#I’ve been screaming into a void with no outlet for years
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Saw this and knew what had to be done.
Modern au implications here……
#this is all a backlog btw#I’ve been screaming into a void with no outlet for years#fe3h#byleth eisner#dimileth#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#mdimileth#bad sex meme#modern au
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Modern Leper
Summary; Despite living with Simon Riley for several months now, the intricacies of his mind still find ways to surprise you; Tonight is nothing new for either of you.
Word count; 2,245
A/N; This is the first fic I’ve actually finished and decided to post for CoD! I rarely ever post my writing, so forgive me if it isn’t the best. I just really love Ghost, and my fiance deals with night terrors and I saw an outlet and decided to run it into the ground with this. The relationship dynamic for them is something I cherish and is loosely inspired by this song. I could write a three hour power-point on all the trauma this man struggles with, but for now y’all gotta deal with my drabbling instead lmao. No beta we die like men.
I’m also open to taking requests, if you have anything to offer me :>
Warnings; Vague mentions of past trauma/gore/death, night terrors, ambiguous and complex situationships, minor physical harm (unintentional), hurt/comfort.
It had taken you months to finally convince Simon to move in with you, just like it had taken nearly a year for him to admit to your not-quite relationship.
It was based on understanding more than love or romance; The common knowledge that you shared the same weight as the other, that your weird quirks were complimentary despite their usually volatile state.
You both understood each other's needs, traumas, the baggage you both carried within yourselves that you’d yet to find the space to put down. He needed space and quiet, a silent companion who never seemed to judge him for whatever ailed him at any moment, and you had a supernatural ability to read him like a book and offer what you could when he needed it without a word being exchanged. It was an invaluable bond you two shared, not quite love, but not quite friendship. You just knew each other like you were one and the same, and found safety in that fact. He had grown to trust you, and you found solace with him, and you were relieved when he relented to moving into your sad one bedroom apartment. Filling some empty void that always seemed to follow you in life.
You had been having such a nice dream, something warm and soft and honey sweet for once, when the yelling started. It dredged you from the depths of sleep, like ripping off a band-aid or throwing ice water down your shirt, and you blearily shot up in bed in surprise as you blinked into the dark of your shared bedroom, seeking its source.
Simon had warned you about his night terrors, but you hadn’t fully comprehended just how bad they could get sometimes. Yelling, screaming, pained moans and thrashing like he was an animal caged, feral and in desperate need to escape himself. He’d told you that there wasn’t much to do about them, and apologized when he said to just let him be until they were over. He’d even insisted on sleeping on the couch for several months upon moving in under the concern that he’d hurt you or cost you sleep, or god forbid traumatize you even further than your shared line of work already had.
It took you a few moments to process that it was happening again, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you watched Simon jerk in his sleep across the bed, sheets twisted around his limbs in a way that you found both angelic and heartbreaking in the moonlight from the window. You were sure there wasn’t a single way he could appear to you that you wouldn’t find beautiful, though you knew better than to voice those thoughts out loud.
He remembered everything if he was woken up in the middle of a night terror, though waking him up while in one of his fits was a feat of its own. You had relented to leave him be and fight his demons in his dreams undisturbed, until the neighbors started to complain about the noise. It killed you to see the haunted, distant look he would always get the following morning if he didn’t sleep through it, but he understood that it couldn’t continue, not in your subpar apartment. After a few too many noise complaints, things had to change.
“Simon?” You called softly, voice heavy with sleep as you shifted to face him, watching him for a few moments. You knew that pinched expression, visible even through his balaclava that his face was an image of agony. You’d never learned what he had been through- never anticipated you’d get to know- but it still made you question the poor man’s past as you watched him squirm and groan in pain in your sheets.
“Simon,” you call his name more loudly this time, shifting closer to him on the bed as you did.
You had never let go of the hope that maybe one day, you’d be able to soothe away his nightmares with just your voice. That your presence alone could banish the horrors that he hid inside of himself, the things he fought back during the day that he couldn’t run from at night. You prayed for a day when you could simply whisper sweet nothings to him, and ease his pain without having to wake him.
It had yet to work despite your insistent efforts, and after a couple more minutes of soft crooning and attempts to console him with no changes in his behavior, you relented to the one trick you and Ghost had found to wake him up; Sternum rubs.
“I’m so sorry,” you said as you always did, before shifting to get out of bed and walk around to his side of the mattress. He’d attempted to grab or punch you the few times you’d had to resort to this specific method in the past, and you couldn’t blame him for it; it was an agonizing sensation to experience, and he had always been adverse to physical contact regardless of whether or not he had just suffered a night terror. You couldn’t fault him for lashing out when you woke him from painful dreams in an equally as painful way, even if it cost you a few bruises. At least if you were standing, you had a better chance of moving out of reach when he did come to. With a sharp breath in, you lowered your knuckles down onto the solid muscle and bone of his sternum and pressed, dragging your fist across his chest.
It didn’t take long for him to let out a shuddering gasp, a choked yell of “Get the fuck off me!” following after. It left you flinching, startled by the outburst despite this situation not being a new one. His eyes flew open in shock as his hand locked tight, too tight around your wrist in a grip that brought a squeal to your lips. You knew by now it would leave bruises, the skin tight and twisted under his calloused palm as he ripped your hand off of him.
“G-ghost! It’s me, it’s me,” you chanted, fear evident in your words as you tried to not struggle against his grip. You had never been able to get used to the violence in his awakenings, the way he would shudder and heave like he’d been shot. His eyes were frantic, manic as he stared at the room around him, at himself, at you as if he had never seen you before in his life, your words foreign in his ears.
“Simon… It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re at ho-”
“Shut up.”
He panted heavily, releasing your wrist from his ironclad grip as he shifted to sit up in the bed. His eyes were squeezed tight, hands reaching to cover his face as he tried to reorient himself to the waking world. His body shuddered and rattled as if still stuck inside of his dream, somewhere else, experiencing who knows what. You stood silently beside the bed as you watched him, letting him calm down in his own time.
It felt like a century before he spoke, but his words were much softer despite the way his hands trembled against himself.
“...I’m sorry, love,” he mumbled, fingers rubbing at his eyes as he forced everything in his mind down into the trenches of himself. Hiding away from your concerned eyes as you watched him like a hawk. His scars throbbed, his skin still clinging to the feeling of blood and dirt and rot as if he had never showered since everything had happened to him.
“It’s okay, Si,” you said quietly, finally letting yourself move, breathe, as you made your way back to your side of the bed and settled back into the sheets there.
“You… Can I get you anything?” You offered, always trying to be helpful after an episode. Always supportive and gentle and quiet in his presence as he struggled to hold everything down like bile in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out. A mug of tea, an ear, a shoulder, a warm bath, it was always the same with you despite him always pushing you away every time. He usually settled for silence and nothing more, and this time didn’t seem any different.
Simon finally pulled his hands from his face, blue eyes exhausted as he stared down at your red wrist with a look of heartbreaking guilt. You knew he was staring; he always did when he’d hurt you after this happened, guilty and pained as he struggled to chew and swallow the reality of once again doing the one thing he always told himself he wouldn’t.
“I’ll get you some ice,” he offered, no room for argument in his words as he shifted out of bed with a groan and disappeared from the bedroom. Your hand cradled your inflamed wrist, and as you looked down at it you could already see the angry, finger-shaped signs of a bruise forming under your skin.
He’d always shown his care through action, insisting he was bad with words and worse with touch, so he settled on the little things to try and bring his affections across to you. Grabbing things that were too high for you to reach, doing the extra steps to make whatever task you had at hand that much easier, bringing you small souvenirs when he went on an assignment that you couldn’t follow him on.
He returns with a deep rooted sadness in his eyes, silently asking for your injured hand as he goes to wrap a bag of frozen peas around it like you were made of glass; something so fragile, so delicate. It felt wrong to feel you in his hands, no matter how careful he swore to be with you, the feeling of staining or breaking you never leaving the back of his mind as he iced the wound he’d caused.
“Really, it’s okay,” you reassured him a second time, offering him a gentle smile as you let him ice your wrist for you. It felt like he was licking a wound like a dog, trying to erase the accidental damage he caused like he always tried with himself. He only offers you a curt nod at your words, and once he’s decided your wrist is sufficiently encased in the frozen peas does he let you go and return to his spot in the bed.
“It was the coffin, this time,” he says in a low voice, rough from yelling and the cigarettes he tended to chain-smoke every second he was off base and out of your shared home.
You turn to stare at him in surprise, not expecting him to be open about what happened as your mind reeled from just that one sentence. He stares down at his hands in his lap as he speaks, but you can tell his eyes are looking at something beyond your gaze.
“It… Isn’t the worst one, but it’s still not great.” Simon laughs bitterly, shaking his head to try and rid his mind of the memories. Some part of him still felt like he was stuck down there trying to claw himself out, nothing but the rotten bones of someone else to help him along.
You aren’t sure what to say in response. A part of you wants to pry, to take the mile he’s offered with the inch given and see what horrible things seem to follow him like a shadow, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you open your arms to him, head cocked to the side in question.
A hug. Simple, easy, comforting- For you at least. He looks up at you quietly for a few moments, the air easy and calmer in the space between you both as he considers your offer. His eyes are raw and wet when he finally relents, folding himself easily into your arms.
You make a point of ignoring the way his shoulders silently shake as he presses himself against you, his own arms going to loop around your waist with that same fragile care he’s always given to just you. An olive branch in the distance he always held between you, for his safety or your own you weren’t sure. You accept it all the same though, hands light and gentle as they go to rest against the back of his head, his shoulders, his spine; petting him like a wounded dog, some poor pet dying on the side of the road.
“You’re safe now, love,” You whisper in hesitance, body wound tight like a live wire as you wait to do something you shouldn't, cross some unspoken boundary you weren’t able to pick up on in this uncharted territory; But the moment never comes. His shoulders still shake, his face finding refuge in the pulse point between shoulder and throat, and you both act like your skin isn’t damp as you let him hide inside of you.
You don’t think you’ll ever find the right word for what you two have. It felt like something too delicate, too raw and wounded to be love, but it felt like it went deeper than just simple understanding. Beyond the realms of your minds or bodies, beyond the atrocities the two of you had both committed and been subjected to.
All that really matters to you though is that he trusts you, and you trust him, and you decide that that is all that matters.
#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#simon riley#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x soap#ghost/reader#simon riley/reader#call of duty#simon riley cod#ghost call of duty#my writing
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My relationship with edblr has been long and complicated. Hopped on here in 2009 when I was a teen. I don’t know how many names and accounts I’ve made then deleted and relapsed and remade. Always anonymously being myself here. Now I’m an adult and sometimes I feel like an idiot every time I make and account and scream in to the void about how I want to be thin, dainty and pretty. Not calling anyone here an idiot just saying how I feel about myself. Cause I should’ve beat this. But really I don’t think I want too.
I’m smaller now than I ever was, even after having a kid I’m smaller than I was when I first logged on all those years ago. I’ve tried other outlets, therapy and such. But it doesn’t help. Cause I want to be here. Where I can say how I want to starve and I won’t be chastised for it. Where I can share the dark thoughts in my head telling me the stomach acid feeling feels good and no one tells me how crazy that sounds. Where I am simultaneously understood and encouraged to seek out recovery without it being forced, or judgmental. Where I’m safe.
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hi, for a while now i’ve been trying to get in the void and recently my void concept has improved drastically and i’m in the mindset that i always wake up in the void, though i have not actually gone in as yet, i fully believe that i can enter whenever i fall asleep. my problem is however is that my mom keeps saying hurtful things to me and even though i’m fully aware that the 3D is just a reflection of my inner thoughts, these comments are rly getting to me and messing the my void concept. normally i can ignore things like that but my mom has a history of being absolutely terrible to me and it has given me a lot of trauma over the years. i’m rly trying my best to ignore it but these comments are just very hurtful. i’m sorry if this is too personal but i feel like i’m just so close to getting what i want. so could u please tell me how i can ignore these comments?
I know this might sound insensitive but your mom has nothing to do with your void concept , you’re trying to tap into void that’s the problem. trying implies that you’re leaving room for failure and gods don’t fail🤷🏾♀️you don’t have to ignore your mom, scream , cry let it out vent , do whatever you need to do to let out those pent up emotions. find a good healthy outlet to escape to whenever dealing with the world becomes too much. also, yes the 3d is a reflection of the 4d but you did not manifest your trauma and that’s that.
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I’ve gone up to a year without checking this app but I still keep it on my phone because no other app allows the outlet tumblr does. I consider tumblrs protection of itself to be activism. I’m a person with wrinkles on their forehead who came to this platform as a 12 year old recommended by a friend. This scream into the void has been a thousand things for me. Most of all it’s a scream into the internet of my childhood. And I’m thankful to have this void. This void is my void to scream into. I have become vessel and tool to isolate a slice of the void for myself to yell into. It’s my replacement for a therapist who can’t be bought out. And I admit that, because nobody knows who I am. It is paradoxical, and it’s beneficial to my person. This is poetry somehow. I will not add tags, they will not spread my voice. I don’t need them as a tool to remind myself, I never learned how to queue. And yet still I talk to this void, to see myself, then forget myself, so I can know myself. It’s a carnitas painting on the wall of my psyche. A memento mori of my online presence. I am thankful
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Screaming crying throwing up in the most literal and negative way I’ve ever meant. I just found out one of my closest friends from high school passed away last night and I’m feeling really messed up over it. We haven’t been very close since graduation but I was always cheering her on and wishing her all the best in the world. She got me through some of the hardest years of my life and she had such a special place in my heart. I don’t even know what to say or what to feel, all I know is that my heart is throwing up and I will miss her forever. Hug your friends. Don’t let the people you love slip away.
Thank you for letting me scream into the void a little bit and apologies if my posts get a little depressing or anything over the next few days but this ridiculous hell site is my only outlet really for my insane psyche.
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Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU
All Parts
Part 20:
As it turns out, finally finding out the identity of your soulmate was not an easy piece of information to sleep on.
Bakugou had hung up hours ago, hopefully to listen to your advice, and since then you’d done nothing but search up his name. Obsessively. Since apparently that’s who you were now when it came to him.
You scoffed as you read another shitty headline.
Pro Dynamite saves the day but recklessly endangers 17 innocents in Hosu - Where is the line between hero and villain?
What follows is another biased recap of events that happened over a year ago: Bakugou had stopped an entire group of high-powered villains but was only able to do so by exploding the entire top floor of the building they were hiding out in. He successfully wounded, incapacitated, and captured all of the targeted criminals, but blast debris and smoke inhalation harmed civilians that had chosen not to evacuate.
You rolled your eyes, hardly able to understand why it seemed every news outlet was blaming the injuries on him. From videos and news coverage it seemed like there was no other option Bakugou could have taken, and he’d nearly sacrificed his own life with the blast. You wanted to scream.
They should be fucking thanking him! You thought.
At least- you did. Until you saw the clip.
Further in the article was a link- a simple, deceptively innocent link that led to a horrifying video.
It was taken on a hand-held camera, the lens pointed at the floor as the recorder enters an alley slowly. They duck behind a garbage bin and tilt the camera up, just minutely, and it falls on Bakugou who’s leaning against the alley wall. He was clearly tired, deep-seated bags rooted under his eyes, with one arm in a sling and the other holding his phone. The person recording held the camera still, bated breath, and kept themselves hidden. Whoever it was, they obviously didn’t want Bakugou to see them recording him.
“No- fucking- I know, Shitty Hair, Jesus!” Bakugou roars, and then his face screws up, and he rubs at his chest. “You think I don’t fucking know? I fucked up! I did! I know, but I just- I couldn’t stop!”
There’s silence again and Bakugou rolls his eyes at whoever is on the other side of the phone.
“You don’t- don’t fucking say that! Of course it fuckin’ matters! I shouldn’t of fucking let them fire me up like that!” Bakugou coughs, voice hoarse as he continues yelling. “They just kept runnin’ their fuckin’ mouths about me being a villain and I was so fuckin’ angry I couldn’t stop- I knew there were people still in there and I didn’t care! I didn’t fucking care!”
It’s quiet again, the only sound is Bakugou’s ragged breaths. Suddenly his face screws up again, this time not in pain but in anger. Rolling, hot, boiling anger that sets his jaw back and pulls his eyebrows in and darkens his expression into something terrifying. His eyes are voids, shadowed by the dim light of the alley, swirling like vacuous black holes set into his face. He looks murderous- nearly vibrating with rage as he shakes his head so violently you’re surprised he doesn’t snap his neck. Bakugou slams a hand against the alley’s bricks, leaving a steaming indent in the shape of a fist.
“I should’ve killed them.” Bakugou seethes, voice deep and dark like solid steel boiled down. “ Every last fucking one of them. “
Then he hangs up, violently, and explodes the phone in his grip. The recorder startles, knocking loudly into the garbage can in front of them.
“Who in the fuck-” Bakugou screams, voice rolling thunder as he launches himself toward the bin.
All you see is Bakugou’s snarling face, a flash of blinding orange light, the sound of a scream, and then a black screen as the recording cuts.
With a sick fascination, you rewind the video, just a few seconds, pausing on the still shot of Bakugou’s face as it nears the camera. He looks senseless and demonic; mouth curled around too-sharp teeth, his jaw shadowed and angular- but it’s his eyes. It’s his eyes that scare you the most.
Where they were black holes before, dark and empty and void, they’re raging fires now. Red, and dark, and angry like an infected wound, something volcanic and uncontainable rolling viscous and thick just beneath the surface. You’ve never seen anyone else with eyes like his- have never seen anything so hellish in your life. In that moment Bakugou doesn’t look human. He looks evil- like a vengeful war god slowly being consumed by his own bloodlust.
You shiver.
There’s-there’s nothing good about that video. It’s scary and frightening and you’ve never heard his voice sound like that. So angry and full of malice and hard around the edges- like every word is a pointed knife stabbing at you. The Bakugou in that video, his anger scares you more than any explosion of his ever could.
You want to text him, want to beg him to explain, to say something that will make the sick in your stomach stop festering like a poison. You don’t though. He’s injured again. Recovering again, just like in the video- and no matter how many questions are rattling around in your head, they’re nowhere near as important to you as his health.
The diseased ill in your stomach didn’t let up though. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t get the look of his eyes out of your head. He looked soulless. Dark and unreachable and so very angry that it scared you. Terrified you. You’d dreamed your whole life of a happy future with a gentle soulmate, but you couldn’t seem to find Bakugou in that picture anymore. You didn’t know who he was anymore.
You closed your laptop, rubbing at eyes that were still puffy from earlier. Your heart was ripped raw, mind rattling in your skull, as your eyes burned. You laid back on your pillow, shutting your eyes and trying to forget the image of your soulmate eyes, untethered and feral as he attacked.
--/--
Morning came and you didn’t feel any better. You still felt weightless, disconnected and confused by everything around you.
You stalled through your morning routine, taking an extra long shower, sipping slowly at coffee you would have normally inhaled. It was a Saturday, and usually those were relaxing, but it didn’t feel that way this time. You were still unsettled by that video- that scream and the sound of it abruptly ending as an explosion drowned it out. It was like a horror movie, and you seemed to be caught in the middle of it.
You understood now- why Bakugou didn’t want to tell you who he was. That video was pretty easy to happen across, even if you just did a little big of digging into Bakugou. It was a stain on his record and you supposed he was right, after all- everything did change the second he told you he that he was a hero. That he was Dynamite.
You sighed, rubbing at your aching eyes. You knew that you had to call him, you just wish it didn’t have to be this complicated.
Bakugou was calling you before you even set your phone back down.
“Hey.” He said, voice still weak and uncharacteristically quiet.
“Hi.”
“Don’t- fuck, don’t sound like that.” Bakugou sighs a shaking breath, barely masked frustration lacing his tone. “I- you fuckin’ saw it didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s-” He starts, and he sounds so desperate it nearly tears your heart in two. “I never wanted you to fuckin’ see that! That’s not- I wasn’t- that’s not me!”
“It was you, though!” You raise your voice. “In the video! Bakugou- you said you wanted to kill people, multiple people, and then you attacked someone! Without even taking a second to think about it! You were just so angry, so fucking furious and mad and y-you didn’t even sound like you! That kind of anger- it’s fucking terrifying, you know that?”
He’s quiet, and you think you can still hear the beeping of the machine from last night.
“That- it wasn’t- I didn’t,” He struggles, voice cracking. “The camera. Not the person- I- fuck- I didn’t attack the person! Just smashed the fuckin’ camera!”
“You still jumped at them! You know how scary that must have been?” Your fingers shake as you grip your phone. “It’s- they shouldn’t have been there, fine, whatever, but it’s a fuckin’ civillian! It’s your job- as the ridiculously over-powered hero, from what I’ve seen- to protect them! Not attack them!”
Bakugou says nothing. Minutes pass and you think you hear a poorly-masked sniffle.
“You’re mad at me.” He says, simple and desolate like he’s already convinced himself of it. “Shoulda known you would be.”
“No it’s- I am. I am mad- but I don’t,” You pause, trying to find your words. “I just- I feel like I don’t know you any more! I thought I did? At least a little bit- but now it’s- you were so angry, and I know that must’ve been a bad day from the looks of it but- your eyes. It was your eyes! That kind of anger- that hate- it doesn’t just happen in a fuckin’ day, Bakugou!”
You hear a choked sound, something tiny and small and caught in the back of his throat, and the grinding of Bakugou’s teeth.
“I-I can’t. I know- I fuckin’ know, okay?” He bites out. “I- just. Stay. Please- it was- you were supposed to be fuckin’ different! It’s not- I would never- you weren’t supposed to know.”
Something in his voice sounds broken. He’s screaming, tearing his throat just like he always did, but it didn’t feel the same. Bakugou had never asked you for anything before- he’d let you call the shots, let you talk his ear off and bother him, but he’d never, not once, in the entire time you’d known him, asked you for something.
Your answer was simple- it never really was a choice after all. You would’ve never left, didn’t even think you could at this point; but something had to change. You had to make sure he understood.
“Bakugou- I- I would’ve never left. Not over this. Not over anything, probably.” You swallow thickly, blinking away tears. “But I can’t- I won’t accept the way things were before. When I ask you something, you need to answer me. Honestly and completely, from now on. No more secrets. Ever.”
He just agrees, something deep and raspy and desperate as it filters through the phone.
“So I need you to answer me, now,” You begin, taking a shaky breath and steeling your nerves. “How long are you going to be in the hospital for?”
“I-what?”
“Just answer.”
“It’s-I’m- two days, alright. Two more fuckin’ days on watch and then I’m out.”
“Okay.’ You nodded. “Where are you staying- what hospital?”
“Why?”
“I’m coming to visit. We-we need to talk more and I can’t do it over the phone- I won’t do it over the phone.” You tried to make your voice stronger than you felt. “So, if you feel up to it, I’ll visit. If not, don’t text me until you are. T-that’s- that’s the way we fix this. The only way.”
Bakugou was quiet again, breathing in silence until a cough ripped through his chest.
“I’m- Jaku City. That’s where I am.” He finally says, voice smaller than anything you were used to. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Okay.” You say, still trying to catch your breath. “I- I think I need some time. I’ll call you when I’m almost there, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
You hang up, fingers shaking as they hit the end call button.
The conversation was short- so short, and hardly even covered anything, but you just couldn’t take it any longer. When all you knew was the sound of his voice, it was a lot easier to get a read on him and what he was feeling. But it wasn’t that way anymore. You knew his face and his smile and his eyes from those clips and pictures and videos you’d seen all night.
Hearing his voice wasn’t enough to tell you who he was anymore. You wouldn’t be able to read him- not without seeing those angry red eyes.
///-////
whewwwww angstY ;)))
#bnha bakugou#bnha bakugo katsuki#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou x reader#bakugou soulmate au#bakugou soulmate textfic#bnha fic#mha fic#bakugou fic#bakugou imagine#bakugou headcanons#bnha soulmate au#bakugou series
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Help (I Need Somebody) Help
AN: Hey everyone! So I’ve got a new fic, this is inspired from an ask from @glitchon. They wanted a “Wrong Number Daminette AU”, they gave me a couple of things they wanted to see, and so I went to town. I hope y’all enjoy! Tag list is open, and as always the pictures for the moodboard aren’t mine.
Chapter 1
The patter of rain outside Marinette’s window wasn’t keeping her awake, no, the creeping numbness consuming every inch of her body – a craving for oblivion and stimulation all at once – did that on its own.
But the rain certainly wasn’t helping.
On nights like these, where everything was too little and too much, she would find herself escaping to her rooftop balcony and gaze at the stars. Tikki would lie beside her whispering tales of elegance and power; the stories of miraculous holders of long ago fighting against those who would cause the world harm. Her constant companion – a voice of reason when her own brain shouted too loud – was the only reason she was doing as well as she was.
And Marinette knew herself; she wasn’t doing well.
But when the skies covered with clouds, drenching the streets, and blocking the stars it forced her to remain indoors. The hum of electricity, faint but noticeable – a noise she had been unable to ignore ever since donning her miraculous - an irritating background hum. The powers she received when untransformed existed as a blessing and a curse. It without a doubt saved her from one too many klutzy moments, but there were days she missed the ignorance about the nuances of the world around her.
Another moment of strained silence passed before she had enough. She crawled out from under her warmed covers, the cold November night chilling her. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping Kwami, Marinette stuffed her feet into a pair of slippers and descended from her loft bed, and wandered over to her chaise. Crawling under a large knitted blanket – a project from a few years ago - she glanced out her window watching the illuminated rain run down the pane.
The change in location did nothing to help the static in her brain as it wrapped its meticulous tendrils around every train of thought that tried to usher her towards coherence.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to smile.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to care.
She wanted to feel something, anything, other than the gaping emptiness slowly consuming her.
And yet as the moments ticked by, and the rain continued to patter, nothing came.
Marinette was scared nothing ever would.
A small light flickered in the corner of her eye. She slipped off her chaise and walked over to her desk – her phone alight with a notification.
Well, at least there was the internet to help her escape from the directionless dread snapping at her heels.
Grabbing her phone, she retreated back under her knitted blanket, content to mindlessly scroll until the need for sleep won against her brain. It was a Friday night and with a weekend planned for ignoring online harassment from her classmates and completing piles of homework – and the potential ever-looming presence of an Akuma attack – Marinette felt secure in ignoring sleep.
She unlocked her phone.
And a slight shiver ran down her spine.
Well, it wasn’t exactly a normal shiver. Over the past four years, she had developed a particularly good sense at detecting between a normal physiological reaction, and a magic-induced one. This? This chill was magic.
Her fingers tapped on her messaging app with little input from her. Opening a new message, she typed in a number, seemingly random, but she knew by now each movement was laced with luck. Once finished the push driving her to such measures faded, leaving Marinette with a choice.
Tikki did her best to explain the phenomena several years ago when it first appeared. As Ladybug she tapped into the Strings of the universe, where her powers of creation and luck came from. When dealing with luck she subtly manipulated the flow of events around her. At first, only when transformed, and only able to rise to the surface when calling for her Lucky Charm. Eventually, the manipulation became unconscious but continuously present, unable to be directed, but still there, helping in subtle ways. And on occasion, when she wished hard enough – a little push there and a little shove there – and who knew how many blows it took to break a lamppost, and maybe she had hit it a little harder than normal?
But the older she grew, and the longer she wielded the Miraculous of Luck and Creation, the more powerful she grew outside of her transformations. And, on occasion, unconsciously tapped into the probabilities of the universe. The little nudges caused her to make and take decisions and actions she never would. But every time it did a minor problem would be solved, or an opportunity would arise, or a good thing happened that would make a normal person smile at the universe and comment on how luck favored them today.
Marinette knew better.
It was a side effect of her existence mingling with the powers of the universe. Tikki told her, within time, she would feel for the Strings herself and be able not only to manipulate her own but others’ too.
It was not the first time Marinette experienced a panic attack over her powers, and it certainly would not be the last.
Which brought her to her choice; and suddenly, sitting in her darkened room at two in the morning staring at her phone with a random number on the screen, resembled being perched on top of the Eiffel Tower, feet dangling over the edge, the l’appel du vide – the call of the void – twisted around her, caressing her like a friend and urging her to just… fall.
A random number, a string of electricity running into the darkness, unknown and unknowable. Like shouting into the wind at the beach, the water stretching far as the eye could see, the words would take to the sky and disappear.
Only, a text would go… somewhere.
To… someone.
And they might, just maybe, respond.
A shiver, this time her own, rolled through her.
Marinette glanced up at her loft bed, a small red glow, barely perceptible to the human eye, lingering in the air.
Tikki wouldn’t be pleased.
The tiny Kwami always urged Marinette to caution when it came to taking risks like these. Even the goddess herself had a tough time figuring out where actions prompted from the Strings would lead. And this… this had the potential to go very, very, wrong.
But…
Every time Marinette followed the urgings of the universe, she had never been disappointed. True, its effects could be small, barely noticeable at times, but not always. The effect could be much larger. Marinette was always pleased whatever the outcome.
Even if the responsibility of the rest of the power laid heavier on her shoulders with each passing day.
Everywhere Marinette turned she stood alone. Cut off from her parents by necessity; the overwhelming urge to keep them safe, to keep them out of danger forced her to remain silent and ready lie at the drop of a hat. Cut off from her friends and classmates by manipulation; Lila succeeded in twisting them to her whims – the girl had no mercy to stay her vicious tongue, no morals to limit the stories her mind twisted into being. Cut off from mentorship by a quirk of magic; Master Fu deserved to live the rest of his life without guilt, but for his guiding influence to be taken away meant floundering on what to do next. Cut off even from her own partner; Chat flipped between hot and cold, flirtatious and disinterested, reliable and fickle. The days where they could talk about everything and nothing during evening patrols had faded away into uncomfortable silences.
That left Luka… sweet, sweet Luka.
Marinette sighed.
Holding herself together on a good day was hard enough. What good would she be as a girlfriend? Flighty and closed off, unable to open up, constantly in fear of when Hawkmoth would strike next.
No. She had made the right choice, telling the budding musician they were better off as friends.
Glancing down at her phone, the screen locked once more – a group photo of her, Adrian, Kagami, and Luka lit up behind cracked glass – she smiled, tinged with bittersweetness though it was. At least Adrian, who stuck by her side through it all, found happiness. And Kagami had proven to be a stalwart friend. Marinette still wished now and again for different circumstances, but she would never begrudge two of her closest friends for finding comfort together.
And Tikki, while a constant presence, and a needed voice of reason was still a goddess, a creature unfathomably old. Still sweet, caring, and understanding, but detached from the constant stress and pressures of human existence. She was unable to truly be an outlet for Marinette to confide in.
With everything laid out before her culminating together in a bleak understanding of her isolation, it appeared obvious her actions, driven by the luck of the universe, seemed like sanctioned permission.
She unlocked her phone once more.
Taking a quick breath, the wind whipping smugly beneath her dangling feet, she began to type.
#damianette#damimari#maribat#maridami#damian x marinette#marinette dupain Cheng x Damian wayne#damientte#mlb crossover#ml x dc#marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne
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Hi all of you lovelies. I just wanted to announce the fact that today marks one year since I made this silly account full of pictures of beautiful people (mainly AD and Oscar) as well as filth.
I spent most of summer 2020 lurking on the Kylo Ren fanfic side of tumblr through my long abandoned account (from highschool!) but it was November 2020 when I took the plunge and made a a dedicated account. I spent almost a month posting aimlessly, promising myself that I wouldn’t write fanfic before - spoiler - I wrote my first fanfic and never looked back.
This year has been a rollercoaster. I’ve met some beautiful people, learned how to differentiate between the nice and not so nice sides of fandom, and squealed an inordinate amount about hot strangers to strangers on the internet.
Somewhere along the way I recaptured something I’d thought was long gone - my ability to write for me. A creative writing degree, a copywriting job, and a family tragedy had all but drained the joy from writing, something which had once been my greatest passion.
I’m I writing silly little smutty stories with little value beyond simple titillation and frustration release? Sure. Will I ever underestimate the value of such an outlet? Never again.
So thank you for coming with me on this journey. It’s fitting that today is the day that I’ve also reached a pretty big follower milestone and while I don’t believe in sharing the number after a certain point because value isn’t derived from the faceless mass that clicked a button, I will say it’s fun to know that when I scream into the void, there might be a few people out there receiving that scream.
If you so choose, my ask box is open for reciprocal screams and juicy thots.
Love you,
Issa <3
~*~
Tagging some lovelies who make my tumblr life worth living: @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @jynzandtonic @sacklerscumrag @millenialcatlady @butyoudidthis4what @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @maybe-your-left
#issa’s blogiversary#blogiversary#adcu requests#adcu fanfiction#adcu#follower milestone#thank you everyone
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XVII. ghost stories
Connor doesn't want to admit it to himself but he has is currently over the moon. Living alone in that dreadfully dull apartment whose purpose has been that of a prison cell, a place where he'd spend the rest of his days waiting for some kind of divine punishment to restore the world's balance by putting him through suffering most soul-wrenching has not been a very pleasant experience. But Sumo, that helpless creature he gets to call his friend and roommate, has done nothing wrong to waste his life like that, cooped up in a supersized terrarium. The angel of a dog deserves a proper home. And if Gavin doesn't mind the android tagging along, then who is he to deny the floofpuff his favourite company. Maybe it’s a bit presumptuous to think that Sumo has any distinct preference towards him, but that’s something Connor allows himself to indulge in, the idea that he’s doing a good job taking care of that overgrown puppy, that no one else would love him the same way Connor does. Of course, this kind of love would be better defined as an emotional dependency, but the canine doesn’t have to know that.
He's happy, no one can deny him that, but with it also comes to the violent inner conflict, for the joy that flows through him never stops feeling wrong, one way or another. As if every little bit of content that he steals for himself extends the sentence he made himself serve, that he has to make up for each and every time he smiles or feels his heart flutter in something else than fear.
Yes, he did agree to Gavin's proposition, but it doesn't mean his mind is automatically set on actually going through with it.
Every time they're locked in a shared moment like that it's hard to deploy rationality. Hard but not impossible. And if he really was against the idea of sharing home with the one person he’s sure he loves, he wouldn't have answered so enthusiastically. It's just that there is a mess inside of him and he can't quite sort through all the excess guilt and sorrow.
“Hey, Con, what’s going on inside that head of yours? I can basically hear your brain cogs grinding.”
They've been lying side by side on the bed closer to the window, keeping a polite distance between their bodies. The snowing outside has ceased, which can’t be said for the weather beyond his eyelids. Connor hasn't wanted to face anything tonight, so he has submitted his vision to the darkness, listening to Gavin's slow rhythmical breathing, one of his favourite sounds in the world.
Many times has he found himself wishing to share the events that lead him to his current devastated state, times upon times did he want to transfer his memories to some innocent bystander just so he doesn’t have to suffer alone. But never to anyone close to him. It used to be a wound too ugly to be shown, and he feared that once it’s revealed, it would make him revolting in the eyes of the recipient. If it's just him who has to bear the hideous burden then he can justify it as a consequence for his shortcomings, that was something agreed upon in his mind. But when the weakness is stronger than his resolve to let it stew inside of him for all eternity, he can't do anything else but to listen to its cries for help. Because when he closes his eyes and concentrates, the voice screaming for someone to come and save him is no one else's but his own.
And Gavin just happens to be the first one to get near enough to hear.
"I'll tell you, but only if you really wish to know what happened on that day. It won't be an easy story to tell, and even less so to listen to."
"I'd bet you anything that I've heard worse. Witnessed, even. Maybe."
Connor turns to face him, just to give him an expression that conveys how unconvinced he is about that.
"Okay, sure. Just. This is very… hard for me, so…"
"Hey it's fine, we don't have to do this if you're-"
"No, I need to get it out. It's been weighing me down for almost a year, and I don't know how much longer would I be able to last like this.," he squeezes his eyes shut again and dares to grace Gavin with a minuscule smile.
Gavin extends his hand far enough to almost touch him, letting it linger in the vast space between them. It feels like they doing something like this for the first time, like they’ve regressed back to how it was before this December. He can’t stand it, so he seizes the hesitating hand and clutches it like it’s the only thing keeping him from slipping into the endless dark.
"Let's be fair here, no one deserves to be my outlet more than you."
He's the main reason Connor's still here, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What a terrible fucking day has it been already, and it's only ten in the morning. Hank has woken up with a hangover tracing his every step, directly followed by his ever so caring partner. They have been stuck working on a seemingly never-ending case, and the lieutenant isn't known for his patience. Every day he grows wearier and wearier of not being able to find their guy despite it feeling like they're oh so impossibly close to apprehending him. Like he's hiding just around the corner, laughing his ass off at their incompetence. It bogs down not only him, but Connor has been invested in this more than everyone else. The poor android probably blames himself for the fact that the perp is still walking freely among all of his potential victims.
So when they finally get the call of his whereabouts, when this nightmare of an investigation is about to come to an end, he is so wired-up he cannot see anything besides that what matters to him right now, which is nothing else but the hooded figure fleeting away across the busy street like exhaustion doesn't even exist to him. Unfortunately, Hank is an old man and his muscles are not what they once used to be, so he has no choice but to leave this chase to the one of them who doesn't need any organic tissue to run at the speed of a motorcycle. When the lieutenant does eventually catch up to them, he releases a sigh of relief that gets lost in all the breathless heaving as he watches the monster of a man lying on the floor in the pool of his own blood. He is not a callous person, not usually that is, but right now he wishes that the person on the ground wasn’t breathing anymore. Maybe he'll regret thinking like that later, but at the moment it feels more than justified, given what inhumane atrocities the man has committed.
He's about to praise Connor for his good work when an arm sneaks around his shoulder, and he senses something sharp against the skin on his neck.
"Tell me Jake’s not dead or I''ll kill this geezer like the pig he is." A gravelly voice grazes his ear and he wants to throw up from the undesirable proximity.
"You won't."
Leave it to his android partner to always have the upper hand in a crisis. He’s is sure that the gun Connor’s holding in his hopefully steady hand won't miss his target and that he'll be released from this death grip in a matter of seconds. It's not the first time he's found himself in a perilous situation like this, but that doesn't mean he's isn't sweating like he's about to get murdered in cold blood. Because he isn't. He can’t be-
A loud bang reverberates through his head down to his spine, ending at his feet just as devastatingly hot lava takes his mind under. It's the worst pain he's ever been in, yet it feels so… liberating. He can just make out a desperate scream of his name in the voice he's got used to hearing these past months before all his thoughts slowly disappear into the all-encompassing darkness that is carrying him somewhere distant, somewhere painless. Here, in the great void of salvation, he's nothing but an idea.
Happy because he’s arrived in the place he's been trying to get to all this time, for a hope that he can meet the most important person in the entire world, the missing piece of his soul. Sad because he’s leaving the other one behind.
He doesn't know if the flickering light that is gradually moving closer is the thing he's been longing for, but he's more than willing to find out.
Because nothing burdens him anymore. He's finally free. Home at least. Just like he should be.
@a-convin-new-year should i continue tagging this blog or it too late?
#convin#low-temperature burn#time has no meaning to me sorry xD#also I apologise to all Hank fans and lovers#this won't be a pleasant read for you -.- maybe#i'll try to post more often .. not a promise just a little hope#aconvinnewyear
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an update (sort of)
hi. so. i wasn’t going to do this originally but uh, well, i changed my mind? this isn’t an official formal post or anything i just wanted to drop by bcs it’s been a month and i still don’t know how to explain whatever prompted me to delete all of the fics i had here. sorry for that (and i’m really sorry to myself, too, because i’ve had some of those fics for years and i basically just threw all of my hard work and progress and memories ? away). i wasn’t in a good place mentally and i needed an outlet to take out all of my... anger? into and. well?
don’t worry i have all of those saved in my google docs so they’re still here with me, but i don’t know if i’ll ever reupload any of them ever again. i just don’t think it would be the same? so thanks to everyone who’s given them so much love up until their time here was over! sorry i’m a mess. swear im working on it.
if anyone’s wondering, yes, i’m still writing fics. surprisingly more consistently than i expected the past few days. will i ever get anywhere with any of my wips? we’ll see.
i read all of the sweet messages u guys left in my inbox while i was away and im really thankful for that. i’m okay now <3
if anyone wants to contact me my kkt is adultkth and my new twitter is tkooist but im not active there and i wont bother trying to be active unless it is to scream into the void about writing (twitter still gives me anxiety ffff)
my new ao3 is lovings and any new works i decide to upload will be posted there (no mxr fics sorry :( just mxm)
and if u want to send me anything anonymously my curiouscat is adoreguk (i wont be answering to tumblr asks anymore sorry!)
ah. i didn’t want to make this long but it’s hard trying to get everything out when youre not even sure how to say the things u want to say.
thank you again for all the support on my fics this far, and thank u to all the people ive talked to for putting up w me <3
#god this really did not sum anything up man#i suck#me and my mood swings huh <3#unrelated but i broke my laptop last week and now it's in the shop#right before online classes start#fffffff
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I’ve noticed something in left-wing media that’s pissing me off
Since the election results have come in in Biden’s favor, I’ve noticed something. Left-wing outlets are now using the word ‘fascist’ when talking about Trump, I’ve seen at least two Nazi comparisons, as well as Trump being openly and planely called a white supremacists.
YOU KNOW, WHAT THE PROGRESSIVE FACTION AND THEIR ALLIES HAVE BEEN SAYING FOR 4+ YEARS!!! BUT ONLY NOW THAT HE WON’T BE REELECTED DO THE COWARDS THAT PRODUCE LEFT-WING MEDIA ADMIT WHAT THE REST OF US KNEW AND WERE SCREAMING INTO THE VOID FOR YEARS!!!
WHERE WAS THIS WHEN WE NEEDED IT? WHERE! WHERE WAS THIS 4 MOTHERFUCKING YEARS AGO WHEN WE LET A NAZI AND KKK SIMP IN THE FUCKING WHITE HOUSE!? WHERE WAS THIS DURING IMPEACHMENT? WHERE WAS THIS DURING THE MIDTERM ELECTIONS?
YOU PIECES OF SHIT ARE JOURNALISTS. IT’S YOUR JOB TO USE THE RIGHT WORDS EVEN IF THEY’RE DIRTY. BUT INSTEAD AMERICA IS NOW THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE WORLD, WE HAVE A SUPREME COURT STACKED WITH EVANGELICALS, AND THOUSANDS ARE DEAD WITH THOUSANDS MORE GOING TO DIE!
#election#rant#lord am i pissed#this is going on this blog because it's my biggest one#not magic#not witchcraft
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The Marvelous Misadventures of One: S. Marvin Argentum Ch. 2: The Desert Sucks, So Says Marvin
Summary: Marvin comes with a plan, and trips over an adventure along the way.
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
Marvin and Ghostbur went into Marvin’s childhood home and spent longer than he wanted to talking to his mom and promising to come back after the whole mess was over because he was already tired and just wanted a nap but it looked like he wasn’t going to get one.
She did insist Ghostbur come back with him because he’d already endeared himself and Friend to her.
With those promises and some tea, Marvin left the house with Ghostbur and they got back into the car and Marvin took it out of the driveway and about a mile away so he could pull over onto the road and the trio could plan.
“If I can win a duel against the Guildmaster, then I could take over and pull the Guild out of the alliance. If I time it right it will catch them off guard,” Taylor told him.
“Well that’s all good, but are the other hunters gonna[1] just let yeh[2] do that?” Marvin asked.
“No, unfortunately,” the hunter hummed in thought.
“Didn’t think so,” Marvin scoffed. “So we’ve got a group ‘a[3] mages that have had months ta[4] lick their wounds from the beat down Spade an’[5] Clubs gave ‘em[6]. We’re what? Two on several dozen?”
“Two? There’s three of us?” The hunter was clearly getting frustrated.
“Nah, he’s not gettin’ anywhere near ‘em,”[7] Marvin told them before Ghost could say a world, but he noticed that Ghostbur looked relieved. “Yeh[2] move the base yet?”
“No,” the hunter told him.
“Good, it’ll make ‘em[6] easier ta[4] find” Marvin grumbled in frustration, his messages weren’t getting through because when you live in the middle of nowhere cell service doesn’t exist. “I’ll try an’[5] get in contact with Chase when we pass through Egoton ta[4] get ta[4] Arizona. Maybe we can get back in time.”
“Why Egoton specifically?” The hunter demanded.
“Cause it’s a magical fookin’ town. We can wait until Egoton’s position shifts inta California an’ cut the drive in half.”[8] Marvin brought up a map of Egoton on his phone to show them.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “When would that be?”
“Anywhere from right now ta[4] next month,” Marvin sighed.
“That’s too long,” Taylor told him.
“Would Marvin and his allies like to take a shortcut?”
Marvin actually jumped and Taylor was whipping out a staff to attack the Host but the Seer used his narrations to knock it to the side.
Ghostbur flickered back into visibility, smiling as he recognized the Host. “Oh, hello Host.”
“Fook, kid, are yeh tryin’ ta kill me?”[9] Marvin grabbed at his chest.
“The Host sensed that he was needed,” the seer grinned, Taylor was unsettled by the sharp smile but they didn’t say anything. “Would Marvin and his company like assistance? The Host could open up a portal right into Arizona.”
“Really?” Marvin looked back at him. “That’d be great actually.”
“If Marvin and his companions will get into their car, the Host will open up a portal for them,” the Host said and was already opening up a huge Void portal that visibly showed the “Entering Page” sign that was the trio’s destination.
Marvin sighed as he got into the car. “An’[5] here I wanted a break.”
The car started and Marvin drove them through the portal, the portal swirling shut in an instant as Marvin was racing towards the unfamiliar city. Ghostbur let out a delighted gasp, materializing halfway outside the roof of the car. “Shermy lives here.”
“Who’s that?” Marvin demanded
“Shermy! He can help us!” Ghostbur peeked back into the car. “He’s plenty strong.”
“Okay, neat, where does he live?” Marvin demanded.
“Let me—” Ghost said and possessed the car, taking it off in a terrifying way. With little regard for speed or other cars on the road.
“Ghostbur! Yer gonna kill us!”[10]
Marvin was able to get control of the car and Ghost helped with shouting directions and the blinker to warn Marvin when to turn. They stopped outside of a police station, Ghostbur an excited, jittery mess. While Marvin and Taylor were trying to calm their racing hearts.
“So, who are we here fer[11]?” Marvin groaned. “Not sure some police precinct I’ve ne’er[12] worked with are gonna[13] work with us.”
“Sherman,” Ghostbur smiled. “He’s Techno’s big brother.”
“Techno,” Marvin repeated. “The big pig brute has a big brother?”
Ghostbur nodded, still smiling. “I don’t remember him that well because I met him when I was Wilbur and younger. But I think he was nice.”
“You sure he’s not going to instantly attack us?” Taylor asked.
“I could go in and ask him?” Ghostbur offered.
“I don’t like the idea ‘a yeh walkin’ in there alone,”[14] Marvin protested.
Ghostbur frowned, but looked over and brightened up, “I don’t have to, he’s right there.”
And before Marvin could determine who Ghostbur was talking about, the young ghost demon shot out of the car and flew over to someone who had just stepped out of the police station. He was tall and built like a brick wall. And Marvin knew that was who Ghostbur had been looking for. He looked like Techno but had a nasty looking scar over his left eye and huge tusks jutting out of his mouth.
“Fook![15] Fook!” Marvin raced to get out of his car.
“Sherman!” Ghostbur smiled.
“Wilbur! Fuckin’[16] hell kid!” Sherman shouted. “Where the hell did yah[2] come from?”
“Oh, I’m with my friends,” Ghostbur smiled as Marvin raced over.
“You too, huh?” Sherman crossed his arms in front of himself.
“Hey, Shermy,” Ghostbur floated up a little bit.
“Nah, don’t think so,” the huge demon scoffed and pushed Ghostbur away. “It’s still Sheriff Thompson to you. An’[5] who the Sam-hell are you?”
Sheriff Thompson turned to glare at Marvin and the hunter.
“We’re with Ghostbur,” Marvin jabbed his thumb at Ghostbur.
“Ghost—” Sheriff Thompson scoffed. “Ain’t that hilarious. So I’m guessin’ yer join’ the Ol’ Man?”[17]
Ghostbur’s excitement seemed to, impossibly, go through the roof. “Phil’s here? He can help too.”
“Oh great,” Marvin hissed under his breath.
“Yeah, come on, junior, the Ol’[18] Man’s over at Church’s,” Thompson grabbed Ghostbur, seemingly, by the scruff of his jumper and dropped him away from him.
Thompson began walking away, his uniform changing into one that was a simple button-up and suspenders outfit.
“Where yeh goin’?”[19] Marvin asked.
“Over at Church’s there’s a club of sorts that may or may not be participatin’[20] in less than legal dealin’s.” Sheriff Thompson told them. “Tech an’[5] Philza are always there whenever they’re in town.”
“Aren’tcha[21] a cop?” Marvin glared at him.
“All the books check out,” Thompson shrugged. “Besides, humans aren’t allowed into the basement. USA loopholes only include humans. Besides, Techno needs an outlet when he comes to town. So we have the pit an’[5] any demon that wants a shot at his crown can get discorporated tryin’[22] to take it.”
“Laws about demons are always fooked,” Marvin hissed.
“Well that’s what happens when demons get to write state laws,” Thompson dismissed.
“So yer[23] Techno’s brother, how does that work?” Marvin asked.
“Look, normally Techno doesn’t talk ‘bout[24] his past, but I like ta[4] embarrass him so it’s fair game,” Thompson shrugged, Ghostbur floating next to him. The spectral demon was a good couple feet off the ground so he was at Thompson’s head height, almost scrunched up in a ball. “Tech an[5] I are a good fifty years apart. We come from another demon I killed a couple decades back ‘cause[25] he was causin’[26] too much trouble.”
“He had a name?” Taylor asked.
“Billiam,” Thompson answered. “He was obsessed with legates, you two know what those demons are?”
“I do,” Marvin said, the hunter giving them both odd looks.
“Right, so,” Sheriff Thompson. “I don’t quite know if he met one, or read about one, but he was obsessed with power and figured if he could get a legate reliant on him, then he could rule the world. At first he was experimenting on people lower class than him, but then he started working with his own when that failed. He only made two spawnlings by the time I got rid of him an’[5] his accomplice. The instant he realized I was just a normal demon he tossed me out on the street an[5] started trying to make a second one. Which was his mistake ‘cause[25] that was Techno.”
“So what type ‘a[3] demon is Techno?” Marvin asked.
“Don’t know, don’t really care,” Thompson shrugged as they reached a building that looked like some kind of library or a bar. There were people milling about.
All the patrons gave the Sheriff a quick nod or a brisk hello as Thompson led the trio down to a metal stairwell. Marvin could already hear the shouts and the loud cheers.
What Marvin saw as he came out to a spectator’s platform was a massive two-story hole in the ground where Techno was in there, fighting five other demons with an axe. All of them had various weapons.
With a slice of his axe one of the demons exploded into a puff of magic and the crowd screamed. The other four demons were discorporated just as quickly.
Marvin looked up to see a VIP stage where a young girl with long pink hair and a pink mask, standing next to the glass, pressing her face close to the glass as she bounced on her tiptoes. Philza was sitting in a huge armchair, watching the fight like a king watching knights in a jousting match. His fingers swirling and bobbing with some music in the room that he was listening to.
Marvin felt his magic coil around himself protectively, and that maybe stepping into this place was a mistake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Accessibility Translations:
1. going to
2. you
3. of
4. to
5. and
6. them
7. Nah, he’s not getting anywhere near them
8. Because it’s a magical fucking town. We can wait until Egoton’s position shifts into California and cut the drive in half.
9. Fuck, kid, are you trying to kill me?
10. Ghostbur! You’re going to kill us!
11. for
12. never
13. gonna
14. I don’t like the idea of you walking in there alone
15. Fuck!
16. fucking
17. Isn’t that hilarious. So I’m guessing you’re joining the Old Man?
18. Old
19. Where are you going?
20. participating
21. Aren’t you
22. trying
23. you’re
24. about
25. Because
26. causing
#superhero au#masks and maladies#dream smp#tales of the smp#footnotes#marvin the magnificent#ghostbur#sheriff sherman thompson#Techno's tales of the smp characters are amazing and I will include them#magic#reckless endangerment#who wants to go to a demon fight club?#not Marvin?#too bad
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U know I’ve been gone from this website for two years and basically I did the whole “real life” life without fandom and obsessions and screaming into the void about people who I don’t know
And let me tell u. It got boring, I lost my creative outlet, I haven’t really written anything in forever, I stopped trying to teach myself photoshop or any of that stuff and i only realized like three months ago how huge this part of me was that just didn’t exist anymore. So yeah this website might be a hell hole but honestly I just missed being in a fandom so much. From now on I will scream into the void thankfully and with a happy heart
#text#don’t let society tell u it’s dumb to obsess over stuff#life is boring if u try to silence the universe in ur head
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I was tagged by @bereft-of-frogs! Thank you! I’ll tag @mareebird and @franniebanana
Some commentary:
1. I have both an ff.net and livejournal account, but I don’t use either of them anymore. I stopped using ff.net only a year ago because of the lack of engagement. I do write primarily for myself but man, it really is like screaming into the void over there.
2. You all know my ao3 account, right?
3. So much smut. I think the first smut I ever wrote was when I was 14? Maybe 15. It wasn’t very good. I actually didn’t really write much until my very late 20s. My smut writing currently is totally an outlet for the fact that I’m writing the slowest slow burn that I’ve ever written in my life. You guys, Loki and Stephen definitely would have kissed by now in my series if I didn’t channel that into writing smut, lol.
4. I used to do Darkwing Duck roleplay in the 90s via email.
5. I’m @mareebird’s beta.
6. And she’s mine, but I still post a bunch of unbeta-ed stuff, haha.
7. I think all of my fic is a bit self-indulgent tbh. But like, on a scale, everything I’ve written for MCU Kink Bingo is really self-indulgent. Literally just an excuse to write explicit sex and Loki and Stephen telling each other how in love they are.
8. Well, obviously my OTP is m/m. I’ve written f/f as well.
9. Yes, fanfiction has its own set of tropes and patterns that set it apart enough to be considered a genre of its own.
10. I’m not sure if this means like, multifandom at one time? Or just, has written in multiple fandoms? But yeah, I mean I’ve been writing since like 1994 so I’ve written in a lot of different fandoms. I tend to only write in one at a time, though. Not always.
11. I also love researching as I’m writing haha. I do more research beforehand for my original fiction. I was proud of myself yesterday though for researching boat makes prior to actually sitting down to write the stuff about the boat that I intended to write.
12. Doesn’t everyone wait anxiously for feedback?
13. I commission fanart all the time, and I collab with @nonexistenz on tons of stuff.
14. Haha SO MANY unpublished fics. Most of my kink bingo fills. Fics 4 and 5 of my Loki series (and 6 is almost done). It will all be published eventually. Also my original fiction is unpublished. I have two completed novels.
15. I more get ideas right before I go to bed. I’ve also dreamt ideas. There are some things in The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy that came to me in a dream.
16. One time I was trying to finish a fic and I purposefully got drunk to do so.
17. I mean. I kind of think a lot of my fics deserve more attention lol. I have niche interests, though.
18. I need to get my shit together and actually query agents. Also I should finish my Froststrange Academia AU and file the serial numbers off because I feel like someone might publish that.
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Damn, sorry to send yet another ask; also, thank you for your response to my last one. Writing out my feelings as well as reading your response did help me calm down ^^
But there's... there's another thing, and I hope you don't mind this topic, it's kinda heavy. If it's too much, you can go ahead and ignore this.
Erm... self harm warning? Ha...
That was the thing. Is the thing. That I started doing due to that friendship. I think it was curiosity more than anything.
...I don't have depression. Anxiety, yes, and sometimes I get frustrated at myself/my disorder, but not depression. I'm not suicidal either. Sometimes I hurt myself when I'm stressed or anxious, sometimes I do it just because... I need to. I need to and I like it and no one tells me why it's wrong. Why is it wrong?? I honestly don't understand. I'm careful; scratching and biting doesnt cause anything severe... and I'm careful otherwise. I'm not hurting anyone else. I'm not depressed. I'm not suicidal. I just like it and it- it... I'm such a freak, ugh, but I can't help the fact that I like it.
I don't do it all the time, it's kind of an off-and-on thing. Just whenever I have the urge.
And my mom... maybe at some point I might've considered telling her, but now I know that I never will. She's made some comments recently about cutters that... they aren't rude or anything, they just show that she'll never understand me. And I don't want to risk emotionally hurting her because she won't understand.
...why is it wrong? No one can answer me. All that comes out of it is relief, even if it isn't exactly the best means. So what's wrong with it?
I've told a number of my friends, actually, and I can tell they don't know what to do. I have one friend who occasionally asks me how I'm doing in regards to that, but I can tell they just... are lost. Don't want to deal with it because they don't know what to do.
I don't want to be stopped. But... maybe if someone could understand me for once and tell me why it's wrong, maybe that person would be able to convince me...
The only thing that stops me before I do it (besides lacking energy/a true desire to do it)... Ugh, this is going to sound so pathetic. Relying on someone who doesn't even exist. But it's Saeyoung... sometimes just imagining his face gives me pause; I hesitate.
But he's not real. Even if he was, who's to say he'd be able to give me an answer?
Maybe I'll never find anyone who can convince me. That's... that's fine. I don't want to be stopped. I only know destructive means of releasing anger, and tearing paper doesn't work that well. Biting my hand, however, brings immediate calm.
I did it right in front of my mom out of habit during an argument which was stressing me out. Immediate relief. She didn't even realize what I was doing.
[417]
TW: Self-Harm, Cutting, Depression, Anxiety
Self-Harm is a dangerous thing to pick up. It doesn’t just mean cutting. It means that you could deny yourself things or bite yourself or crawl at your skin. It’s not something to feel ashamed of or feel guilty about because feelings are very hard to deal with in a healthy way when you don’t have a safe space or people that you can reach out to that can show you better ways to cope with your pain and depression. So, I hope that you know that you’re not a bad person and that it will get better in your life.
This is something that is going to take some time to work on. You’re not hurting anyone but yourself, dear. Nobody deserves to suffer or feel horrible. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting and that nobody has been able to gently guide you and show you that life can be worth living when you know where to start to help yourself feel better again. One doesn’t have to have depression per se to have struggles with self-harm, either.
I’m sorry that you don’t feel safe enough to open up to your family about this, or your friends. Self-harm is addictive, and it’s very hard to stop once you’ve had the time to start it. It’s harmful to you. Do you deserve to be hurt? No. You don’t. Nobody does. You’re looking for something to help you feel something other than numbness, and yes, pain is a feeling that one can have but it’s not the feeling that you need.
I don’t want to scold you or shame you, so I hope that my tone is coming across gently because I do worry about you! I worry about anyone that is struggling with so much pain in their heart on their own. I know how hard that is. The answer that you’re looking for is for someone to tell you that you matter, that your life matters, that your existence matters. It does. I promise you that it does mean something to many people.
You can’t wait for someone to tell you that all the time, but I understand that people want to hear it from the ones that they love the most. There’s no right thing to tell you other than that I hope that you know that you can find better ways to cope with your pain. It’s harmful because it isn’t helping you sort out your feelings. It’s just hurting you in more ways than you’re able to see.
If you would like to know better ways to cope with self-harm, I can direct you to some better coping mechanisms and references that you can check out. I’ve had many people tell me that biting into lemons or drinking something really tart can jolt you out of feeling numb. That’s one of the major things with self-harm, trying to feel something that isn’t numbness. My fiance stands by submerging your face in ice water for a few seconds to deal with his urges. He’s a few years into his recovery, so I trust him with that theory.
There are other ways to be mindful and help yourself. I promise. If you want to talk more, I’m always here and I’m always willing to listen to whatever you have to say. If you just need a void to scream into, just let it out. Your mother may not understand, but if you’re old enough, you can speak to your doctor about getting someone to talk to about this. I think 16 is the minimum age or that in many of the states.
Now, for the other half of what you said. Don’t feel ashamed for coping with a character. In many cases, that’s the only outlet that many young people have to hold onto you. The only reason that I, for example, was able to deal with what happened to me throughout my childhood and recently, my adulthood, was the fact that I could clutch onto a character to feel better. I still do it. I close my eyes and imagine that comfort character reassuring me. It’s not silly, it’s not wrong, and if it helps you, don’t let anyone make you feel bad.
I’m so very self-insert and OC positive because I know how important it is for people to cope with their pains and woes. Sometimes, you just want to flirt with a cute character, or you want to be cherished, and you find that in a character. I think that’s sweet. Our brains don’t go “fictional” or “real”, if you love something or someone, that love is tried, true, and real. You love him. That’s real, and he would want you to be happy and taken care of.
That’s real. Saeyoung wants you to be happy and wants you to be able to live your life. He’s always willing to listen if you need to write to him. I do that at times, just writing out how I feel and how I know Saeran would talk to me back about it. They empathize and understand your pain. They would want you to feel okay but they would never shame you for hurting. Nobody should. I hope that you can feel better in the future and that you always remember that things will be okay.
Fight for yourself and for your happiness, easier said than done, but I believe in you! I actually wrote a writing trade for someone who has similar struggles if you would like to read that with Saeyoung.
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