl help i am using kingdom hearts logic to worldbuild this fic

#angel.txt #fic: beyond all mortality #sdfsdfds since this is more of a self-indulgent au than an outright rott rewrite i'm letting myself play around with some magic hc's #and also i gotta. figure out the intricacies of douxie's spell and how it works and what it does to him in the aftermath #but im laughing bc im going back to my outline to write out new ideas and i just. they literally sound like i'm explaining kh lore #kh: oh yeah so ventus's heart was inside of sora's which is why roxas looks like ventus and not sora also why roxas has 2 keyblades #me drafting bam: ok so here are thing things douxie can access and here's why it happens and here's this lore i've made for magic #IM JUST SDFDSFSD ITS SO MUCH ITS SO FUNNY #BC I DONT THINK ANY OF IT WILL ACTUALLY APPEAR OR BE EXPLAINED IN THE FIC ITSELF #at least not to the level i have it broken down as sdfsdfsd. the most i'll talk about it is in footnotes or comments if ppl are confused #which i mean. i don't think this is a Bad Thing. i want to know how this story is gonna work before i write it #but god. operating in non-kh fandoms with my brain having been accustomed to kh fuckery for the last 3 years is a Time #once i get deep enough into posting the fic im posting the full outline somewhere so ppl can see my brain going brrrr in real time

[alotofpockets]

Falling | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: “I think I’m falling in love with you.” (full request)

Requested by: anon

Word count: 713

Warnings: reader got hurt during a mission.

A/n: Hi! I'm sorry it has been taking so long, but I promise I am still working on all your 1k celebration requests! Thank you for your patience <3

masterlist | requests: closed | taglist

Waking up in a hospital bed was slightly less scary when you realized your best friend was sitting by your side, holding your hand. She had fallen asleep at some point during your stay at the hospital, but when you slightly moved your hand when you looked around the room she shot up, suddenly wide awake. She looked up at your face and found your eyes open, “Y/n you’re okay!”

You turn back to Wanda and smile, “Hey Wands, I’m not sure what happened, but I’m glad you were here when I woke up. It made me feel instantly safe.”

Wanda tells you what happened on the mission, the operations you had to undergo and that the doctors said they wanted to do some tests once you woke up. After saying so Wanda realizes she should notify the nurse that you have woken up. She squeezes your hand, “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m just going to get the nurse." You nod and smile at her, thankful she is here to take care of you, besides the doctors and nurses.

She comes back a few minutes later with a nurse following close by, “Hi y/n, I’m Kelly. I have been your nurse since this morning. Your doctor would like me to do some tests now that you’re conscious again. Are you ready for me to start?” You tell Kelly that you are and reach out for Wanda’s hand.

When the nurse is done with the tests and let’s you know that with a lot of rest you will be okay, she leaves you and Wanda alone in the room again, with the promise of checking in every hour or so.

You notice Wanda’s thoughts seem to be somewhere else, so you decide to ask her what’s up. “Hey Wands, what’s going on in your head?” Wanda looks up at you shyly “Seeing you almost die made me realize I shouldn’t keep this to myself.” she shares, nervously fumbling with the rings on her fingers.

“What is it Wands, you know you can tell me anything.” Her eyes meet yours and you can see the nerves on her face, which is making you slightly nervous to. You give her hand a comforting squeeze, encouraging her to continue. Wanda takes a deep breath before voicing her thoughts.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Your mind goes blank for a second before the thoughts start running through your head. Wanda, your best friend for the last five years likes you as more as a friend. The girl you’ve had feelings for well over a year now, likes you back! The girl that’s sitting next to you after just confessing her feelings, the girl you’re currently not responding to. That made your eyes quickly move to Wanda’s again, you notice the red quickly leaving her eyes. She sees on your face that you realize she was reading your mind, a blush creeps its way up to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, when you weren’t responding my nerves got the best of me.”

“It’s okay, I understand. And I know you’ve read it in my mind, but I would still like to say it out loud. Wanda I’ve been falling in love with you over the past few years, too.” You share a quiet moment just looking in each other’s eyes, both with big smiles on your faces. “So, I know you’ll be in recovery for a while, but once you’re free to go would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Yes, Wands, I would love to.” You say with a big smile on your face. “Great, I’ll start planning the best day. And in the meantime, I will be by your side the whole time.”

“Thank you Wanda, you’re the best. For now, do you think we can cuddle in here?” Wanda nods her head and nudges you to move over a bit before climbing into the bed with you. You lay your head down on her shoulder and she wraps her arm around you. Her free hand finds yours and intertwines your fingers.

The next time the nurse walks in she finds the two of you sound asleep in the bed. She quietly checks your monitors before closing the door again softly.

Main taglist:

@yellowvxbes // @xxromanoffxx // @xxxtwilightaxelxxx // @wandanatvoid // @wandaswifeyforlifey // @marvelwomen-simp // @snooy245 // @peggycarter-steverogers // @wandas-slut-heart // @nats-dreamland // @hoe4flosblog // @laaurrel // @catasha // @t00manyfand0ms // @multifandomlesbianic // @bandit2029 // @avengerswriter4eva // @gigistylestomlinson // @snowdrop1026 // @sylvies4ever // @youreatotalposer // @mellowladyangel // @milfloverslut // @natasha-danvers // @lyak12 // @smallestavenger // @when-wolves-howl // @svftpetker // @la-reine-des-enfers // @official-chaotic-wandamaximoff // @b0r3d-s1mp1ng-b1tch // @bubblensqueak002 // @imabee-oralizard // @rafecameronswhore // @be-missed // @romaaa28 // @youresuchamom // @youralphawolf72 // @maia-lightwoood // @romaaa28 // @rootbeerfaygo // @elliesayshello869

Wanda taglist:

@strangegardentaco

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda mcu #wanda marvel #marvel #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff fluff

[plaguedocboi]

More scary waters, by popular demand!

Since my last post ranking bodies of water really, really blew up, I decided to make a second. Some of these were suggested by people (in which case I’ll credit them), and some were just ones that didn’t quite make the cut for the first list.

I’ll also be doing a third list ranking the most toxic bodies of water in the world, so stay tuned for that.

Also, keep in mind that these aren’t ranked by how dangerous they are. They’re ranked by how scary I, personally, find them. So if the rating seems off, it’s due to which ones inspire a visceral reaction in me and which ones don’t.

Silfra Rift, Iceland

This one is something that I actually find very beautiful rather than scary, but it still seems like something that others might be freaked out by. The Silfra Rift is the point where the Eurasian and North American continental plates are pulling apart, creating a crack in the earth that filled with water. The water here is incredibly clear, and you can see all the way down to the bottom even in the deepest spots (which are almost 200 feet down, by the way). It’s the only place in the world where you can put your hands on two different continents at the same time! I’ve had the privilege of snorkeling here, and although it’s definitely deep, I wasn’t terribly scared due to the fact that the rift is just so beautiful. The only danger to swimmers is the temperature; it stays between 35-39 F year-round, meaning anyone getting into the water needs a full drysuit to avoid getting hypothermia or worse. I give the Silfra Rift a 1/10 fear rating because I thought I would be much more freaked out by it than I was.

Dragon Hole, China

While not as visually striking as the Great Blue Hole in Belize, this sinkhole in China is the deepest “blue hole” in the world. This pit descends 987 feet down. This earns a 2/10 purely because this is just a goddamn hole in the ocean that’s almost 1,000 ft deep and I don’t care for that.

Lake Tanganyika, multiple countries (suggested by @iguessiamhere)

This lake didn’t quite make the cut for the first list because it comes in second to Lake Baikal. It’s the second-oldest, second-deepest, and second-largest (by volume) lake in the world. But someday, Lake Tanganyika may be number 1, because just like Baikal, it’s a Rift Valley. It’s getting bigger every day, and in a few million years when Baikal is an ocean, Tanganyika might be the largest lake by default. Its 4,820 ft depth earns it a 3/10.

Lake Superior, US/Canada (suggested by multiple people)

This is the largest of the Great Lakes, and the third-largest lake in the world. It reaches depths of over 1,000 feet and has a surface area of over 31,700 square miles. Lake Superior is the site of over 350 shipwrecks and contains roughly 10,000 dead bodies. The reason these bodies are never recovered is because the lake is very cold, and very deep. The lake bottom is essentially a sterile environment, where bodies are preserved for eternity instead of floating up as a normal body would. This lake holds onto her dead. 4/10 for sheer danger and alarming amount of dead bodies.

Cenote Angelita, Mexico ( @olive-k wanted a cenote, and this list has two!)

This is a cenote with an underwater river running through it. No, I’m not kidding. Underwater rivers are actually quite common, but they rarely exist in places that humans can see them. Usually they’re caused by a current moving in a different direction than the majority of the water, or a boundary between water with different density (as is the case here). The “river” appearance in Angelita is enhanced by dead trees, giving the appearance of a bank. For the first 100 feet, this cave has regular freshwater. But a little deeper lies a layer of hazy hydrogen sulfate, and beneath that is 100 feet of salt water. This ranks 5/10 because can you imagine descending towards a hazy patch of water and branches that you assume is the bottom, only to pass right through it and see a gaping black expanse beneath? No thanks.

Devil’s Hole, Nevada

As a biologist, this is somewhere that I actually want to visit. This tiny waterhole in the desert is the only place that the endangered Devil’s Hole Pupfish lives. But we’re not here to learn about cute fish, we’re here to read about unsettling waterways. And hooo boy, this one is pretty weird. Because despite its appearance, this isn’t a little rainwater pool. It’s the opening to a huge cave system, which reaches depths of at least 500 feet. We’re not totally sure, though, because the bottom has never been mapped, and several people have died trying to attempt it. 6/10, since it’s very deep, hasn’t been fully mapped, and is apparently haunted.

Eagle’s Nest Sinkhole, Florida

There is literally a sign in front of this sinkhole that reads “STOP. Prevent your death. There is nothing in this cave worth dying for” accompanied by a picture of the Grim Reaper. Need I say more? Probably not, but I will anyway. This sinkhole is the only surface opening to a cave system that stretches several miles and plunges to over 300 feet deep. Miles of twisting, confusing, narrow passages with only one exit make for an extremely dangerous cave system. For some fucking reason, it’s a very popular dive site. At least 11 people have died here since the 80’s, and is referred to as the “Underwater Mt Everest” because of how dangerous it is. 7/10.

Zacatón, Mexico

This cenote was literally considered “bottomless” for a long time, because no one could find the bottom. Multiple expeditions were attempted, including one where a man died after reaching 925 feet without finding the end. It took a multi-million dollar operation funded by NASA to find the bottom of this hole. I’m not kidding. Turns out, it’s 1,099 feet deep, making it the deepest cenote in the world. It disturbs me that it took NASA and a robot designed to map alien moons to locate where this hole ended, so it earns an 8/10.

Saltstraunen, Norway (suggested by anon)

This narrow strait is home to the strongest tidal currents on the planet. Roughly 110 billion gallons of seawater move in and out of this corridor every six hours, creating violent currents. These tidal movements are so strong they create a phenomenon very similar to the whirlpool in Scotland—the Saltstaunen Maelstrom. This vortex is 33 feet across and forms four times a day as the tides go in and out. Although this whirlpool is only 16 feet deep (very shallow compared to Scotland’s) the currents alone would probably destroy you if you ever fell into this strait. 9/10 because damn.

Blue Lake, Russia

Despite having the least creative name of all time, the Blue Lake is anything but boring. Like the Zacatón, this lake had a reputation for being bottomless for a long time. A diver died after descending to 394 feet, and another barely survived after going down to 685 feet. Neither found the bottom. Eventually, the bottom was discovered and it came as a surprise. The lake itself is only 770 ft by 426 ft, but it is 846 ft deep. This lake is deeper than it is long. It is also a constant 48 degrees F, making hypothermia a risk for any swimmers. If that’s not bad enough, it’s also full of hydrogen sulfide, which makes the air around the lake potentially dangerous. However, people do still dive here on occasion (mostly for research purposes) and the lake is surprisingly beautiful beneath the surface. Still, that doesn’t make it any less deep, cold, and poisonous, so this is a 10/10 for me.

Honorable mention: The Mariana’s Trench, because although it’s not really a specific body of water it’s the deepest point in the ocean, at 7 miles below the surface!

#bathophobia #water rating part 2 #long post