#and also i feel scared that somehow bringing this specific paranoia up would be like guilt tripping people into like being nice to me or | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dodo-begone · 3 years

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Crotch Goblins

Pairing: Purpled x Reader, Ranboo x Reader, Tommy x Reader, Tubbo x Reader

Request: wait would it be cringe if i like. requested your take on the yandere kids

Word Count: 1.6K

Warning: yandere, fighting mentioned, stalking, fear of abandonment, anxiety, stealing, kidnapping, the egg

A/N: This is all platonic! Nothing romantic.

Ranboo

This poor child lives in constant fear of forgetting you. His memory issues are a big problem and it affects everybody he loves. And his anxiety definitely doesn’t help his situation; it only feeds his paranoia of losing you.

To prevent losing any precious memories of you, he’ll write down so much about you. He’d probably have books on books just dedicated to things about you he wants to remember. Another way to always remember you is to never be away from you! It’s much harder to forget somebody if you’re constantly around them!

If you allow it, he’ll fucking cling to you. He loves the attention and reassurance you give him. Aw yeah he's a poor memory boy and constantly scared of Dream and enderwalking. Please stay by him??? Pretty please??

He’ll occasionally come over to your house in search of your company. Though he won’t tell you that directly. It’ll be under the pretense that he’s very scared of something happening and wanted to stay with you for some comfort. Not all of that’s a lie though. He always goes to you when he’s anxious; you’re his safe place. You make everything right and good again. You found it rather endearing that he trusted and liked you so much. Baked treats would always be on standby for his visits.

He’ll slowly start to stay at your house for longer and come back quicker. Soon he’s practically living with you. You’re not bothered by it at first, and you don’t think about it after a while. The domesticity of the situation just feels right. Why would you disrupt something like this?? And he deserves some of this. After all, the dsmp isn’t a nice place, and especially not to Ranboo. Why don’t you just let him have this?

Tommy

Tommy lives in constant fear of you abandoning him. Or worse, having someone take you from him. He’s lost so many loved ones already, and he doesn’t know how many more he can live through. You’re one of his most prized possessions, besides Tubbo and the Disks. Above Tubbo, but a close contender with the disks.

He’s gonna be clingy af. And he’ll do anything you want him to. By that, he really means anything he thinks you’d want him to do or something that’s “necessary”. Overall it’s just bad stuff. Be prepared for some warfare to happen just for you.

No thought, only fighting. Fights will break out over the silliest things. Like he wants attention from you? Fight! Someone getting too close?? Begone thot!! This is his friend! Not theirs! Back off.

After every fight, you’ll bandage his wounds while lecturing him. Not a single thing you say will be properly heard by Tommy. Your words would slur together in his ears, turning themselves into a beautiful song. Did you know your voice sounds really good? Oh yeah, you make the pain go away so quickly too. Your medical skills are just so fucking good, can’t you see?

There will be no question that he’d steal for you; he’d do it without question or request. If he finds anything that you might like or need? Yoinked as soon as the old owner isn’t looking. Finders keepers, after all. The smp is a dog-eat-dog world. And you deserve the fucking best shit man. If you find out it’s stolen, you’d return it in a heartbeat with so many apologies. You somehow found it somewhere and you didn’t know it was theirs. Wow you must like Tommy if you’re covering for him like that!

You’d be dragged around by Tommy on some days. All a grand tour to show you his creations, and he begrudgingly shows you some of the builds by the others. He feels somewhat inadequate when he eventually shows you his stuff. Like his multiple cobblestone towers. But you’re giving such nice compliments for each one. And they’re all so unique too. No two compliments are the same. He is a really good builder, huh?

Tubbo

He’s going to be protective of you. Not overbearingly so, but definitely is watching out for your safety a ton. With him having watched the lives of those he loves fall apart around them, he doesn’t want the same fate to fall upon you. He can’t go through that cycle again, and especially so soon. You’re so nice too. You definitely don’t deserve that fate.

Micheal took a liking to you really quickly. If Micheal likes you, that means that you’re a part of the family. He doesn’t care what you have to say, it’s just facts. You have a problem with it? Try bringing that up to Micheal. Want to tell him that you aren’t a part of the family? Exactly. So that means that you are a member.

Oh and you help him so much, which he’s thankful for. And it’s not just to a specific type of task either. You help with everything. Building, cooking, caring for Micheal, the whole biz. With you doing so much and putting so much effort into everything, that must mean that you love him like he loves you, right? Nobody does this much for somebody else without loving them. So the obvious answer is that you love him back!

Will do anything in his power to convince you to move in with him, Ranboo and Micheal. Like really hard. He pulled all of the charms and stops. And there’s a very slim chance that you didn’t move in. Though you would eventually. There isn’t a chance in hell that you wouldn’t be living in that house by some point. You’d be moving in with or without your consent. Maybe one day you just woke up in the mansion. Oh hey why do you look so confused? You agreed to move in already silly, don’t you remember?

There’s no and, if, or buts about it; he’d get Ranboo in on it also if he wasn’t already. They’re platonically married after all. And the three of you are all friends. So it’s obvious that Ranboo would be in on it as well. If he isn’t, then he’d turn a blind eye to Tubbo’s behavior. Huh, yeah he didn’t notice that at all. Nope, nothing odd happening here.

Would absolutely get you to help him on every little task that he could. Especially with building and taking care of little Micheal. The builds would be little cottage core stuff. Such sweet and quaint things. Not too much or too hard, but very pleasing to the eyes and the feeling of accomplishment the two of you got at the end of the project felt incredible. Children can be such a handful too, so any help for Micheal will be much appreciated. Plus it’s so much fun to play with children, especially children in Micheal’s age group. The more time you spend with them, the less time you have to spend with anyone else. Which leads to a smaller chance of being taken from them.

Purpled

This man? Oh he’s so fucking happy that you and him don’t have many relations outside of each other. It’s so much easier for you two. Since you two are so close, it’s easy to coerce you into living with him. Yeah it may be far from the rest of the smp, but that’s okay. It’s not like you had any friends there. It’s easier to stay safer so far away from everything. And you know what’s even better? Nobody would even notice y’all disappear!

Before y’all moved away, he always conveniently showed up at random times. It was always during times when you were alone or felt alone. Really helped you there; made you feel loved that somebody noticed and was there for you. Though it was odd how often he appeared at just the right moment. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth though.

He always knows what to get you. What your favorite flowers are, what food you like, what your favorite color is, your favorite gift items. He even knows your dislikes. Even the ones you don’t tell him. You know, anything a good friend would know.

If somebody even remotely offends/scares/harms you, they’re in fucking trouble. That? Yeah, that’s a valid reason to start a fight. He’ll beat them within an inch of their life and threaten to do it again if they even thought of hurting you like that. >:( Definitely got them to stop talking to you.

Since he’s working for the egg, he feels like the egg could maybe protect you?? Yeah he’s not completely under its control and he sees how crazy the other members of the eggpire are, but it can’t be that bad. The others are just praising it, talking about how it could make all of his deepest desires a reality. Not many people like going to the egg, and they wouldn’t be looking for prisoners there. So it should be safe for you. Well, safer than the outside world. And his deepest desire is your safety and love, so that should be easy to gain if he brought you to the egg, right?

There is no question: he’d kidnap you to bring you to the egg. Though it’ll be after a while of trying to persuade you to come with him for that. You heard so many horrible things about the egg, so it’d be better if you didn’t get involved with that. So if his attempts to get you to the egg fail, then some forceful measures will be used. It was for your best interest after all.

#c: purpled #c: tommy #c: tubbo #c: ranboo #tw: yandere #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #purpled x reader #ranboo x reader #tommy x reader #tubbo x reader #yandere #tw: fighting #tw: stalking #tw: anxiety #tw: stealing #tw: kidnapping

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yandere-sins · 3 years

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Be safe (Atsumu)

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Miya Atsumu x afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Forced/Unhealthy Relationship, Manipulation, Mention of blood

“But if you leave, they’ll find you.”

Again, you couldn’t argue with that. You couldn’t argue with anything he said; not, when he was so right about it.

It had been days now, perhaps a week since you two left the village. Time passed quicker when you were hunted and always had someone on your heels, so you lost track of it. It moved especially fast if these someones had long jaws and big teeth, trying to maul you no matter if you were awake or asleep. If you didn’t see them while you wandered the forests by Atsumu’s side - stumbling and failing to keep up with him no matter how hard you tried - then they’d come to you in your nightmare-filled hours of sleep. You weren’t sure if you were cursed or ridden with remorse, but you had never been so constantly exhausted in your whole life before.

No matter how safe your current location was, you caught yourself looking over your shoulder all the time, double-checking your surroundings. Sometimes, subconsciously, you held yourself back from touching trees or kicked away your footsteps when there was time for it. Paranoia was a constant companion, and it wasn’t any better than the person you actually were traveling with.

There was no hiding it how bad of a travel companion Atsumu was. His constant picking on your abilities, the insults, and trashing wasn’t only going on your nerves but even deeper, down to your confidence and strength. When you two were talking, it was mostly arguing with each other or you telling him you couldn’t take another step without collapsing. The few times that you stood up for yourself, Atsumu made it crystal clear there was nowhere to go.

“But if you leave, they’ll find you,” was his new go-to sentence whenever you dared to defy him. As if he liked to remind you that the choice between pest and cholera you made wasn’t going to guarantee you freedom from the other. Atsumu might be the pest in your life at the moment, but there was something just as or even worse ever-present, ready to lash at you the moment you distanced yourself from the fox spirit.

Perhaps Atsumu wasn’t the prince you wanted, but you came to realize he was the fox you needed.

You couldn’t keep count of the times you two had been attacked on your journey, not specifically by other foxes, but there had been many other creatures that seemed to want to pick a bone with your protector. Whether it had been because of you or simply because they seemed to have a specific interest in Atsumu, these fights always were more gruesome than your innocent, human heart wanted to see. One or two times, there had been a critical amount of blood lost after a fight, but so far, you two had managed to get out of it every time. Those were nerve-wracking times, and you had thought about simply leaving Atsumu where he hid himself to recover, so you could run away. Perhaps it would have saved both of you some trouble if you separated, and maybe you would have been safer on your own, hiding and dodging the things that came after you.

But were you really? Thoughts flooded your mind almost instantly about the things that could happen when you were on your own. Most of the time, you didn’t even know where you were, stranded in the middle of the forest, and even if you knew, where would you go? You couldn’t go back to your’ home’ as it wasn’t a safe place for you anymore. And if you asked for help, the best anyone could do was bring you back there, where ultimately, you’d be found. You didn’t want to think about what would happen if another person tried to interfere with this particular situation you were in. What would happen to them.

Somehow, seeing him wounded and whiny, you couldn’t bring it over you to abandon him like that. Of course, there were more factors playing into why you’d stay by his side instead of leave, but you were still struggling with accepting them all. Even if he probably would have survived without you, you made yourself believe you felt indebted to at least try to help him, perhaps tend to his wounds amateurishly. In the end, you rather endure his grumbles and moans than to really leave him, and that should have told you everything right back then.

It should have told you what kind of coward you were.

You were scared of the marriage, having wanted nothing more than run away. But now you were scared of the consequences - your life, even. To some degree, Atsumu was scary too. You saw him - his real from - and you watched him fight. If he wanted, he could kill you in one bite with his giant maw, and so, staying with him was scary. But he didn’t. Quite on the contrary, and even more so, against his harsh words, he still held your hand gently, warmed you at night by laying down next to you so you wouldn’t get cold, and brought you food. You stopped asking where he got it, checking the freshness date on the packages only to find them being practically new. Yes, you were curious, but he had his ways, and he never got you the same thing twice, and especially not if you seemed to have disliked it.

This journey wasn’t quite what you expected your life to be, but every day, it was taking new paths and let you experience more things. Even if civilization was close, you began to forget and yearn less for it, the longer you spent time with Atsumu outdoors. Of course, there were things you absolutely missed, like normal baths and, well, fridges to open even if you aren’t hungry, but Atsumu’s drive to move forward was stronger than your desire to go back to normality again. And really, there was less and less to complain about because if you did, he’d take care of it. He’d run and fetch you new clothes or yarn to fix small holes in yours. If you were cold, he found you fur to wear, and if you two crossed paths with a river, he let you wash up even without looking - you hoped.

Over time, he was less and less an annoyance as he was a caretaker. Though his walking pace never slowed to something you could match, he still stopped ever so often to wait for you or even offered to carry you on your worst days. Riding a gigantic fox wasn’t comfortable, but efficient, and holding on to him tightly, the wind never won over the warmth coming from him.

Still, and you assumed Atsumu knew this as much as you did, this arrangement you two had wasn’t something meant to last.

“I know they’ll find me,” you whispered, thoughtfully dragging your hand over the arm he laid around you, spooning you from behind so you wouldn’t be cold. The makeshift dip in the ground you two used as a bit of a cover for the night was anything but comfortable, but having something breathing and warm lay beside you and hold you did a lot for you. “But… this life… I can’t live it either.”

He grumbled something into the back of your head, his voice lost inside your hair. Surely, it was just another complaint, but you understood what he wanted to say. To him, you going back and living a relatively everyday, human life was out of question, Atsumu always insisting that you’d be found and killed if you left his side. You offered for him to come with you, to live a ‘normal’ life with you despite your gut telling you he would be the largest annoyance you ever encountered. Still, he shied away from it.

From what you had found out, he and his brother - Osamu - only recently joined the other foxes who, against what the two were, lived relatively civilized even though they kept themselves hidden from the public still. Meaning, the brothers were actually fox spirits much more feral than the others and not used to humans or how they behaved. Atsumu explained that with a stern expression, unlike his usual chipper one. Personally, he’d rather describe himself as ‘fun’, but apparently, even he knew the differences that separated the two from the clan.

Living like humans didn’t seem like an option for him after centuries of being wild. But to expect the same amount of enthusiasm he had for nature, slowly but surely, seemed to also dawn on him as impossible. It became evidently clear that it wasn’t just your state of being that collided with each other, but generally two wholly different worlds that just didn’t fit. If you liked the day, he liked the night. You preferred warm water, and he cold - he the mountains, rather than the beach and warm sea.

It seemed impossible that you two would ever get on the same level of understanding, and you were painfully aware that one of you would have to cave in if you two decided to stick together for a better chance of survival. Your mind began to buzz as you thought over all the possibilities, making you fear that there was another night of restless dozing incoming.

“So you want to leave me… too.”

His whispers barely reached you while your head was focused entirely on different things, but his voice made you listen up. “What did you say?” you mumbled, slurring your words as you felt the heaviness of the drowsy half-sleep that you had already been under. Atsumu’s hold around you became tighter, and he pressed himself right up to you, almost as if he was trying to melt into you and hide, but your stirred, feeling alerted by the change of moods, making it impossible for him.

“If you go, I’ll be all alone…” he mumbled softly. Meeting his gaze head-on turned out to be an unfortunate action, your heart feeling a throbbing pain. For the better portion of the time spent with him, you had cursed Atsumu under your breath, wished for him to leave, and especially keep his potty mouth shut. But right now, he looked like a baby animal, with wide eyes and puppy gaze. A being you’d rather protect and coddle instead of the monstrosity he actually was.

Perhaps he was uncomfortable, realizing you could see his feelings, so he quickly hid his expression in your shoulder, putting on a fake laugh as he spoke. “I can’t go back either, and my brother didn’t want to come. So if you go… I’ll be truly alone.”

Biting your lip, you felt an incoming headache press on your brain. The sudden change of feelings inside you was raging war against the ideas of the future you had been building in your mind and thought over. It was true, so much you knew, Atsumu left a lot to break you out and run away, no matter how much he seemed to think humans were worthless beings. Maybe that was the reason that he kept insisting on sticking around with you and tried to keep you satisfied even if his words were as harsh as bites.

In some ways, that made him the same as you. Both of you only had the other one left and nothing else.

Even before realizing this, you had noticed how Atsumu was treated by other creatures. If he wasn’t fighting someone, even spiritual beings seemed to want little to do with him, huffing and leaving with a scowl. You couldn’t know if there wasn’t at least one other friend he had, but currently, it didn’t seem like he was very much liked by others besides his brother, who he spoke fondly off most of the time. Though you wondered why, you didn’t voice these questions, instead trying to think of what to do.

Happiness clearly looked different to you, but Atsumu’s taunts aside, he wasn’t as bad as that he’d deserve being robbed of it too. Even if separating seemed like the best way in the long run, it broke your heart knowing he’d be in this predicament just because of you and because you made the more selfish decision. Perhaps if you two knew each other longer, he would become gentler in his choice of words? Maybe he’d be more considerate and kind once he got to know you as not just the ‘human’ but actually as an individual? There was still the possibility he’d change, right?

“I’m…” you spoke up, not having thought about it twice. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not?” he immediately chimed up, pushing himself up and peering over your shoulder. “You’re going to stay with me?”

“Y-Yeah…” you stuttered, deciding to keep the idea of leaving at a later point in time to yourself. “I’m staying.”

His face suddenly was too close again, warm breath caressing your skin and messing with your head. Your heart picked up the pace as you didn’t know how to respond to the broad smile and delight in his shining eyes. If you turned your head a tiny bit more to the right, you could have kissed him without any more effort. There was something nudging you in your head to do it, but curse your reasonability - or bless it - that you figured that would set more things off than you could handle.

“Forever?” he asked as innocent as a child, and you gulped, immediately feeling like you were caught in a lie. There was no plan of sticking with him longer than necessary, and ‘forever’ seemed awfully long for some time. Atsumu waited for a reply almost angelically patient. Instead, you felt his face nuzzling against yours, like an affectionate pet would. He genuinely seemed to be happily anticipating your response, and you wondered if it meant so much to him to not be alone anymore. There must have been more loss than you could imagine in his life that he’d be satisfied to be by your side despite him always making it seem like you weren’t up to his standards.

“Forever is awfully long,” you eventually contemplated out loud, and though you couldn’t see it, you heard the disappointment and frustration in his voice as he spoke up again.

“And I am supposed to endure it all alone?”

Of course, it wasn’t fair, you understood it too. You knew he lost a lot too by helping you, and if this was his only requirement, maybe you could fulfill it. It wasn’t like he asked you to serve yourself on a silver plate, and no, he did not need to remind you what the pros and cons were of staying with him.

With him, at least, you’d be safe from whatever was coming your way.

He had proven himself more than once to you.

Slowly, you sat up, even though Atsumu’s body followed as if he was an extra limb on you. His touches and closeness never ceased, and you didn’t have the strength or even will to fight it. “I can’t promise forever,” you stated firmly, deciding to put a foot down in this conversation, even though you knew it was time one of you caved in to the other. And it seemed it would be you.

“But for now, I will stay. You’re not alone if I’m around, right?”

For a solid minute, and with the time stretching out the longer it was quiet, you two merely stared at each other, neither of you budging to the other’s stare down. If everything in this world was scary, it might be true that you underestimated Atsumu, but he was the least of your concerns now. He’d yap and snap, but you found some trust in yourself that he wasn’t going to bite you.

“Pinky swear?” he required softly, being calm once more. With how close he was, only a whisper was appropriated to not burst anyone’s eardrums, and from the corner of your eyes, you saw his hand lift to the height of your head, pinky stretched out in anticipation.

You thought for a second. There was a nudge in the back of your head about supernatural beings and promises, but it was late, and you were tired and your memories fuzzy. Something in you didn’t want to promise it; after all, who could know how long this promise was going to last, and you didn’t want to think of the consequences when breaking it. But if it would end the conversation, and positively too, then who were you to deny him?

Linking your pinky with his, you felt the fingers curl around each other tightly as if it strengthened the bond you just made. Once he released you again, you sunk down, back into his arms, wondering if you had made a mistake just now. But when you laid your head against his chest, you heard an enthusiastic rhythm coming from it, and it made you almost believe that it was the right choice.

“Tomorrow, let’s search for a home,” he mumbled. These were words meant for you, but they sounded incomplete as if there was a hint you missed in them. Your eyelids became heavier as you listened to Atsumu’s heartbeat, his warmth lulling you into sleep, and you heaved another deep sigh as you wondered if the feeling of being safe in his arms was justified or just another illusion in your exhaustion. The last thought that crossed you before falling asleep was if this was any different as staying with the clan you tried so hard to escape from. But your mind gave out before you could think about it any more thoroughly.

Little did you know that Atsumu would never ever let you go again. Even if you had told him ‘no’, it wasn’t like it was actually your decision, and with a wagging tail, he looked forward to the new future with you he’d build. One that you couldn’t run from, unlike what awaited you in the past.

After all, Atsumu was the only one that could keep you safe, and he’d make sure you’d never forget it.

a/n: I can't lie, this chapter was a bit of a struggle for me as I was lacking a clear direction for it, but I hope I was able to make Atsumu's yandere personality in connection with his more real struggles that I think he'd experience, shine through! Do let me know what you thought in the comments or asks and thanks for reading ♥ Next up is Osamu!

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Everyone's Problem

TITLE: Everyone’s Problem CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. + Imagine HYDRA has been quietly watching Loki living a quiet life on Earth. They decide it’s finally time to bring him into the fold. It doesn’t exactly work out the way they intended. RATING: T

NOTES/WARNING: Hi, y'all! I haven’t written in a fair while, so I did a quick little one-shot with Charlie to get myself back into shape. It’s probably rough, but cut me some slack! If you’re interested in reading other Charlie stories (there’s a bunch!), you can find them on my masterlist here. Language, mentions of violence, attacks and blood, one v angry human, and typos probably.

“Loki, it’s a stomach ache. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Charlie remarked for the fiftieth time that morning as she gently shoved the darling Asgardian she called a boyfriend away from her.

Loki huffed for about the same number time. “According to your interweb healers, it could be an autoimmune disorder, an ulcer or gastric cancer! Forgive me if I’m a little worried about–”

“WebMD is not a qualified physician, Loki Odinson! Settle. The fuck. Down!”

Though her tone was no-nonsense, a smile was tugging at the left corner of her plump lips, evidence that she was not nearly as cross as she portrayed herself to be. When she brushed past him, Loki circled his arms around her waist and tugged her into his body, peppering her face with kisses as she made noises of weak protest. Despite his best advances (and really, he was doing his best work here) her laughter began to trickle down and out of existence.

“Loki, stop,” she said firmly, though he was only half listening.

“Stop!” The Prince froze, holding her loosely in his arms. Her tone wasn’t exactly what had caused her to stop his affectionate attack, though. It was the fact that her whole frame had stilled, and her eyes danced from spot to spot as she concentrated on something. “Can you hear that?”

Loki tilted his head and focused. It took a moment, as out of practice in paranoia as he was, but eventually he heard the very distinct pounding of military-grade rubber on linoleum. “Boots.” Quietly, he righted himself, taking silent, measured steps around the furniture, leading Charlie along with him. “Come on. Bedroom. Quickly.”

No sooner had he gotten those words out, the front door slammed open, leaving Charlie to yelp behind him, a handful of his gray heather t-shirt keeping her anchored to his frame. As Loki saw it, there were three men in the immediate vicinity, waving odd-looking guns that bore the signature of the Chitauri. These were not aliens, though. They were humans, who somehow found a way to retrofit the technology to make more powerful weapons. Many had been foolish enough to try it throughout the years, but only one entity bore the skull and tentacled monster on their insignia.

HYDRA.

This was definitely not a great time to still be without magic.

At once, he tried to school the rhythm of his heart, knowing that Charlie was distinctly in tune with the beat and would worry if it seemed like he was in a panic. With delicate fingers, he stroked at her curls, intending to burrow into his side. “Put your arm around me, tuck your head in, don’t let go. Got it?”

She offered little resistance to the order, humming her consent and wrapping her arm tightly around his torso. The feeling gave him comfort, funnily enough, that he was still the warrior that he had trained to be in his youth, despite having lived like a spoiled house cat for the last couple of years. Where in his youth there was glory and blood to be won, today there was only one objective–keep Charlie safe. Loki moved the second the intruders set their scopes on him. Reaching to his left, he grabbed a handful of kitchen knives which would have to do in this pinch and engaged with a growl.

Charlie whimpered, her legs struggled to keep up with his. She could not anticipate his movement and was mostly just being pushed and pulled around the floor while Loki seemed to be skillfully weaving like he was dancing. It also didn’t help that with every jerk of her body and awkward moment, there was the sickening sound of injury filling her ears. In one very distinct occasion, she could feel the breaking of some sort of bone reverberate through her own hand as Loki delivered a blow. Surely, it would be a lot easier for Loki to fight if he didn’t have to worry about Charlie behind him, and the awkward shuffle he had to do to make sure she was never exposed to any of these intruders took significant mental acuity.

When the three in the room had been dealt with, Loki reached for one of their weapons and Charlie’s mobile. He wasted to no time in moving them back through the bedroom door and locking it. Surely, more men would come.

“Stark!”

“Loki, I am, er, dealing with something right now!” The sound of bullets and flying mortar filled the line along with FRIDAY’s voice in the suit. “I’ll need to call you back!”

“Loki.” Charlie’s voice was small and trembling beside him.

Sighing, Loki wrapped his free arm around her and pulled Charlie into his chest. “I have you, love. Don’t worry.”

His lips pressed into her crown. A little bit of battle had shaken away the rust of his instincts and he could feel the distinctive prickle of enemies closing in. He prayed quietly to any entity that would bear to hear his prayers that they would be left alone. There was more noise beyond the door and Loki was left to coo Charlie into silence. He understood her fear, everything to her was a surprise, doubly so when she was scared and couldn’t bring herself to concentrate on her surroundings.

“I’m going to need you to run to the bathroom and lock yourself there, dove.”

Her hazel eyes zeroed in on him with rage-filled acuity. “You’re insane if you think I’m leaving you.”

“Darling, I cannot protect you if I’m busy minding you from getting hurt!”

Her eyes widened. There was panic in her empty gaze if the fidgeting of her fisted hands was anything to go by and it pained him to think that he could not even offer her an empty promise. “No, please! Please, don’t leave me. I–I can’t deal with it if you’re not with me.”

Loki smiled, sighing at the sweet ache of her words on his heart, and cupped her cheeks, dusting them with speckles of others’ blood. “You are braver than this, Charlotte Camden.” His thumbs brushed over her bronzed cheekbones affectionately. “I know you are. So you go and keep yourself safe and I will–”

The bedroom door rammed open with a deafening crash of cracked wood and rained splinters over the couple.

“Go! Go now!”

Charlie reluctantly disengaged, taking a running leap towards the bathroom door and slammed it behind her. Her ear pressed up against the wood to hear the scuffling. It sounded like a bigger force had come in and Charlie swallowed the panicked yelp threatening to bubble up her throat. Loki was a great fighter, but without his magic there was little for him to do if he was incapacitated. All she could do was hope that he was faster, stronger, better than these intruders.

And that’s when she heard it.

His voice.

Screaming.

Screaming like he did when he had a nightmare.

Screaming like when he remembered the blood and gore that he caused and the damage he had done.

Screaming like when he discovered that the extent of his monstrosity went beyond a lineage he had been lied about and the fickle lies he had been fed by a tyrant.

And then she heard it again.

And again.

And again…

And just when she thought her heart could take no more, she heard a body thud onto the ground and the shuffling stop and she feared the worst.

And then her bracelets activated.

Nearly a year of having the damn things on her and she had forgotten that they served any purpose other than setting off the metal detectors everywhere she went. The nanites built up around her in one swift wave. It took Charlie a moment to orient herself back to the seeing world. The colors on the screen still gave her a headache, her eyes still were unfocused, but that was due to her nearsightedness more than anything else, but it was still usable. And the updates Tony had made to the AI over the years made it easy to navigate through the controls.

She kicked the door open at once. Five figures turned back to her while another three were trying to get Loki’s annoyingly heavy body onto a cot to wheel him away. There was blood on his shirt, wounds seeping the dark treacly liquid from stab wounds used to subdue him, he looked pale, but his chest was still moving air and he was muttering deliriously under his breath.

He was alive.

So every one of them now had to die.

The gauntlets whined as the blasters charged and knocked them clean out of their boots. She supposed Tony didn’t think she would ever try to blast anything at full power, but lo and behold her rage was transcendental. They tried to restructure, protect the ones trying to take Loki away while fighting her off. Bullets ricocheted off her armor, letting her forge forward, blasters pumping out energy and leaving a trail of crumpled bodies. Taking a run, her body propelled off the ground, landing with a loud thud just in front of the door and cutting off their escape.

“Put. Him. Down.”

Rifles came up to point at her. Seven in total. They fired in unison, and she raised her arms, flinching instinctually from the projectiles that were intent on ripping into her armor. Charlie’s teeth grit tightly as she waited for the jolt of bullets to knock her backwards. They never came.

I thought it might be helpful to unlock Loki’s magic from the bracelets, the AI spoke into her ear.

When she blinked up, a blanket of green held the bullets in place, swirling in the ether of his magic. Her breath caught. This was definitely not something Tony had mentioned the last time she went in for a tune-up. He had failed to mention that the dampener Loki wore, implanted just under the skin of his bicep was feeding directly into the nanites or that there was any way to access the power. What was stranger was that the magic even listened to her, in the first place. By Loki’s tales, it was untamable force and most sorcerers never got very far without proper instruction. This was most odd.

Guns cocked and reloaded, breaking her out of her reverie. With a flick of her fingers, the bullets turned and resumed their trajectory, delivered back to sender. Another flourish, she disposed of the ones carrying the medical backboard with Loki in it and he fell to the carpeted ground with a groan.

Headache in full swing, she ran to his side, pushing away bodies to fall to her knees beside him. Nanites receded from her hands to touch his cheek.

“Loki. Babe, look at me.”

A wry smile curled his lips. “I am. I’m just very tired.” He chuckled, ending it with a cough and a groan. “Well, that answers the question where has my magic gone all this time?” He blinked a little longer each time as the darkness threatened to drag him down.

“Don’t close your eyes. Please. I need to get you to Tony’s.”

He giggled a little deliriously. “Magic suits you, petal.”

“Jesus, I really do need to get you to Tony’s.” Nanites back over her hands, she pulled his long frame into her arms and heaved. Even with the armor, he was decidedly heavier than any human she had ever met. For a second, she debated going out the front door, but seeing as her apartment was pretty much totaled, anyway, she burst through a window and into the New York skyline.

Loki blinked awake to the sounds of Charlie berating someone to within an inch of their life. He smiled, settling back into the covers with a grin despite the obvious pain radiating from just under his ribs and the dull ache in his skull. He peeked an eye open to see Stark, actively cowering backwards, away from her tone, narrowly avoiding her walking cane whenever she gestured wildly.

“It would have been nice to know how to activate the damn thing before Loki got fucking stabbed or I felt absolutely sure that he was dead because you put in a life or death trigger on the damn suit! And don’t get me fucking started on the fact that I’ve been carrying Loki’s magic for the last year and had no fucking clue about it!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to keep you from playing with the suit for funsies instead of–”

“WE ALMOST DIED AND YOU WERE BUSY WITH YOUR OWN HYDRA ASSHOLES! WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED BEFORE–”

“Charlie, love,” Loki hoarsed, and the tirade immediately quieted. Charlie rushed over to the bedside, briefly tripping over a chair leg before clambering onto his cot and covering his face with kisses. “Dove, I’m bound to be disgusting at the moment,” he protested weakly, but still pulled her closer by the waist.

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you, too. My savior.” He cupped her face in his hands, absorbing the warmth from her beaming smile. “Glorious. Truly glorious.” He ran his fingers through her curls, bringing them back into shape from their crumpled form. Clearly she had been sleeping here with him and not necessarily keeping up with brushing–that was usually his task, anyway–but her crumpled clothes and dark circles under her eyes belied the worry she felt for him. It made his stomach warm several times over.

“I found your magic.”

He chuckled. “I recall. You can keep it safe for me.” He looked briefly at Tony who was pretending not to smile in the corner. “Do we know what happened?”

“Looking for you, buddy boy. They were a little disappointed you couldn’t do the hocus pocus stuff, but they caught onto the problem pretty quick.”

“I’m the problem,” Charlie muttered, snuggling into his side.

“Mmm, what a lovely problem to have,” he whispered before kissing her crown.

“Look, I’ll talk to your old man and see if we can’t get your sparkles and pixie dust ban lifted–”

“Don’t bother. I can teach Charlie how to use magic if you give her access. He said I couldn’t use seidr, not that I couldn’t teach someone else to wield it.”

Tony looked apprehensive, wincing slightly at the suggestion. “You sure you want to give Live Wire there that kind of ammunition?”

“Oh, if they don’t want to allow me to use my power, that is fine. But I am making her everyone’s problem. Aren’t I, sweet?”

Charlie simply snickered, leaving Tony to groan loudly as he stepped out of the hospital room.

#Loki #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #everybody's problem #fanfictrashdump

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anistarrose · 4 years

Text

Some Sunny Day Bonus Chapter 3: Seen and Unseen

AO3

Summary: A grove of birch trees on a familiar hill, an encounter in the woods that goes terribly wrong, and two memory guns.

Characters: Stan Pines, Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Fiddleford McGucket, Blind Ivan

Been a while, huh? I was planning to celebrate the anniversary of finishing this fic with two bonus chapters just stuffed chock full of hurt/comfort, but then life happened (I got a part-time job and also mild insomnia, you know how it is) so enjoy some prequel angst instead! This one is canon to SSD and set in early 1982, shortly after the portal incident.

***

After a scare with frostbite in late February, Stan sets out at the first sign of melting snow to resume his search for the journals. A snowdrift had blocked several trails behind the house last week, but now they’re passable — so long as you don’t mind the overcast weather, and being up to your heels in mud.

Stan had enjoyed hunting for fake treasure and following Ford’s cryptic clues when they would pretend to be adventurers as kids — he’d been good at it, even. But this time, Ford has left him no hand-drawn treasure maps or whimsical riddles — only more ominous clues, like a ransacked, now empty medicine cabinet, or a ripped out journal page about being watched with X-ed out triangles drawn in all the margins. Clues that make Stan feel like throwing up, because they should mean something to him, but he just can’t bring himself to think it through and face the inevitable conclusion.

This is all my fault.

He stumbles to a halt at the foot of a hill, and realizes he’s surrounded by birch trees. He’s surrounded by eyes that never blink — or maybe, he thinks, before he can tell himself he’s going crazy, eyes that only blink when I’m blinking.

The birch trees don’t scare him the way the rest of the forest does — he’s not afraid of some creature or cryptid sneaking up on him here, where the forest is so deathly silent and he’s left all alone with himself. They don’t scare him the way the town does, either — despite everything, he feels less watched here, where there are no strangers shooting him suspicious glares or cloaked figures vanishing around corners and into the shadows.

No, the birch trees set Stan on edge because whenever he sees them — makes eye contact with them? — he knows he’s forgetting something. It’s something important, something horrible, something dangerous — like the fear of having left the stove on, except multiplied by a million. Disaster is impending, and he’s the one to blame.

This is where I belong.

He hates this place, but he’s come this far, so he can’t leave without giving the eerie birch grove a proper search. He doubts that Ford, at the height of his paranoia, would hide a journal on a hill where even the trees could watch him — but if Stan leaves now, and can’t find the journal anywhere else in the valley, he knows he’ll have to revisit this place eventually. He doesn’t ever want to revisit this unpleasant memory again, if he can avoid it.

Setting out to leave no stone unturned, he finds there are few stones on the hill to turn in the first place. There are few hiding places of any sort, nor any signs of recent digging. Stan suddenly regrets throwing out his metal detector all those years ago, and wonders if the other journals have enough brass in them to give a signal —

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he realizes why. He knows someone’s coming before he hears the snap of twigs or the hushed voices, the murmur of “look at the footprints, he came this way.”

They’re coming from the direction of his — Ford’s house. They must’ve followed him — or as they believed it, followed Ford out here for a reason.

“Who’s there?” Stan shouts, cringing as he hears how hoarse his voice is. His impression of Ford improves as he adds, “What brings you out here?”

“We could ask the same of you, Dr. Pines,” a deep voice booms as two figures in hooded red robes step into view, one more hesitantly than the other. They both wield identical, uncomfortably gun-shaped contraptions. “Still haven’t given up on your project, have you?”

If these cultists, or assassins, or whatever the hell they are know anything about Ford, then Stan needs to know it too. He takes a measured risk.

“I have a lot of projects. You’ll have to be more specific —”

“Ya know what we mean, Stanford.” It’s the second robed figure who speaks up, the one who’d lagged behind his deep-voiced co-conspirator, and the Southern accent throws Stan for a loop. His words suggest some kind of threat, but his gun-toting arm hangs limp at his side. “I — I didn’t want to do this, I really didn’t — but you’re becomin’ a danger, Ford, a danger to yourself and to everyone. And we — we’re here to stop you.”

“Wait!” Stan holds up his hands, dropping his Ford impression. “You’ve got this all wrong! Ford’s not dangerous, he’s in danger and I’m trying to —”

“Enough excuses!” the first figure barks, raising his gun. “IT IS UNSEEN!”

Blue light beams out of the contraption’s bulb, and Stan instinctively raises a hand to shield himself — but the light bends in midair, as if refracted by an invisible prism. It illuminates the clearing like a flash of lightning, but misses Stan by a mile.

“I told you to wait,” he whispers. He understands nothing about the bending of the light, yet somehow, could not be more certain that he alone had caused it.

“Ford?” the second figure asks, no longer sounding hesitant nor conflicted. There’s only one emotion in that voice, and it’s fear.

His companion, on the other hand, aims again without a word — and the light soars over Stan’s head as he falls to his knees, numb to the pain of the impact. Numb to everything except one thought, one single truth, easier to face than any sort of self-reflection on the power he held.

They think I’m Ford. They tried to hurt Ford. They tried to hurt Ford. They tried to —

He makes a fist with his right hand, and he sees the scene through a hundred new perspectives as sickly yellow eyes blink to life on every birch tree. He makes a fist with his left hand, and the forest comes alive.

The robed figures trip over gnarled roots, one of them even dropping his gun, but the trees continue to animate, trunks bending over and bare branches wrapping themselves around limbs. A wind whips through the grove as the cultists flail, begging as they make eye contact — not with the arboreal limbs ensnaring them, but with Stan’s body itself.

And Stan watches in both complete control, and complete disbelief of it all.

There’s a pressure against his skull, a dam about to burst after holding the flood of memories back for too long. There are leaks already, trickles of information and sparks of blue fire that chill him to his core, as images flash through his mind without coming from the birch trees, or even from his own lifetime.

Ford’s not the dangerous one. I am.

Ford’s the one who’s in danger.

Because of me.

The birches loosen their grip on the cultists, who flee the second they can shake themselves free. Stan’s left alone again, staring himself down with his hundred yellow eyes, and he can see guilt in every one of them.

He rises to a standing position, roots winding around his boots and bark creeping up his mud-soaked pants. He can’t face the world, he can’t face Ford, he can’t face himself knowing what he’s capable of, knowing that he’s the worst of all the monsters lurking in the woods —

As the trees of the grove reshape their roots and the ground shakes from the strain, the dropped gun bounces towards Stan’s feet.

It is unseen, he remembers one of the figures shouting.

He picks it up, inputs birch trees, and holds it to his head as he closes as many of his eyes as he can. Fire burns away his memories, and a deluge of ink-black water rushes in to absorb the ashes and fill their place.

***

Fiddleford McGucket runs for dear life with Ivan hot on his heels, until they reach the museum and barricade themselves inside an empty room, bracing themselves for pursuit. When it doesn’t come, Fiddleford enters a name into the memory gun, starting over several times after his trembling fingers betray him.

“Just — just another monster to erase,” Ivan stammers, “with a more human name than most.”

Fiddleford finally gets the spelling right. Two flashes of light with the input screen reading Stanford Pines, and memories of the day’s encounter — and then some — go up in flames.

It is unseen.

***

Stan is kneeling at the muddy base of an even muddier hill, surrounded by trees that look like they’re staring at him.

Or maybe, eyes that only blink when I’m — never mind. That’s ridiculous.

On the ground in front of him is a strange kind of gun, with a lightbulb in place of the barrel. He thinks he’s glimpsed some robed, vaguely cult-looking types carrying these around in town before, so after staggering to his feet, he smashes the device beneath his boot.

He has a feeling he’s forgetting something important again, but he can’t be bothered to try and remember again. He can’t bear to think about it any longer.

***

End notes:

This hill with the birch trees is the same one where Ford took a nap and first met Bill, so needless to say, Stan’s gut instinct about Ford not hiding any journals in a place like this was dead-on.

I have a lot more bonus content planned for this series, like the two-parter I alluded to in the earlier notes, but I’ve got no idea when any of that’s coming aside from a cautiously optimistic estimate of “later in 2020.” Once again, I’m so grateful for all the support you guys have given this fic from the beginning just over two years ago, to the “ending” exactly one year ago, all the way up through today :’)

#gravity falls #same coin theory #stanley pines #bill cipher #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #blind ivan #fic: some sunny day #rosalia writes fic

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whumpbby · 4 years

Note

1/2 What about abo au where Jason's childhood was slightly better, like, his mom wasn't addicted and so he didn't lived on the streets and became a part of batfamily. Instead, he goes similar rout as Steph and becames a vigilante himself. He isn't very skilled, but he has street smarts and fairly talented, and one day he and Batman meet each other, maybe he even helped him somehow. Bruce already knew about new vigilante wandering in the most ratty parts of city, especially Cime Alley, but he

2/2 didn’t knew that Jay is so young and poorly equiped. His instincts are basically screaming to TAKE IN, PROTECT, but Jay dosn’t trust him much when he approaches him after. And he has Catherine, who may not be addicted and thus lasted longer than canon her, but still has a lot of health problem from Crime Alley lifestyle and drugs that she used to take before Jason appeared in her life. And now Bruce has to carefully court (mostly platonically, since Jason is young 16-17 old and looks even

3/2(welp, that was unexpected) and looks even smaller due to malnourishment. Tim who just befriended Spoiler is cartainly helpful, he already mostly knows how to act and what to do. He also falling for Jason fast and HARD, but Jason who started to come around pup foesn’t notice it at all. Because maybe in this verse Tim isn’t much smaller than him, he is still younger, he is a baby, damnit! And there is Nightwing, who gets to know Jason during one of his visits. And Jason immediately having

4/2 crush on him, because honestly, who wouldn’t have a crush on friendly Nightwing. Dick already nows about Jason’t courting situation and starts to visit more often, to help with it. It slooowly works and Jason becomes real friends with bats, gets their tech and med help (he admires Alfred deeply), there is just one last push for him to became pack’s omega, but nobody wants to scare him off, so things remain in this fragile peace. And then there is Damian, who was sent to Bruce earlier. He

absolutelly doesn’t want Jason as their pack, let alone pack omega, no-no, he won’t allow some street rat in his Father’s house. So he starts antagonize him really hard, but only makes situation worse for himself, because for bats Jay is very desired and basically already family, while Damian just doesn’t feels right, and now, when he tries to destroy their long work of getting Jay into the pack… Well, their certainly don’t like him much. Like, their instincts in mix, because Damian might smel

XXXXXXXX

Anon, this is as much as I have in my inbox, and I AM IN DESPAIR :O

I LOVED this idea formt he beginning and then LOVED IT EVEN MORE when the ABO came into play:O

Bby Jason, small and ruff, and one day deciding that he will be a vigilante too, to protect his mom and other pups like him. And he’s not stupid about it, he knows that he has no training and no funds for fancy toys and he’s small - but he has the street smarts and he can use them to his advantage. he knows the groundwork of Gotham, he knows where to hide, where to run, who will talk about things. And even if he can’t make things happen himself, he can get some information to certain people who will do it for him.

To date, he’s responsible for 3 serious gang battles in Bowery, conflicts big enough for the Police and the Bats to get interested in them and investigate. Bad people went to jail and it was all Jason;s job, a few words whispered here and there. He’s proud of himself. He took some drug runners off the streets where hie mom lives - knows it’s not permanent, but it should last long enough for him to gather enough information to bust the replacements too.

He’s more akin to Spoiler - uses what he has to do what he can. And it’s not like he’s running around the city at night in a stupid suit - if he’s more than attached to that one red hoodie and a bandana, so what? It’s not like it’s a brand name.

And then, one night when he’s coming back home form the quick grocery run - he happens upon an alpha harassing a very young girl - and he can’t walk away, because she’s a redhead and she reminds him of his mom, and he can’t… the only thing that a quick look-around gives him is a bit of an old pipe sticking out of a nearby dumpster. He grabs it, pulls the hood over his head, pushes his bandana up his chin and goes in.

And it doesn’t end in tragedy - the thug goes down, the girl pulls herself together at Jason’s growled command to run and, well. Huh. He saved someone.

He saved someone.

Jay runs home like he’s flying, all adrenaline and confused joy and when he finally closes the cheap door behind himself, he has to dash to the bathroom and throw up. It’s just too much. He saved someone. He smashed a pipe into someone’s head. The alpha was alive when Jay left, but… he’s not sure if he wants him to live through the night. He doesn’t know… He doesn’t know, he just knows that for the first time since he started, he actually personally helped someone. With his own hands.

It’s a heady feeling. It’s a feeling of responsibility. He can do something now, he knows he can… and so he does. He picks up double-duty. He starts ‘patrolling’ - picks a few bad streets every night and sneaks around. Just in case. Streets he knows that the girls work, streets he knows bad people walk though.

That’s how he learns about the local sex trafficking ring… and, well, this is big. This is too big for him to sort out alone, he needs help. He needs to bring in the big guns - even though he has no regard for the Bats, they almost never visit Bowery, they aren’t heroes to the most downtrodden… but this just may be big enough to get their attention and intervention. As much as Jason doesn’t want them there, he knows that the Bats will help the victims faster than the Police ever will, they will go after the perpetrators… the only problem is, well, it’s not like Batman has a phone number one can call to leave him an anonymous tip.

…except he has, doesn’t he?

That’s how one night Bruce lands on the roof of he Police station, summoned by the light, only to see a confused Jim just emerging on the roof and a handwritten message tied to a brick left by the light with a piece of string that is, well, concerning if the least one can say about it.

Jim raises his eyebrows while B studies the note’s surprisingly neat cursive. Hell, the Commish is concerned - he had suspected this. In the recent year the Police received a suspicious number of suspiciously decent tips form someone who knew too much to not be close to the crimes themselves. They’ve booked a fair number of criminals thanks to the anonymous informant. Was this the escalation?

Batman is concerned in a different way - he’s suspected something fishy in Bowery for a while now. The gang conflicts, they had the markings of strings pulled by someone, but there was no proof. B suspected his paranoia for seeing connections where there was an, but his instincts were telling him there was something to it, and now - now he can see that they were right. Someone was working the ground and slipping intel to the GCPD, someone was somehow causing mild chaos in the criminal world of the Narrows… and now they decided to do this. Involve Batman. Reach out to him? Because the note was serious and if it was true, it was something bigger than - what? That the informant felt they could deal with?

So, Bruce investigates. He checks the police records and discovers a trail of beatings that had a different MO than the usual fare. These were no muggings, these were people ending up with a pipe over their heads in very specific circumstances.

He studies the note - checks it for fingerprints, but finds none. The handwriting, however, is a clue - however even, it still looks hesitant, an unsure hand, someone not comfortable with writing or - young. The word choice - bold and rough, and exactly what a kid like Steph would consider ‘adult’ when she stared out as a Spoiler.

Bruce wants to be wrong, but the clues align and his instincts are rarely wrong, and he knows that what he’s seeing is a new player emerging on the scene. Someone making a name for themselves. So far still aware that they’re not prepared enough to take on more than a thug in a dark alley, but how long will that last? They will escalate, because all clues point to the fact that they’re young.

Damnit, there is another kid on the streets trying to get themselves killed.

MORE ;]

#headcanon #Anonymous

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hornsandthings · 6 years

Text

i was made to live without you, but i don’t understand;

pairing: connor rk800 x reader

summary: connor comes home to his s/o after a hard day at work.

warnings: fluff, angst, brief mention of violent crimes.

word count: 1311

sometimes, when work begot only dirt and blood tainting his files, his clothes – mixing into a mysterious purple – it was easier to rationalise with his mechanical mind. the cold, calculating ways of his old self could be easily slipped back into, a trait which connor found unnerving. if he let himself imagine – an ability he was still getting used to – he pictured this effortless transition as symptom of some buried line of code, sleeping with malicious intent to revert his humanity back to the grey world of statistics. though at times like this, it was a useful skill.

he was vaguely aware of humans doing this too – navigating confronting events through a lens of logic and reasoning. but he knew his lens was ultimate; he had the ability to switch off his emotions entirely, while humans were merely guided by the feeling of apathy in their quest of being removed, albeit if only factitiously. he only used this ability when the situation called for it, though, and today had been one of those days.

he was still adjusting after the transition back into emotion when he opened the door to the apartment you and he now shared. heavy rain had caught him when he was briefly passing from taxi to building, and now water was dripping from hair to shoulder, running along his brows and down his nose. while turning off his emotions during hard cases helped with efficiency during work hours, once he returned to himself the memories generated their own emotions anyway, but at least he did not feel the full impact that first contact would have evoked. so, as he trudged through the dim rooms and corridors on his way to your shared bedroom, he felt as if a great knot tied up his chest, even though diagnostics reported no malfunctioning biocomponents. the day’s gruesome sights replayed in his mind – murders and homicides, regulars of detroit’s alarming crime rate. the thing that bothered him intrinsically, though, the case which prompted him to revert to a machine, was the home invasion. it was brutal – pregnant mother and kids killed in a rage which only red ice could induce.

he hadn’t even realised he had sat down on the edge of the bed until noises from the bathroom pulled him out of the merciless pull of eidetic memory. that was when you walked out into the fading twilight of the room, body wrapped in a towel. you were still drying your hair; the yellow light from the bathroom casting a warm, skewed rectangle across the floor. briefly, connor indulged this as an astute metaphor – you were the one who brought colour to the world of monochromatic precision.

“connor!”

the smile came to your face immediately, abandoning the act of drying your hair in favour of rushing him into a tight hug. he couldn’t even process it properly before you were sitting next to him, knees touching, hand taken to rest between your own in your lap. when you leaned your head on his shoulder, looking up at him with bright eyes, he could see the red flush on your nose and cheeks. the cheery blush endeared you so; the last remnants of machine melted into humanity again and his face crumpled, pulling you across his lap so that you straddled him. your heightened skin temperature comforted him on this extra cold detroit night; emphasised life as your skin seared his when he buried his head in your neck.

quietude slipped across the scene. delicately, your fingers ran over the shells of his ears, scratching at his nape. when connor came home like this, withdrawn and dishevelled, you knew that the work day had been particularly rough. when you’d inquire as to what was bothering him, he’d never tell you specific details, inciting the excuse of classified details. he just couldn’t expose you to the gore of it, the vividness that plagued him so. he knew you only wanted to help, was more than capable of handling the atrocity of it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to burden your shoulders as well. so eventually, when you realised all your questions would be met with only silence, shaky tears, or avoidance, you abandoned the practice altogether. instead, you made it clear that you were there for him whenever he needed you, in any capacity, even if it was just holding him – which had become the regular antidote.

carefully removing the hair towel from your head, you tenderly started to dry connor’s hair. he hadn’t even thought of how cold his skin must feel; his concern confirmed when he saw goosebumps covering your thighs. he would have moved to change into dry clothes, but the feeling of you running the downy towel across his scalp was too good to give up. inexplicably, he felt his limbs go limp, folding into your body with each caress. his focus narrowed to the physical sensation of your body on his, soft in your touches. he thought that this was what falling asleep must feel like.

you felt connor grow heavy against you, so much so that you let the hair towel drop to the bed in favour of fully wrapping your arms around him, lest you fall backwards due to the weight. in the dim stillness, you turned your head to the window, watching the rain roll down the glass.

unbeknownst to you, connor’s mind was processing at a hundred miles per hour, researching and gauging and calculating. the victims of that atrocious homicide – he didn’t know why that particular case bothered him at the time, but now, surrounded by the safety of domesticity, he figured it out. it was because he thought of you, your vulnerability, your mortality; things that contrasted starkly against his clinical immunity to almost all threats. the concept of romance, of a fulfilling future, of family and development and becoming human – this was never in his original programming. yet, somehow he had managed to grow out of it anyway to discover these extraordinary things with you. connor knew that he was made, built, to be self-sufficient, a mission he realised he failed every time he came to you for comfort, for warmth, for love.

upon this realisation, the hidden remnants of machine shifted deep within him, as if the imagined sleeping code was about to twitch awake. the cold, calculating part of him sometimes doubted what value lay in pursuing a relationship with you. you and him as a unit defied reason, defied logic. while he knew that this inner voice would always be a part of him, connor hated that it could still influence him to doubt everything, even when he knew that he was actually happy. he thought about removing himself to another room, unsure if this was the start of a panic attack, or worse: an inevitable reversion. scared of what he might do, but also scared of frightening you, connor started to lean away, but then you spoke.

“i love you, connor. it’s okay, you’re home now. you’re with me.” the words halted his movements completely, dissolved his paranoia, for that was all it was. he only needed to look at you, properly, with the knowledge of the irrational and exceptional human vitality he knew you possessed, to know that he’d never let himself slip away from you completely, and that you’d never let him either. what you two had was strong, was real and valuable and worthy of enduring the pain and confusion the revolution wrought. he shook his head with a rueful smile, lying back against the bed completely and bringing you down to lie next to him.

his smile was tentative, but genuine, the worried lines across his face smoothing as he played with your fingers. “i love you too,” connor said, savouring the pronunciation of your name, “you keep me human.”

fin.

#dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #detroit become human #dbh connor imagine #deviant!connor #deviant connor x reader #dbh connor x you #dbh connor #dbh fanfic

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wtnvwritings · 5 years

Text

Just Past the Mountains (1/?)

AO3 Version

Relationship: Kevin/Reader

Rating: Explicit

First Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You are on a road trip and your car has broken down. There's a man on the radio, his voice is sweet and happy and he calls himself Kevin. This man says he's going to come and get you, take you back to Desert Bluffs because you are his mate and he's waited so long to find you. You don't know very much about Desert Bluffs or StrexCorp or anything else this man is talking about, but there's something about him you trust.

This is the story about how you find, meet and fall in love with Kevin.

Stupid.

So very, totally stupid.

There is no end to the amount of stupidity in your actions right now, in this very moment. Your car has run dry of gas, you're in the middle of a desert and there is neither a phone signal nor a gas station to be found--not even the slightest flicker of life. You hadn't seen a rest stop for the last hour of driving, so it's not as if you can walk there on your own two feet if you wanted. There aren't even any cars passing by: you haven't seen another car for...you're not quite sure how long.

You're alone.

You're alone and stranded in the middle of a desert, no helped to be seen or called for. The sun is going down, dipping beneath the horizon, bringing with it the fear of certain death--there’s no emergency bag in tour car for something like this, as it's too full of clothes and silly things you thought to bring for a road trip across the country. The trip seems so far away in your mind now, so unimportant when facing the certainty of death all around you in the form of sand and scrublands, maybe even a few hazy, distant low-lying mountains.

You could do a lot of things to keep yourself safe. You could have done a lot of things to keep you safe, the past tense a heavy weight on your mind for the importance of preparation. So what do you ultimately do?

You sit.

And you wait.

It's not as if you can walk anywhere, especially not in the middle of a desert. Burning during the day, freezing at night; your only hope lay in being seen and picked up by another driver, if only to be carried to the next gas station so you could call a tow truck of some sort. Maybe it will be a nice old trucker, or maybe still it will be a small family of four plus a dog in the back seat.

You entertain yourself with these thoughts for a few moments more before you let out a sigh and decide that silence isn't something you care to deal with. You look to your phone, hoping to see if you have any songs or games or anything that could even mildly distract you from the moment, and something catches your eye:

A radio.

Specifically speaking, a radio frequency. It doesn't make any sense to see one working on your music streaming app, considering the lack of data, but you're not exactly in the mindset to question the laws of the universe in how they apply to cell phones in moments of emergency.

Desert Bluffs Radio

Maybe it was coming from a town, close enough that you can somehow pick up the signal--maybe it even meant they were close enough that you'd ultimate be rescued by the time the sun rose, a car from the town surely seeing and helping you out.

With the tap of a button, a voice spills out of your phones speakers.

“Good evening, Desert Bluffs! It’s your most productive and smiling radio host, Kevin!”

The voice is cheerful and bright, numbing away a little of the panic in your chest. “I hope you enjoyed that segment of static--that was the financial news! If you didn't hear the actual words behind the white noise, it means you haven't met your weekly quota and have been identified as needing some good ol’ re-education, courtesy of StrexCorp! They'll have you back into peak value in no time.

I would also like to mention that-”

And then, there is silence. The man simply stops talking as opposed to the station going out on your phone, leaving you oddly tense, your breath held in your lungs and eyes glued to the phone screen.

“...I'm sorry, listeners. It appears that there is someone special listening right now. Very special indeed. It caught me a little off-guard, I'm sure you all know the feeling!”

You blink at your phone and suppress a thread of unnerved fear that settles inside of your chest. It's a coincidence. Pure coincidence.

The man pauses again over the radio, leaving you again almost forgetting to breathe, your thoughts coming to a standstill until he finally, seemingly, moves to a new topic.

“I hope all of you are enjoying the evening, Desert Bluffs,” the voice, Kevin, speaks almost softly through the speaker. For all of a heartbeat it feels as if he’s talking directly to you. “After all, the night sky is such a rarity. All those stars and galaxies out there oh, it makes one feel so small and helpless underneath the desert sky, sitting by themselves. In their car. Listening to the sound of my voice.”

Your brain chose specifically not to listen to a portion of the man's words, and instead on how soothing they sounded, how lulling the tone itself felt against your thoughts. It feels like a gentle trickle of water over your brain, washing away the worries and leaving you with the simple desire to keep listening, you hand clutching tight to your half-dead phone.

“...I don't think I'll be on for very much longer, Desert Bluffs. Temporarily of course--nobody can get rid of me that easily! I know because people have tried, and failed--it didn't end very well for those involved!”

Another short beat of silence, another thread of fear in your chest, brain coming to the conclusion that this all might just be a nightmare, a dream fueled by long nights on the road and one too many energy drinks. You let out a held breath and finally force yourself to move, thumb inching towards the power button on your phone to turn it off and conserve power-

But the sound of the voice stops you cold.

“I'm coming for you.”

You blink. The world around you feels frozen.

“You're scared and frightened and so very alone, but don't worry my dearest mate,” Kevin's voice is low and careful and dangerous. “I'll be there to get you soon.”

And then the phone is off, the radio silent, the world plunged once more into silence. You stare at the device in your hands for a few long, unsure seconds, trying to make sense of everything you just heard. The words are still floating around your mind, seared into memory like some sort of promise you can't shake no matter how hard you try to forget. Kevin's voice echoes in your mind, leaving you to toss the phone to the empty passenger seat as if it burns you, so your eyes can drift up to the rear-view mirror, then the side mirrors, and then finally to the windshield before your face.

The fear lingers long after the air is empty of noise. You don't have much of a desire to use your phone again after that, though you come up instead with the excuse that it's solely to conserve power. You're close enough to a town anyway, someone will pass you by at some point and think to check on you--it's not as if it's normal for people to pull their car off to the side of an empty highway in the middle of the desert.

The sun has fallen completely over the horizon, spilling darkness over the scrublands and asphalt. You're not sure if you feel scared or not of the darkness, but safety and paranoia win out enough that your eyes glance about to make sure all the door are locked of the car. Though animals have yet to master the art of opening a car door, this is road trip safety 101, and...it makes you feel better.

A little bit, at least.

It won't be long before the temperature drops. You’re not quite sure how cold it can get at night in the desert, but like hell are you going to take a risk and freeze to death before someone can even find you.

You’re not equipped for any sort of emergency or overnight stay in your own car. There’s no thick blankets or rations of water or food, no extra batteries or portable charger of any sort, but you at least have some extra clothes packed away, clothes that include a couple jackets. You pick one out from the back seat after going through one of your suitcases, deciding on the one that looks the warmest.

Maybe your car will retain some of the heat of the afternoon sun. It’s a silly thought, but it’s one that offers you even the mildest hope of comfort through the night--what else exactly can you do anyway?

You find yourself staring at the front windshield for a while, off into the deep, unpolluted darkness of the night sky. When is the last time you saw the sky look so bright, so big? There are so many stars up there, painting it like a canvas of speckled glitter and washes of color that you don’t know the origin or name of.

The driver seat is adjusted but a few moments later, leaned back so you can lay somewhat comfortably, feet propped on the console and eyes staring out the window to your side. It feels weird to just….lay there, staring out into the stars, car quiet and world silent around you. Surreal, almost, almost like something out of a dream. Somewhere in the back of your head you still think you’re dreaming, maybe a little bit, and this entire thing is supposed to be showing you something important about your subconsciousness.

What in the world getting stranded in the desert is supposed to mean in terms of enlightenment upon your waking mind, you’re not sure at all, but it’s at least a little comfort when panic is constantly pressing against the back of your thoughts.

Maybe five or so minutes later you think to glance towards the passenger seat. Your phone still sits there, screen black and exactly where you had tossed it sometime before.

“I'm coming for you.”

You remember the man’s promise. It simmers in your thoughts and clings with tendrils of unnerved caution and curiosity, like you're swimming in the ocean, treading water at the surface, the words lurking somewhere below.

You're probably just overthinking things.

You're probably just letting the fear of the situation get the best of you. Yeah. That makes sense--no need to worry about problems that don't exist, especially when there are others needing your attention and planning.

It takes a while--minutes or hours or somewhere yet in between--but you somehow manage to fall asleep like that, face turned to the passenger seat, body curled over the driver seat and your mind trying to keep a hold on itself.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Consciousness comes to you slowly. First the knowledge of your own breathing, then the sensation of your limbs, and finally the hold of your own mind still lapsing over the last few moments of a dream you will assuredly forget.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You take in a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs until they begin to ache. There’s a dim awareness that you’re mindly uncomfortable, body curled up in on itself sometime in the night in a way that leaves one of your arms uncomfortably over the center console and one of your legs pressed sharply against the curve of the steering wheel.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your eyes flutter open after a few moments. The world is still dark, or at least the sun has yet to rise. You glance towards your phone instinctively to check for a time, but a groan escapes your lips when you remember that you had turned it off before you fell asleep. With another near-painful breath of air in your lungs, you finally start to make out a dull, rhythmic tapping noise. It’s close, against your car, and you can’t make out what’s causing it--it almost sounds like something on one of the glass windows.

You feel watched.

There’s no trees around to cause such a noise, certainly no wind to brush so solidly against the glass, so it leaves you feeling confusion drip into your otherwise groggy thoughts. The car is cold, all the heat from the day having been lost and leaving you shivering, curled in on yourself--the jacket has done little to help with anything.

Tap.

You can’t take that noise anymore. It’s starting to get into your head and stab through your thoughts.

And then it hits you:

The tapping is coming from the driver side window.

Right above you.

Warning bells start going off in your mind before you move, body jumping up and head spinning around in a panic towards the sound. There’s a rush of adrenaline in your system, heart hammering at full speed in a feeling of utter terror that you can’t begin to comprehend or stop--it’s all instinctive fear, a terror that’s been lingering in you since the moment your car broke down and--

There’s a face in the window.

There’s a darkened face a few inches away from the window.

There’s a face with hollow eye sockets and a wide, stitched, manic grin just outside the window. Moonlight can barely show the detail in it, but you certainly don’t need more than a cursory glance with wide, terror-stricken eyes to feel an instinctive gut-reaction crawl up your throat and out your mouth in a scream.

It feels like an eternity, but it’s probably only a few seconds as your brain’s haywire reaction finally settles down. You blink, and the face is still there, not a mere trick of the light or a lingering night terror from nigh-uncomfortable sleep.

And then you see the face’s mouth moving--it’s the face of a man, and he’s speaking, saying something just outside the window; he’s no longer tapping on the glass.

“Hello!”

It’s not exactly what you expect of the first words from someone who could pass as looking like a serial killer.

You merely blink at him, your body all but pushed itself back into the passenger seat, hands clutching at the nearest objects and heart still beating like a drum against your ribcage.

He blinks at you in return with those dark, empty eyes, and you could swear for the briefest moment that there was a little flicker of light in them, staring at you. The man eventually tilts his head, which is solidly on top of a body standing outside of your car.

It’s hard to make out much detail; it’s still dark, and the moon’s soft glow can only help your eyes pick up so much, as adjusted to the lack of sunlight as they are otherwise.

“Who-” you start to speak, trying not to let your words break. “Who are you? What-....what do you want?”

As if the man’s smile couldn’t get any creepier, it grows wide--you’re not sure if it’s normal for humans to smile that wide--and you catch a flash of sharp teeth behind those lips.

“My name is Kevin!” The man says, as if he’s merely exchanging soft pleasantries as the two of you meet on some random street corner and not as two complete strangers in the middle of a desert, at night, when your car is broken down and he looks like someone out of a goddamn horror movie. “I’m here to pick you up.”

The words go in one ear and out the other, your brain simply can’t filter them right.

“Wh….what?”

“You’re broken down out here,” Kevin says, still so polite, eyes still a void. It’s as if he’s speaking coherently, as if he expects you to understand. “I took a little longer than expected, I suppose I misjudged how far you were from the edge of town! But I’m here, and I’m going to get you back to Desert Bluffs where you belong!”

“I-” you start, sputtering one word into the next. “I don’t--what are you talking about? Desert Bluffs--I--...I don’t think-”

You aren’t allowed a moment to put your thoughts together before you suddenly hear the car door opening (how the fuck, how the fuck that was locked). and the man’s face, now unobscured, peering at you with a hand extended into the car for you to take.

“Don’t you remember?” He has the gall to sound a little offended. “You heard me on the radio a couple hours ago; I said I was coming to get you? Surely you haven’t forgotten my promise already, dearest.”

Promise?

What promise?

You stare at his hand in a dumb-struck silence, unsure what to do or say or even think as Kevin waits patiently for you.

And then, with the weight of a mountain, it hits:

“I'm coming for you.”

The words he had spoken on the radio, the eerie promise that had chilled you to the bone. The words you had brushed off as something on an evening radio show, words spoken to hundreds, thousands of people at once. You can remember the shiver of surreal fear that had filled you at hearing them, but it’s another sort of apprehension entirely when you’re confronted with the same man who spoke them, a stranger , who is still holding his hand out for you to take and presumably leave the car and go...where?

Desert Bluffs?

You’ve heard the name of that town before, yes, it was from the same radio broadcast.

Maybe you’re just….dreaming. Yeah, this is weird enough to be a dream, weird and crazy and not making any sense. You want to pinch yourself or something but can’t, eyes catching as Kevin leans in farther into the car, hand extended so it’s only half a foot or so from your chest. Though it’s obvious he’s wanting you to get out of the car, he’s making no move to force you.

Somehow, the gesture seems sweet.

…

You...take his hand in yours, eventually, after a few breaths and a decision made completely outside of your own brain. You’re not quite sure what compels you to do so after all the red flags practically screaming around you, but you still find yourself being gently pulled out of the car and helped to your feet, standing so close to this Kevin that your chests are almost touching.

His smile hasn’t faded, or maybe that’s just the scars marring the sides of his lips. Maybe that’s why his smile looked so creepy mere moments ago. You’d think that being closer would reveal some detail in his eyes, maybe show that it was just a trick of light that made them look hollow but, nope, they’re completely black, orbs of pure void with only pinprick dots of light to be what you horrifyingly assume show where he’s looking. Pupils maybe? Sorta?

God, you have to be dreaming.

But at least Kevin looks happy. Very, very happy.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to meet you!”

You feel his hands start winding around your waist, fingertips pressing gently against your lower back. Feelings erupt in your head in response to the touch, but you’re not quite sure what those feelings are. Fear? Com..fort? Safe...ty?

You decide not to think about it.

“Oh, by the Smiling God above, what luck is there that you’d break down here, just outside of Desert Bluffs and that you would tune into my very radio station!” Kevin sounds entranced, almost dreamy, his arms around you firmly enough that you can feel him rocking the two of you back and forth together. “This must be a sign that we are simply meant to be--beyond what has been vaguely communicated through prophetic, blood-soaked nightmares of course.”

He sighs and finally takes a step back from you, though one of his hands find your own and gently clasps them together. Since this is all a dream you let him do so, finding an odd warmth in the touch and an eerie comfort in his exuberant joy.

Besides, what else are you to do? Stay at your car and cook when the sun comes up?

“Are you...going to take me to Desert Bluffs?” You finally ask, voice soft and small.

Kevin perks at the sound and his eyes find yours again--despite all of the manic glee, he doesn’t seem to hold any trace of maliciousness; outside of the scarring and void eyes, he’s actually not that intimidating in your eyes, or at least he’s doing very good at not seeming like it to you.

“Of course! I’m going to take you back and get you settled--then I can come and get your things for proper in-processing through StrexCorp and make sure that you have everything you need oh, oh goodness, I’m so excited that you’re finally here!”

Some of his words don’t make a lot of sense, but you opt not to start questioning them when you’re tired and hungry and so very cold. You’re actually shivering, arms tucked around yourself with a jacket on that’s doing absolutely no good.

Kevin stops talking when he seems to notice, peering at you with an unreadable look for all but a breath of time.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm, dearest,” he says, tugging you away from your car, towards another vehicle parked just a bit behind it. The lights are on, too bright to catch the detail of it, but you’re certain that it means that the inside is already warmed up and toasty.

Kevin doesn’t force you to walk with him, he merely keeps his hand wrapped on yours, firm but not tight. This is a rather surreal dream, but you figure it’s at least a nice one, so you let him lead you to the car, open the passenger side door and let you in.

The other car really is warm inside. It feels nice against your cold skin and body, the seat so plush and welcoming as you lay back into it. Kevin takes his place at the driver side, changing the gears with an audible little rumble and turning the car back onto the road.

“Just rest a bit,” Kevin murmurs after a little while. You feel one of his hands reach over to you and fingertips card through your hair as he stares forward onto the lit roadway. “We’ll be home in Desert Bluffs before you know it. So many years and you’re finally here. With me!”

There’s something rather contagious in the man’s joy, because you find yourself smiling a little as your eyelids droop, vision darken and eventually, you fall back into the soft, now warm embrace of sleep.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #kevin #readershot #kevin readershot #sfw #sfw readershot #this chapter is sfw i mean #writing

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hanzi83 · 5 years

Text

Suspended from Twitter Again from Organized Harassment

The thought of catching up scares me and it keeps me going back to check what happens on reddit etc and then I fucking just don’t want to write even though I am acting irrational on twitter more than usual. I then start commenting on twitter more than focus on my personal journal and I am prompted with people trying to trigger me because they sense vulnerability in me, and I feel these people are employed to do this kind of behavior, as you can tell from my plethora of videos, blogs, tweets, instagram posts etc. I have angered so many people in this world, where there is a team dedicated to fucking with me and tarnishing my image, and instilling paranoia in me, and since the Stern Show, I feel is responsible, even though I cannot confirm 100 percent, they have dedicated an obscure subreddit dedicated to me claiming they are working to get me banned from twitter, and other social media outlets, hinting my family and friends are in connection with government agents, because I am technically on a watch list, or at least that is how I see it, and they have limited my movements and since I have angered people in my life with jabs because I feel a lot of them are in connection with people behind the scenes. I know it sounds crazy that this type or organization is going on for an individual, but there are teams dedicated to doing this to others. People in the system, mostly public figures, have been targeted, and some of them behind the scenes are organizing teams for employed fandom to take over the internet, depending if that person is supposed to be popping.

I have been pointing out this for the last several years how this is going down or at least putting theories, that have not been officially backed up specifically, but there are plenty of articles in prominent news and media outlets that have shown you what the capabilities are based off what has happened in the past, and because I am not partaking in sports tribalism, and people knowing it might bother me because this type of pretentiousness bothers me when people make these sporting events seem like some great moment for history, as we are currently becoming America light, and since a lot of this is predetermined and is supposed to propel this city into the upper echelon, I feel like people are blinded by this, and not focusing on the political shit involved with all of this. I am glad Toronto is in the championship, it is cool, despite me being irrational and wanting to hate it because people who love it have contributed into hurting me behind the scenes and stumping my growth, and have stolen everything from me.

I am not allowed to even express any of my irrational behavior to help me to cope because by letting me speak out, people see me as a threat because I bring transparency into the system, and even though the people in charge, hypothetically, have tarnished my image from being credible, and being seen as someone in his mom’s basement who spews out conspiracies and is obsessed with pro wrestling, and he doesn’t want to get laid because he feels he is not mentally capable to satisfy women, and also believing some of them could be agents, but they will label me an incel, when the people they work for in the upper echelon are the ones who treat women horribly and basically bribe them to give them good PR and then when they are allowed to disclose a horrible scenario involving one of those men, then they are seen as crazy. These people have been entitled, and hell they don’t put men or women on a big stage unless they had to compromise themselves physically and mentally. I point that out and I am seen as the bad guy, and now that people are still tuning into seeing me, even by suppressing the views, so people can watch it by other means, in a group setting, because a lot of people online are a part of groups that gossip how to fuck with people, because they are given incentive, the system has bribed these people with perks and access and makes their lives a lot more comfortable, when they can’t suppress my views they will actively cut short some of my periscope sessions. I will do 20 plus minutes and these people will somehow make it 4 minutes or something.

More Whack Packers are dying and the ones alive are dealing with harassment are prompted to kill themselves and being harassed with the worst type of shit imaginable, and threats of doxing and instilling fear that Howard is going to kill me or that Vince McMahon will kill me, because I speak out on horrible things they may be accountable for even though they will never take accountability and they are protected, and so are the people who are attached to them, and now I feel they have constantly being fucked with me because they want me to be put in a hospital or they want me to attempt suicide, and the movements and transparency in my life seems people who are supposed to be close to me help in that regard, and it is much more important to be connected to what everyone else is doing that is popular, and stick by the official narratives, they would do it at the expense as someone who is supposed to be their friend. Social Justice Warriors, who claim to stand up for injustice, and some of them put their money where their mouth is, but others are just there for the limited narrative and they act outraged when they are told to, so it looks like they are speaking out against racism, when they ignore the larger chunk that is going on systemically. I spoken out how other Whack Packers could be sacrificed for their fame or what they contributed to the system, and Tan Mom and Marfan Mike are hospitalized, and people capitalize on that conspiracy and hint that I am the next Whack Packer who will die.

I have one asshole who is clearly obsessed with every move and speech I make and talks about it nonstop and misrepresents it and if I don’t give this dude and his group of people the entertainment, and for me to take the barrage of harassment about where I am in my life and how everything I am saying is delusion, but then I analyze them and this person in particular about what his life must be like, because he has made grand announcements he was done watching anything I do on periscope, but then constantly does it and then hints that people are after me, and it is clear this person is bought off because I can’t imagine anyone being this obsessed with me for fun. He is obviously protected and he makes claims that people in my life had people look into him for harassing me, just to make it seem like he is dealing with some harassment to take the fact off that I am dealing with the real deal.

No one with a platform is allowed to speak, and even anything that I write, this particular agent just takes everything I say and misrepresents it as delusion grandeur when I am not the only one going through this and the ones that are, are too afraid to address it because it makes them look crazy and I am a bigger target because I was on of the biggest radio shows in the history of radio. I got active mob bosses in this system trying to silence me, and they know by suspending my social media, I will implode, and I know people in my life are probably hoping for that too since everyone fucking hates me.

I know when I write this blog, barely anyone will care because people are only invested when I am mentally breaking down and not being able to fucking handle any of the backlash and it becomes great entertainment for them to get to interact with a whack packer from the Stern Show because they are more invested in harassing me or harassing Wendy because it does not have to focus on their shitty lives so they attack people within the system, even wrestlers go through this targeted shit, but I don’t know if they realize they system they are emboldened to, are probably the ones organizing it since the people in charge exploit anything while pretending they care about these social issues and mental issues, while helping perpetuate the harassment, and when people like me speak out, and even as irrelevant I seem to be, I still anger a good chunk of them and they are constantly coming for me. and they will not stop until I am completely self destructive and kill myself, and the fact that people in my life could be helping with that just so they can have access to these institutions and all the industry sex workers they could ask for because they are that easily compromised, but they are doing it at my expense, when me being a public joke for the Stern Universe and the Wrestling Universe to get a hold of, they have profited off of it behind the scenes more than anyone and will never admit anything.

They will never stop and it is fine if 10 people read this, I hope that some people who do read this actually know what is going on and please let it be known that this is happening as no media outlet will fucking care about this, because they are told when they can start going after stories, even as truthful some of the leftist ones are, they have to be compromised a little bit, even with the conspiracies, you would think someone on the Stern Show would attract these people to see what I am thinking right, but even they are limited. Only when some vindication occurs, or if I implode and something horrible happens, then after the fact they will care, they will not see my growth and exposing the way the system has manipulated us into hating each other and being more racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and presented it as the cool thing to do because I bought into it for a good portion of my life, but these people who have the chance to do it, don’t because they would limit their discussion and not have nuance and pretend they are speaking out on something big and powerful, when it is merely just calling out one person in the system who said something racist, and people behind the scenes don’t care, it is meant for a limited narrative and because I am sick of the status quo, and have constantly spoken out on shit that I have to say are theories, because I can’t prove a lot of it, they still see me as a threat and will continue.

Normally I write down my thoughts privately but even that is not 100 percent private, it is constantly hacked and people move my cursor around when I spew some venom just to get it off my chest and since I have not written down anything it is getting difficult to know what is in my fucking mind. They will keep fucking with my mental health and it will never stop. I am clearly not high on anyone’s list to help out, even though I have taken on big wigs like Stern. I don’t care how irrelevant he seems to be to the culture, he has pull behind the scenes, even the negative he still controls I think, he can easily have it seen as the people who hate him are the republican Trump supporters, while also being a secret Trump supporting, but somehow on this endearment tour he is going out on, he has convinced people he has secret information about Trump not wanting to be the president, which would beg the question, why did he not say anything before the election? He is in bed with Trump, and he is protected as long as Trump is in power, but no one can see this and the ones who can, are not allowed to say anything. They have managed to censor me during the Raptors game, because it hurts people locally to know that I point out that this is all predetermined, and maybe it is my irrationality and insecurity that I did not connect with my city, and someone who has sold their souls have more respect in this city than someone like me, who did not want to partake in rituals that compromised another life, and then later on have a rabid fan base attack those people and make them seem crazy. Maybe with all my flaws, I still have a fucking soul and actually don’t want people to be discriminated against or oppressed.

People will sacrifice their own loved ones to be part of the upper echelon and it makes me not want to be part of this world, because as far as I am concerned I was never loved, all through my life they have made it known how they treat me, even back in high school or now because Stern has allowed them to be trolls in the system who can put me down because they resent me for being someone who blew up and I can see what their intention is, and when they got what they needed, they sold me out and exclude me from anything that does not benefit them because they secretly hate me. So why don’t you just end me, you won’t though, because I have been told I am needed here, I need to be mentally tortured and limited, as long as pretentious people in the system and in my life prosper and can control me. I don’t want any part of it. Let me die. Come on Howard, sacrifice me, like you supposedly sacrifice other Whack Packers, and then your sick fan base can claim “HE GAVE THEM FAME AND WITHOUT STERN THEY WOULDN’T BE KNOWN” while allowing a sick fan base to treat us like shit and then you make all the fucking profits. Fuck you.

Anything I have said I don’t have factual proof. I will never have it, and if I did they would certainly fucking kill me, and until then they are hoping they fucking I fucking kill myself because it would fit into their narrative better, maybe pat themselves on their back for feeling bad for this torture while they helped create it. They torture everyone in the fucking whack pack and no one cares. We are all lower than filth to these pretentious snobs. Fuck each and every one of you that have allowed this to happen. I hope you catch and become riddled with herpes from all the orgies you sold your souls for. I hope everything around you crumbles, and even if I will never become vindicated from any of this and continuously be mocked by an obsessive troll who is showing off the harassment he can do under the guise of “calling me out on my bullshit” since I did not embrace him, because these sick people want to be producers of mine for a podcast or be a co host, and I don’t want to be with anyone, because I think you are all government agents. Fuck each and every one of you for doing this to me. It makes no difference because you will be coddled within your group chats, where you sick fucks are taking bets on which whack packer is going to die next. Fuck you all.

#Hanzi Stern Howard Show Sternshow Zionist Illuminati WWE Vince McMahon trolls paid subservient shills racism sexism harassment misogyny #secrecy transparency assholes NBA raptors toronto tribalism irrational hatred associates friends loved ones #media outlets mainstream leftist right wing power limited narrative

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everysea-everystar-blog · 7 years

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Otherkin Challenge

I got this challenge from the blog @justanotherkin and thought it would be a good thing to fill out on my new tumblr! I’ve made very minor changes to some questions.

1. What name do you go by? What is the significance of it to you?

The name I go by usually isn't something I’m very comfortable with sharing here, but that has a lot of importance to me because I’m transgender and choosing my name has made me a lot happier. Online, I tend to go by Bumble, which is just a silly nickname but cheers me up. I believe my selkie-self is called Sìoda but I don’t call myself that.

2. How old are you? What is the gender you identify as? (human)

I’m 18 and I’m a nonbinary trans guy.

3. What are your kintype(s)?

Selkiekin, alienkin, spiritkin, felinekin, and I’m questioning monsterkin.

4. How long have you known that you are otherkin? How old were you when you awakened?

I think I’ve pretty much always seen myself as nonhuman and had connections to certain species and such, from a very young age. However, I didn’t know about the existence of otherkin or therians until much later, and was actually against the communities for many years. I think I was just in denial and wanted to join in with everyone else making fun of otherkin. I only started getting involved with the community about a week ago.

5. How did you find the otherkin community?

At first through tumblr, and then just searching around for forums and group chats.

6. How does being otherkin affect your life?

It doesn’t really affect me much daily, though I definitely feel a disconnect from humanity almost all the time. I do experience “species dysphoria” but I wouldn’t compare it to the level of discomfort that gender dysphoria brings me. I also have some paranoia about friends/family finding out about my identity. I’m homesick most of the time, too.

7. Are you “out of the metaphysical closet”? If so, to whom?

The only people I’m really “out” to are those on otherkin group chats or forums, and that’s very anonymous to be honest. I spoke briefly about my worries with my best friend a little while before joining the community, but didn’t want to press the issue further because she clearly doesn’t get it. She wasn’t mean about it though.

8. How did/would your family react to you being otherkin?

They would either laugh at me, ignore me, or think I’m crazy. Probably all three. (Sidenote: I am actually mentally ill, so I think my parents would believe that me being otherkin is a symptom of this. I know that isn’t the case, but there you go.)

9. What does being otherkin mean to you?

It simply means that I am aware of my nonhuman identity and my nonhuman selves, in whatever form that might take. It’s just a part of my daily life that I’ve recently come to terms with and makes me understand myself better.

10. How do you believe you came to be otherkin? Is it a psychological connection? Were you reincarnated? Explain.

This depends on which kintype we’re talking about, so I’ll give it a go:

Selkie: I’m living a parallel life with my selkie self

Alien: I was “reincarnated” into my human body from an alien life, and my soul is still alien

Spirit: As a being, I’ve always been a guardian spirit

Feline: I have a feline soul alongside mine

11. What do you hope the otherkin community will be like in ten years? Are you for public awareness or against it? Why or why not?

I hope that the community is even bigger in ten years time, and hopefully viewed with less contempt from the outside world. However, I’m not really for public awareness, because I think it will only bring us more hatred. Also, I don’t view us kin as an oppressed group, and would therefore like to focus more on the support of genuinely oppressed groups such as POC and LGBTQ+.

12. Do you have phantom/astral limbs? What are they and how do you feel them?

While not so much a phantom/astral limb, I often feel the texture of my seal’s tail as a selkie on my legs, as well as other sensory experiences like seaweed and cold ocean water around me. I also have nose and mouth twitches that I believe are related to my cat’s whiskers.

13. Do you mental shift? Have you ever harmed yourself or someone else during one?

I do mental shift sometimes, but it’s never been dangerous. The only possible danger is that I might try to do things that my human body can’t really do (e.g. swim in very dangerous waters, go on very long forest walks - I have a disability so this is impossible).

14. Have you ever mental shifted at a time when it could be considered inappropriate?

I think some of the times that I go nonverbal (I’m autistic) are triggered by mental shifts, and that’s always “inappropriate” or at least inconvenient.

15. Do you astral project or practise any occult crafts?

I’m a witch currently trying to get back into his practise.

16. Do you feel you are any sort of danger to society?

Not at all! I might have some “weird” beliefs and be nonhuman but I’m generally very peaceful. I wouldn’t hurt anyone unless they hurt me or someone I loved.

17. Does your nonhuman identity complicate everyday life for you? If so, how?

As aforementioned, the only real impact being nonhuman has on my daily life is feeling disconnected from humanity. This does cause a decent amount of social and emotional issues, as well as “species dysphoria” interfering with my moods.

18. Why do you believe are here as a human?

I’m not really sure about this one to be honest, but it could be linked to me being spiritkin: maybe I’ve been sent to specifically protect the nature on earth for the time being. Still unsure, though.

19. Are you active among the otherkin community?

Recently, yes! I’d love to be more active on the tumblr kin community too, but I’m scared about all the anti//kin things that I might end up seeing.

20. Are you religious? What faith do you follow? Does it contradict your otherkin identity or do you feel that the two are synonymous somehow?

I don’t follow any sort of organised religion; I like to think of myself as a semi-theistic Pagan. I believe in Mother Earth and have thoughts of a great Universal Spirit, but I don’t “worship” them as such. This does’t contradict with me being otherkin at all - in fact I think it might explain my spiritkin identity.

21. Have you ever been emotionally, verbally, or physically harrassed simply for being otherkin?

I haven’t experienced this directly, but the fear of it happening is why I’m very private and secretive about being otherkin. I’ve witnessed a lot of online bullying and mockery of us, and for a long time I was one of those people being mean to otherkin/therians because I just wanted to fit with what I saw people saying.

22. Do you efel you are oppressed because you are otherkin?

No, not really. Oppression is based in societal systems and ingrained belief, and to be honest it makes complete sense that humans wouldn’t understand people claiming to be nonhuman to any extent. I do think that the bullying and mockery is unnecessary and cruel, but I wouldn’t call it oppression.

23. What is your take on fictionkin/mediakin/factkin? What about machinekin and appliancekin?

I’m not sure I really understand fictionkin, but I’m not really against it. However, anyone who gets angry at a writer or other person involved with fiction because they aren’t adhering to their kin canon is just rude, and threatening to harm yourself over this is incredibly disturbing. I would consider myself fictionhearted with multiple characters, and have no problem interacting with fictionkin as long as they aren’t rude like I said before. I definitely have a problem with factkin, as I just see that as identity theft. I really can’t get my head around machinekin and anything else that isn’t living or spiritual, because I don’t believe that a non-living thing can exist in a human body, but I don’t think those people are inherently bad.

24. Did the awakening process seem relatively easy or difficult to you? Why?

If I refer to the process of accepting my nonhuman identity as my “awakening” then it was definitely difficult. Like I said, I spent years making fun of otherkin - not actively or online, but with friends, and I would sometimes look at the tags on tumblr - which I know realise was me trying to cope with being nonhuman. Making the transition to acceptance was scary.

25. What do you think of the information provided online about otherkin - is it relevant or not?

Most of the things I’ve found have been relevant, but a lot of articles written by non-kin just don’t have a very good understanding.

26. How has your otherkin/therian identity defined you as a person? Do you feel as if it has given you morals that you didn’t have before?

I think that coming to terms with my nonhuman identity has helped me be more accepting of other people’s identities as long as they don’t harm themselves or others. I think my general confusion surrounding vegetarians/vegans comes from me being selkiekin and felinekin, but I have nothing against those people.

27. Have you learned any life-long lessons due to your otherkin identity?

Nothing is what it seems.

28. What do you want to do with your life?

I’d like to go into animal care as a career (e.g. pet rehoming shelters, conservation, ethical farming, animal sanctuaries, etc.) as well as being a writer and musician on the side. I’m willing to do any job in the meantime that doesn’t involve too much social interaction.

29. Do you have any tips or advice for young and/or newly awakened otherkin?

Get the “tumblr savior” browser extension (or any alternative you prefer, I think xkit is quite popular, do your research) and blacklist any anti//kin tags you can think of. This will bring you a lot of mental peace, trust me. Surround yourself with positivity but remember to keep a critical eye. Find ways to live in balance with your kintype(s) as opposed to having a jarring double existence. You may have to accept the fact that “coming out” as kin in your public life will likely cause more harm than good. Make online friends.

30. Anything else you’d like to share with us?

I’m so glad I’ve finally joined this community - I’d been scared for years.

#personal #survey

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blookmallow · 7 years

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hey wow look what i found buried in my drafts from 300 years ago

this started as Bits Of Story Notes but then i kinda ran with it and let it become more drawn out prose so now its like. a lil writing blurb

specifically, about antis and their formations. its kind of a nonspecific narrative voice i didnt want to try to work into particular characters bc then id be limited by which characters know what/who would be willing to tell who what/etc so its not anyone in particular (theres also some names missing bc i havent figured out all the details)

“But what IS an Anti? How could something so... sinister come from someone so kind?”

“Well... that’s the trouble of it, you’re looking at it all backwards.”

“Backwards?”

“Well, to start, they come from nothing. It’s no fault of the Origin’s, after all. ...and you speak as if humans are inherently something kind, Antis inherently something cruel. I can promise you that simply isn’t the case.”

Antis are not literal pieces of their origins - it isn’t so much “my dark side, embodied,” no proper Hyde to one’s Jekyll, as it were. An Anti comes not from within, but without; like a formless, nonsentient parasite locking itself to an unwary host. This occurs at random, of course- anyone could have an Anti.

Any human, that is.

Though they’re said to be particularly drawn to those with high propensity for magic.

The nebulous spirit matter from which they come is all around us- no, don’t look, you can’t see it. Not even the Soul Collectors can. But something invisible, no matter how transient and slight, is none the less real. They have no self yet; no mind to think or to consider, no consciousness at all. Only the instinctive drive to become. Antis long to exist before the conception of “longing” exists within them. They form themselves as a sentient, corporeal being through the unconsenting assistance of the Origin. That person becomes a sort of mold, a self and a form from which the Anti creates a kind of reversed mirror image to inhabit itself.

The very moment of formation is still quite mysterious even to Antis themselves; how exactly it occurs, or why this moment and not that, and each Anti is quite different just as humans are from one another. It is not impossible for two Antis to form in the same way, but the variation is infinite.

However, it is as of now believed that an Anti comes to fruition upon achieving some kind of inciting incident which serves to shove the dormant spirit into physical reality, such as a moment of intense emotion, contact with magic, a traumatic event - something to release the spirit that has been quietly building itself up.

“But-...what if it doesn’t? What if there is no incident, the spirit never released-? What would that... do to a person?”

Well... Nobody knows. Possibly it might kill the both of them. Possibly something more sinister may occur, an amalgamate form never meant to be. But we need not worry about that. One could hardly imagine a person who never has a moment of intensity in their entire life. It is most likely the case that the spirit, upon having built itself up long enough, eventually will release on its own, anyhow.

Now, some Antis have an immediate fixation on their origin, some are an immediate destructive force, some are scared and confused by their own sudden existence, and... some just want to get as far away from them as quickly as possible. It’s not entirely fair to compare them to parasites - their formation is not harmful to the Origin, after all. But it is said that they are never quite the same afterward.

Damian Nightfall - yes, that one - formed from shadows one night when young Skye Blue had a particularly violent nightmare; he was suddenly awoken in the middle of the night and overwhelmed with dread in the darkness of his room. He had never been afraid of the dark before. He had sensed a growing anxiety every time the lights went out for weeks beforehand, but never told anyone; it felt silly and irrational to him- why would I be scared now? Why, I’ll be turning thirteen soon! I ought not to be afraid of dark rooms.

But he was, anyway.

He watched in confused horror as his own shadow turned into a dripping, crawling darkness that slowly gained mass and moved sluggishly across the floor on its own terms.

the thing on the floor immediately fixated on him, and while it was only half-formed and still an amorphous shambling mass of shadow, it lunged out of the darkness to attempt to strangle the boy the moment it had anything resembling hands

Miss Shuri immediately felt the intense distress - and the threat to Skye’s life, as it most definitely was - and appeared at once to cast the Anti out. But she refrained from killing him, though she could have, because a soul collector never kills if it can be avoided - and Damian was really only a child then.

He slithered off somewhere into the woods, and continues to terrorize Skye to this day - though he’s no longer interested in actually killing him. An Anti without an Origin becomes mortal and powerless, as he’s learned all too well.

And so that was Skye’s first encounter with Damian. He still suffers from frequent nightmares, and cannot sleep in the dark anymore. His shadow, even in bright sunlight, is oddly faded and light - not terribly noticeable, but almost as if there’s less of it somehow.

Miss Iris appeared as a sudden face in the mist of toxic fumes that erupted when Christina had fallen into a patch of mushrooms in the woods

there was a brief moment of grotesque entanglement as Iris’s body formed against her; both confused and trapped against each other, but both struggling to get away, each in disgust of the other

the moment they became untangled, there was a brief instant of hatred between them, and Iris vanished in smoke. These days, the two are content just to live their lives completely away from each other - neither acknowledges the other’s existence, and both are better off because of it.

Laelia Thorne’s Origin’s hand was cut off in an accident - and moments later, the severed, still-bleeding hand suddenly began spasming and mutating, growing itself out hideously, red blood pouring out in a bright rush as if it were being purged out - until Laelia was formed.

The poor girl was so horrified, she passed out from the shock. When she finally came to, Laelia was gone. No one believes her, supposing her to have been in a state of hysteria from the traumatic event - but the hand was never found.

She never saw Laelia again.

Lex Calamity’s Origin was looking into a mirror one day; feeling a crisis of identity, stressed and alone and feeling lost, when she realized suddenly that her reflection looked somehow wrong.

It wasn’t following her movements anymore, as if it were frozen in wide-eyed horror. She stared back into the mirror, feeling as if she were looking into a stranger’s eyes. A wild impulse to smash the glass to pieces came over her, but she could not bring herself to move.

Tears slowly slipped from the reflection’s eyes - which were rapidly changing color - but not from her own. In a sudden movement, she reached to touch her own face, but the tear was not there. The reflection did not move.

Inky black spread over the reflection’s blonde hair, consuming it as if a bucket of paint had been dropped over its head, as she could only watch in horror.

She slowly, slowly reached for the mirror. This time, the reflection moved in sync - but when their hands touched, she felt cold skin instead of glass, and the fingers twisted into hers.

She screamed and pulled back, inadvertently pulling the reflection out with her, and they both tumbled to the floor.

The reflection scrambled to its feet like a frightened cat and ran.

They found her, hours later, sobbing on the bathroom floor, shattered glass everywhere. After they heard her story, the sisters took her away to be exorcised of the evil she professed immediately. There was no trace of the demon reflection, and it was never seen again.

She is to this day desperately afraid of mirrors - and if ever she dares to look, her reflection is distorted and blurry- like some part of it has left.

Sage Blackburn’s Origin nearly drowned in the sea; She was desperately tangled up in seaweed that suddenly became arms - she saw bright yellow eyes glowing in the dark of the water, and felt someone holding her, pulling her up toward the surface.

Those eyes were the last thing she was conscious of before she passed out - the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, she says.

She awoke on the beach, alone, but alive.

She believes a mermaid came and saved her. She calls her her Muse; she paints pictures of her all the time, trying to remember, and dreams of one day finding her again. She has overcome her fear of the ocean after this event, determined to return to the sea that she loves, and find her Muse again.

Sage knows nothing of this, and left the girl on the beach, hurrying away to discover her own life. She has told no one of this story; and so no one knows if she saved her Origin out of compassion, or just so that she herself would survive - and Sage wouldn’t tell you if you asked her.

[-unfinished-]

[roach: origin was very, very sick for a long time - and suddenly coughed up a huge bug that skittered away into the dark (and later, unseen, became Roach). they coughed up a few small, repugnant mushrooms, and immediately felt better. They recovered rapidly and seemed completely unphased by the whole ordeal.]

[gasket keskar: formed in a spark of lightning that destroyed a tree, but did not harm anyone. Origin (Kavi Narang) knows he exists, but has never seen him again - though he is actually interested to meet him again.]

[malkin erebus: formed in an explosion which destroyed Origin (Cyril Flintwitch)’s home and killed their mother. malkin did not intend to do this, and feels terrible for it, having never intended harm. cyril has permanent mental scars and has never been well since, though their paranoia and anxiety has improved recently - as well as their relationship with malkin. malkin is at times infatuated with cyril - and has had a very tumultuous history with them - but is learning to respect boundaries, and is accepting the responsibility for the things he has done.]

[crow hackett: unknown]

[crank: unknown]

[zyx: formed from the dust under Origin (Cody Jemson)’s bed. lives there still. unsettling, but not actually harmful. yet.]

[siren hemlock: unknown]

#cellophane rose #cr ref

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doomfisthero · 7 years

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Power Rangers Nebula Nine - Keaton and his friends

In response to @grampa-lion recently posting the first part of Power Rangers Nebula Nine (here), I figured I’d post some more about my character from the story - specifically, how I think his relations with the rest of the Rangers would be.

Felipe: “We don’t really hang out much. It’s not that Felipe’s not a bad guy, he’s just been through a lot. He doesn’t talk about it much, but considering how Hyperspace feels about runaways... I can relate. I’d kind of like to help him, but he’s so closed off that I honestly don’t know how.”

Shaula: “Shaula... scares me. I get the whole ‘down with Hyperspace’ crusade, but, well, my history and the tattoo that my family gave me don’t promise sunshine and rainbows for us. Still, I’ve got to respect her strength and determination, and she’s taught me a lot about combat.”

Ze’ev: “Ha, I think I’ve said plenty about Ze’ev in the past. I can’t imagine ever finding someone else who fills me with so much joy. He’s happy, kind, spirited, and somehow, he loves me, too! I honestly think I’m a better man because of him, and I’ll count myself lucky if we can spend the rest of our lives together.”

Solomon: “Solomon is... interesting. He’s kind of weird sometimes, a little vain, and I’ll admit when I met him I underestimated him. Every now and then, though, he proves that being a celebrity doesn’t make him a fool, and I like that about him. He’s entertaining, good for a laugh, and his music’s pretty good, too. I wonder if he’s teach me some skills...”

Champ: “Champ’s great! I spend a lot of time with him because we’re both close to Ze’ev, and discounting Ze’ev I think he’s my best friend. I love seeing him get riled up about wrestling and talk about fighting for justice - it gets me fired up, too. I’ve never had anyone look out for me like he does, and I appreciate it.”

Rasalhague: “Honestly, I kind of despised Raz when we first met. Call it a mix of jealousy, paranoia, and self-loathing, but I was worried he’d edge me out as the tactician and emotional center of the gang. Since that storming period, though, we’ve gotten along well. I enjoy talking to him; his purely logical standpoint makes for some interesting philosophical discussions.”

Lizbeth: “I find it a testament to individual passions that Lizbeth is such a capable warrior. You’d never guess it looking at her, but that bookish girl just does not stop when it comes to protecting alien life. I admire that. She’s really smart, too. I can’t believe anyone could know as much about xenobiology as her, but...”

Raptor: “Raptor and I don’t spend much time together - a downside to being part of such a large group of people. I do enjoy talking with her when I need a break from everyone else - I love them, but sometimes I need someone sane to speak with, and then Raptor’s my girl. Plus, her piloting skills have saved our lives more than I can count, so I have to give her that.”

Seph: “I’ve learned a lot about cooking (and quite a bit about pranks) from Seph. I figured it’d be important to know - some of it, at least - if I’m ever on my own again. They had no trouble being a mentor for me, and they’ve told me a lot of stories about their siblings. Makes me wonder what being a brother would be like...”

Thuban: “It amazes me regularly how Thuban was able to launch such a rebellion against Hyperspace while also keeping everyone’s personalities in line, but I suppose sometimes wisdom does come with age (and fighting skills - wow). Thuban was so happy to bring me into the Rangers, and he’s always been willing to lend me a friendly ear when I need to talk about my problems. I owe him a lot. Plus, he’s full of stories and gossip from his acting days, back when he knew all the stars, and they’re just entrancing! I’m kind of an actor as well - I wonder if he’d take on a protege...”

#power rangers nebula nine #unbelievaball #oc questions #wow this took a while #i hope i got their personalities right #keaton (nebula nine)#felipe (nebula nine)#shaula (nebula nine)#ze'ev (nebula nine)#solomon (nebula nine)#champ (nebula nine)#rasalhague (nebula nine)#lizbeth (nebula nine)#raptor 283 (nebula nine)#seph (nebula nine)#thuban (nebula nine)

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centaurianthropology · 7 years

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The Magnus Archives ‘The New Door’ (S02E07) Analysis

What starts as a story about a door that shouldn’t be there quickly becomes something altogether different as an old name gets a new voice, and an old voice comes back for a time. And oh, man, that ending creeped me out. Come on in, because we got new lore to unpack this week.

So … Michael’s here. Not only is he apparently snatching perfectly innocent people and trapping them forever in a corridor without end (it’s implied that the corridor is somehow a part of him), but after Helen Richardson comes and tells her tale to a particularly sympathetic Sims, she promptly walks back through the door that couldn’t be there, and Michael walks out.

He’s got a voice, and whoever they got to play Michael is particularly wonderful at sounding absolutely horrifying. I’m genuinely impressed that Sims stood up to him as much as he did, but more on the unexpected badassery of Jonathan Sims a bit later.

The lore certainly develops in this entry, although like a good horror story I can’t quite tell what direction it’s shaping in. We do learn more about Michael, at least, and from his own account. He claims he has no identity, and is unable to attain the sort of definition that would allow for such things. He refers to himself as a ‘what’ instead of a ‘who’, and I almost wonder if we ought to term him a ‘where’ just as much as of either of those things.

The purpose of his snatching Helen is unclear, but I wonder if he needed her to get into the Institute. Did he let Helen escape so she would go to Sims to tell her story? He came through only when Helen left by the small yellow door, so perhaps his victims act as a way for him to enter our world. He likely wouldn’t have got past the front desk with those hands.

And lastly, we get Michael’s explanation of his intervention to help save Sims from Jane Prentiss. Well, I say Sims, but Michael’s focus is definitely more on the Institute. It apparently acts as a balance point in some sort of struggle (light / dark, closed eye / open eye, maybe?) and doesn’t deny it when Sims says that it sounds like he’s describing a war.

I wonder why it is that the Archivist, specifically, is the focal point of the Institute, as far as the supernatural world seems to be concerned. Why that position and not the head of the institute or a librarian, or the archival storage team? Why is it Sims, and Gertrude before him?

Humans are, as Helen showed, barely more than pawns in the vast games being played in this universe. They are squashed and destroyed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but they aren’t important (there’s that whole cosmic horror thing I love so much). But somehow the Archivist is different. Not the person, per se, but the position. And I’m very interested to know what that is.

Not-Sasha

This week finally heralded the return of Not-Sasha, who is apparently very good at archival work. Her relationship with Sims is definitely not the relationship he had with Sasha, who was much more playful and spunky than this Sasha, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, Sims clearly suspects absolutely nothing about her, despite his incredible paranoia regarding both Tim and Martin. I remember how readily everyone else accepted Not-Graham in ‘The Man Across the Street’, and I wonder if they have some sort of glamor about them that lets them conceal themselves even to people looking for falsity.

It’s very interesting, and I think particularly telling, that Michael appears in the same episode she does, which only furthers my theory that he’s connected to the changelings, and is using her as a way to keep tabs on the Institute and the Archivist in particular.

I’m wondering what it will end up being that tips Sims (or one of the others) off to her true identity. I would almost think it might be interesting if it was someone like Tim who found out first, if only because Sims is so fixated elsewhere, and Tim hasn’t had anything to do yet. I do want someone to unravel this, if only because I’m still holding out hope that Sasha can come back. Those twisting corridors remind me far too much of that table.

Michael

How deliciously horrible is Michael? The way he speaks and the inhumanity of his voice reminds me of Jane Prentiss more than a little, but infinitely worse. Because while you could stop her, at least, if not the Hive entire, Michael is something much stranger, and wholly unpredictable. His motives are opaque, his methods cruel, and his entire being is one you just don’t want anywhere near our lovely team.

Because to him individual humans are worth no consideration. Helen was lost property he was reclaiming. And if he was the one who replaced Sasha, I doubt he even thinks of it as a cruelty to have done so. He upgraded the surveillance and potential protection at the Institute, which suits whatever purpose he has.

All this horror wrapped into one barely-humanoid thing makes it all the more impressive that …

Jonathan Sims

Tried to deck an eldritch abomination. Goddamn, but I wasn’t expecting that level of badass out of him. He’s continually characterized himself as ‘not a brave man’, but he genuinely was in that moment. He was pissed that Helen was snatched away so suddenly and with so little purpose, and he tried to punch Michael. And even after he got stabbed for his troubles, and was clearly scared out of his wits, he didn’t back down.

I need to reassess Sims, as this is an aspect of him I hadn’t expected. We’ve seen how fragile he is throughout this season, but we’ve seen very little of how strong he can be. I mean, he did go down alone into those tunnels when he wanted answers, but he himself chalked it up to stubbornness. And I just believed him.

And he is stubborn. Terribly, self-destructively stubborn. And I still definitely think that he’s got a bit of a death wish (was I the only one who thought he sounded almost relieved when he asked Michael if he was there to kill him?). And he’s also brave. And he actually does care more than he lets on. In Helen he saw someone just as frightened, just as lost, and just as shattered as he was. Her story was real, he knew it because he recognized Michael, and I rather suspect because he recognized her reaction as a mirror to his own. No wonder he was so insistent Michael give her back, and even if he was ultimately unsuccessful, I am ridiculously proud of him for trying.

I’ve spent so much time being concerned about Sims, that it’s like a breath of fresh air to just be so damn proud of him. Maybe it’s an overreaction, but this episode is giving me a lot of hope that the damage done to him is mendable, that he himself has hidden depths that might help him weather a storm I had worried would rip him apart.

Jonathan Sims is stronger than he knows, stronger than he believes, and actually might have the wherewithal to rise to the horrors that face him. And that makes me feel a lot better.

Conclusions

This episode gave us so many new questions, and a lot of unsettling implications, an unexpected moment of badassery, as well as a really interesting horror story. I for one have always found the idea of an endless corridor very spooky, and the idea of being trapped in one simply as a pawn in some vast game that has nothing to do with me? Consigned to a very slow and miserable death because something might have needed something as simple as a door? Yikes.

And then the episode capped it all off by actually bringing in the very horror discussed in that story, which I was so not expecting. Despite his claims to Sasha, I wouldn’t call Michael an ally. He’s frankly far too horrific to call that. But he’s not an enemy either. For now, his own interests lie in keeping the Institute and the Archives running. And if I’m right, he’s got eyes in place to monitor the situation at all times. I don’t doubt that we’ll be hearing from Michael again, and slowly discovering more about what he wants, if not really understanding it. I don’t think some … one? Something? Someplace like Michael can possibly have comprehensible motives, but it will be interesting to see how close we can come.

#The Magnus Archives #analysis #oh this was a good one

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bi-rezi · 7 years

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if you’d like to Cry imagine an au (probably non-sburb but this could work interestingly in the context of the game too, and either sounds cool) in which bro comes back as a ghost and haunts dave

and not like in the dreambubbles, if we’re talking within the context of the game. bro becomes a full-on specter, rearranging dave’s things and knocking shit over. he is A Ghost. and not fanon bro from 2011 when people thought the strifes were an exaggeration. we’re talking canon bro.

so here’s some specifics to make you Cry, below the cut cuz this is real long.

jsyk it got a lot, uh, scarier than i intended it to when i was thinking about the meteor, in i guess a psychological horror type way.

-dave is left alone in the apartment he used to share with bro, with all of bro’s things and no one to foist them off upon. no way to get rid of them, in short, unless he takes the initiative to throw them away or donate them or something.

-because he’s just so used to having deadly weapons in his kitchen appliances and things changing places in the house with no sign of having been moved and generally feeling paranoid and scared half the time and having nightmares featuring bro, he doesn’t notice that his house is haunted at first.

-maybe dave had cal buried with bro, or cremated with him if bro was cremated. it doesn’t really matter, though, cuz when dave gets home from the funeral there he is on bro’s turntables, staring with his endless, glassy blue eyes.

-maybe dave has been feeling like something’s wrong for however long, a couple weeks or months, but he doesn’t realize that something is Concretely Wrong until someone (probably rose, but it could work with anyone, really) comes over and makes a comment about how "It’s time to move on, Dave.” and dave’s like what do you mean and rose just presses the water on the fridge and watches the little cherry bombs spill out and says “This. This is what I mean. He’s gone, Dave. You can’t try to pretend he’s still alive by keeping up with all the shit he made you put up with, and frankly I’m concerned as to why you would want to.” and he just does a double-take. like, yeah, he’s gone, so why the fuck do my groceries always get unceremoniously dumped onto my bed every time i put them away?

-or maybe he sleeps at someone (probably karkat cuz i’m a slut for davekat but it could just as easily be a friend sleepover with john or someone) else’s house for the first time and notices how much more relaxed he is, and he doesn’t have any nightmares that night, and he’s like welp.

-but even though he knows something is deeply wrong he still doesn’t quite get that it could be a ghost until one night he’s chilling on the internet and he gets a chill and thinks, “hey, why not” and googles “how do i know if my house is haunted” and is a little scared bc of how similar his situation is to some of these stories, and how quickly those stories escalated and how bad they got.

-maybe he gets his friends’ help to exorcise him, or maybe he tries to keep it secret and follow an online tutorial. maybe it works, but maybe it doesn’t. maybe he keeps trying until he HAS to ask his friends. rose is kind of goth, she’d know how to do this, right? jade was raised on an island, there’s no way she doesn’t have some kinda weird spiritual expertise. what about jake, he was raised by old jade, maybe he can help.

-even after he finally gets rid of bro, he still has to, like, come to terms with shit and do whatever kind of mourning he’s going to do. maybe he moves out of that apartment, finally. dumps out the ashes. manages to get rid of cal for good. (or maybe even though he finally gets rid of bro’s ghost, he never quite manages to get rid of cal, as hard as he tries.)

-if this went in a direction closer to canon, imagine how on the meteor he sort of isolates himself at first anyway cuz he’s just tired from dying all those times, and so he convinces himself that the cold spots and the paranoia and the nightmares (and think about this -- is he just in nightmarish dreambubbles or does he have nightmares and then enter dreambubbles?) are just because he just died like three times.

-except then he comes out of his shell a little. and rose is fine. not really, bc she just went on a suicide mission that somehow managed to both fail and succeed, and also her mom is dead and she’s in the same place as the (alien! vampire! chainsaw!) girl she’s been flirting with for ages. but she’s more okay than he is, or at least better at acting, and this sort of puts him off, makes him doubt things.

-maybe, since he’s limited by the few possessions dave brings onto the meteor, bro will whisper in dave’s ear the way cal would whisper into his, saying all the awful things dave is thinking and more.

-(maybe he does it the same way cal did it to him, just an errant whisper every now and then at first, infrequent enough that he thinks they’re his own thoughts, and the whispers increase in frequency until he hardly has a thought of his own anymore under the constant oppressive drone of the whispers.)

-maybe, pre-retcon, since he sort of feels like he can’t ever 100% trust terezi and he doesn’t become friends with karkat until later in the trip, he spends most of his time alone, with no choice but to listen to every awful thing bro tells him.

-and maybe, afraid in a cold dark lab all alone in the vastness of the furthest ring, dave starts trusting him.

-maybe bro starts telling him to do things amid every other horrible thing, at first just random demands for pulling shitty tricks on his friends until they escalate into outright violence. maybe dave doesn’t know how to draw the line. (maybe it’s because it’s been so long since he crossed it.)

-maybe this time, it’s not vriska that terezi sends john back to save, but dave.

-maybe in the retcon timeline, terezi sends a message to dave (via john) that if he can’t trust her, he can at least try karkat, and this is what facilitates their friendship. (she sends one to karkat too, to tug on his heartstrings and make him more receptive to dave’s friendship.) she tells dave and kanaya to be cautious around rose and alcohol. and she probably brings back vriska anyway bc she regrets that more than anything. she still tells herself that she doesn’t need dave or karkat or gamzee.

-in the retcon timeline, since dave spends less time alone, bro resorts to taunting dave around his friends, except this time they can see it and they’re able to help him deal with it and get rid of him. (rose secretly wonders why dave got his guardian back but she didn’t, but she tries not to dwell on it or let it get between them. she and dave talk it out.)

anyway that got really long but that’s what i was thinking about tonight.

#abuse //#homestuck #dave strider #bro strider #my writing #kinda

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