#mass effect brain rot time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr.com is the 103rd most visited website in the world.

#mass effect brain rot time

gglitch1dd · 1 year

Note

I've been having a Golden retriever izuku type of boyfriend brain rot 🥺🤧

Well... looks like I know what Im posting for the week. Sorry for not responding sooner. Life has been a whirlwind and I haven't been able to get to everything yet.

Warning: Some suggestive content and mentions of a breeding kink. NO SMUT OR NSFW.

Izuku Headcannons.

Now Izuku is such a sweetheart. It is one of the very well known things about him. He's kind and sweet, caring, great with kids... suspiciously like a dog. You didn't really notice his rather happy-go-lucky instincts until you really watched him.

For starters, Izuku loves bringing you food. His mother always used to bring him snacks or make him meals whenever he was sad, celebrating something or for any occasion really. Especially since it was just him and his mom most of the time, he learnt a lot of skills from her. Expect him to try and make you stuffed and happy.

... in both ways.

When you are happy, he's happy.

Izuku has been through a lot in his life and often than not those memories and dark moments don't just go away. They build and they effect him more than people think. Having someone else to focus on is sometimes better for him than focusing on the past. Which is why he loves making memories with you in the present. Seeing that smile on your face makes all his hard work and dedication so much worth it.

He has this huge smile and laugh that he does, a full one that makes even the grumpiest of people smile just slightly. A sparkling smile that never fails to make you smile. That's one of the things you love about him.

As I said earlier, he's been through a lot of shit. His eyes don't shine as bright as they used to, he doesn't smile as bbrightly and as often as he used to, and he is really good at hiding his true intentions. But all it takes is one nice long hug and that big exterior comes crumbling down to the same green haired boy who doubted himself because everyone else did too. He just needs so much love and comfort.

Talking about love and comfort, he'll give it to you endlessly. He will shower you with it. Every second day he has a fresh bouquet of roses for you and if not, a potted plant to grow instead. He takes you out on routinely dates as often as he can. He tries to always show you off. He doesn't like boasting about his accomplishment unless its to Kaachan's face, but he does love showing you off. I mean look at you!!

He loves just laying in the sun, on your lap, in your big garden with all the many rabbits you both have. When you met Izuku he had one rabbit. Then you bought a rabbit. Suddenly you lost count, which was one of the reasons why you had to move out of your apartment and get a space all to yourselves. All for the rabbits that swarmed your house like the plague.

Not because Izuku's breeding kink (He's a bunny too after all) was pressing him into thinking about getting more space for the family the two of you were gonna have.

Of course not.

Sometimes he would do the most simplest things and come show you because he just loved your attention and approval. He's really just a really big himbo who comes trudging to you from the kitchen, covered in flower and icing somehow ending up on his nose and sprinkles in his hair and in his large scarred hands is a green frosted cupcake. He would bestow it upon you like an offering and with your praise he would just beam and get you seven more.

Refers back to giving you tons of food.

He's a big bulky hero. He has to gain mass. So prepare yourself for a stocked fridge and constant food offerings.

But one you cook, he loves to sway in the kitchen with you. With his hero suit still on, white cape, lined in gold on his back, the pot brewing with who knows what you were cooking, he would pull you to his chest and slow dance with you. He wants to hold you and just enjoy your presence. Close his eyes and put his head on top of yours and want the world to just disappear.

Even though he was the number One hero and he was a very busy man because of it, he was your Izuku. He was your partner.

He would trade in One for All just to be able to kneel at your feet and praise you.

Cause that's just the type of person Midoriya Izuku is.

-Glitch1d

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoryia x you #izuku headcanons #izuku midoriya headcanons #deku headcanons #deku x y/n #izuku midoriya x you #izuku x you #mha izuku

668 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 9 months

Text

How to care for your undead lover.

A funny little blurbo I did about a guide on taking care of ghoul darling/reader.

So - wanna bring back your soulmate departed from this world too soon? Wanna take home that cutie from the cemetery? Notice something off about your neighbor and looking for was to impress? Here are a few important tips to know before bringing your undead dear home.

Ghouls in our situation are the undead, but a little different from norm. Not as brainless as zombies nor soulless either. Ghouls are typically tired soul thrust back into its aging body trapped in a never-ending cycle of rot and decay. Their minds and bodies deteriorate at a rapid pace, but there are usually points in which their rotting stops and ways to prevent further deterioration almost entirely.

Like the living, Ghouls need to eat. While they will not die without a meal, Ghouls require sustenance to remain among the living and function as one of their own. Signs of a starving Ghouls are extreme tiredness/trouble staying awake, lose of memory and speech, uncontrollable sobbing, loss in muscle mass and flesh, biting, scratching, and more.

When unable to acquire the flesh that benefits them most - common brain foods are fair alternatives. Fatty fish, Beef, Chicken, Yogurt, Eggs, Leafy Vegetables, Berries. While these work for a time Human meat will always have the longest lasting effect. Many conscious aren't exactly comfortable with eating one of their own - or what used to be. Simply make sure that they aren't in the kitchen during meal prep and dicing the meat finely. Try to avoid wearing the same clothes as when you caught their dinner or the faint smell of blood may raise suspicion. You may notice your ghoul growing beyond typical human height if they are fed regularly and with a balanced diet of human flesh. This is perfectly normal

[Example A]

- A caretaker completely drenched in blood presents a human arm on a plate for their darling. The ghoul frowns - visibly uncomfortable.

Caretaker: Darling~ Time for breakfast!

Ghoul: N...no...

[This is wrong.]

[Example B]

- A well dressed and groomed caretaker presents an omelet stuffed with spinach and "mystery" meat, paired with a small fruit salad. The ghoul smiles

Caretaker: Darling, are you ready for breakfast? If you eat everything off your plate you can have a snack during speech practice.

Ghoul: kay!

[This is correct]

It is not wise to try an force a Ghoul to remember points in time. Their memory will come and go all depending on how well you feed them. Gently reassure them that you are their caretaker and rewards them for easy things like remembering your name. This will make your ghoul happy and more accepting of you. As their mind ails be sure to bath them frequently and stick as closely to their personal grooming routines as you can. It's best to style them the same as pictures closest to when they met their end, but if they express wanting to try a different hairstyles or look do not hesitate to comply. It will be a great bonding experience and staple you as someone they shouldn't forget when they begin to lose their head.

Lastly, be sure to give them lots of love. That's all for now, folks. Til next time.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere oc #zombie reader #yandere drabble #yandere writing

399 notes · View notes

n0thingiscool · 2 years

Text

Hot Takes From Troll Accounts - re: Breaking Bad and the MSM's General Influence on Populous Beliefs/Behaviors

Exhibit A) absurdly-“useful”

Except mainstream anything has an immediate influence on the masses hence why electing a pro Nazi rapist to office was fucking BAD for the population and the safety for women, POC, queer folk, and people with disabilities… ya goofy misdirecting troll account see you next tuesday. 😂

Exhibit B) wackweeder, grimeclown, and cactusseeds

No, to answer your question - grimeclown. But that’s kinda not really the focus.

*eyes rolling at cactusseeds* - tell me you work for media without telling me you work for media.

For wackweeder - you say “media illiterate” like that’s a bad thing. Lmfao. I prefer to put my limited time in reading published studies, reading historical books, interacting with people who value educational content (not you), taking STEM classes, and beating my ass up in fitness arenas than working on my “media literacy.” I have all my social media feeds to tell me shit I don’t care about in relation to mainstream television now, anyway. It’s not like I get to bury my head away from any of it as much as I would love to. But why the hell would I want to watch brain rot with what limited time I have on this planet. I rhetorically ask. Here’s the key response to your overall population influence illiteracy - media influences everything including drug usage. This is why most developed governments are so sensitive about tobacco and alcohol ads in the presence of children. It doesn’t generally matter how the shit is portrayed. If it did then Nancy Reagan’s “War on Drugs” TV specials would’ve had some positive effect on the masses. Hint… it didn’t.

https://academic.oup.com/alcalc/article/44/3/229/178279

Now - you can go ahead and make the argument that BB the show, itself, could’ve turned people away from using because there are zero studies to counter that argument but that’s disingenuous claim to make at best. Personally, I feel more comfortable looking at all the other numerous studies looking at drug and alcohol usage influenced through media, in general, and applying that data to the picture at hand because that is a rational thing to do.

For a lay example - why don’t news outlets publish suicide rates? Because it increases suicide. Just because it looks bad in the broad scheme doesn’t mean it has none or an anti-influence. That’s not how this works. I can think of other media influencing mob behavior: Flash mobs. The increase of street takeovers in a post Fast and Furious world. How little girls think they need to look like some twig on the runway. How little boys think they have to hide their emotions because the machismo men on their favorite shows do so. How Bhutan’s GNH (presumably - the documentation has all but vanished from online sources I had read from in the aughts - shoulda saved it back in the day…) fell after the introduction of Western Media. And so on…

People are easily influenced, man. They teach in journalism school (yes, I went) the average American reading and comprehension level is at the equivalent of the third grade. When you see mofos out there believing Q-Anon conspiracies without second guessing you know that fact isn’t far off. We’re not anywhere near as evolved a you want to believe.

Exhibit C) roadkillbuffet

I can’t tell if this is sarcasm or not but Breaking Bad was not the first gay kiss on television…

But also… if the comment isn’t sarcasm or a troll then - “but Breaking Bad was the first gay kiss on tv therefore if you’re calling a meth based television show out you are homophobic” - is a piss poor argument to make for the queer community. Of which I am in, btw.

If that were actually true and BB was the first show to validate queer relationships then how homophobic is Hollywood to take that first dive into validating queer lives in a show about meth? I’m going to guess this is a sarcasm response though. No one can be that off base… can they?

Exhibit D) "I can't read this" Cool. Go back to your basic memes.

#ask response #influence #influencer #media #behavior #mob rule

279 notes · View notes

leading-manhattan · 2 days

Text

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Jack's not surprised that the nightmares came for him. It was a damn miracle that he avoided them the night before and his luck never lasted long. The dreams are unrealistic yet no less terrifying. No matter how impossible they were the fear that came with them was still just as pungent. In the latest hellscape of his mind's creation he's being brought back down to that horrible cellar. He can feel the Delanceys' bruising hold on his arms as they drag him along and his struggles are ineffective as they laugh at his frantic attempts to get away. While he's led through the unfamiliar corridors they morph and twist into the dirt-caked hallways he's spent years of his life trying to escape. The Refuge was eternally embedded into his brain and no matter how hard he tried to shake it the wretched place continued to haunt him. It makes sense that it'd make an appearance here, Snyder and basements have never meant good things for Jack Kelly.

The long, narrow hallway mixed crudely between the Refuge and the World leads towards a lone door marking the end in more ways than one. The door is chipped and rotting, some disgusting blend of cracking wood and rusted metal, and it's been left slightly ajar. Something primal in Jack tells him that if he walks through that door he'll never walk out. Run, his mind wails at him, Run, run, it chants as he's brought closer and closer to his impending doom. No matter how hard he struggles the Delanceys' grip doesn't so much as budge and before he knows it they're only a few yards away from that horrible door. It creaks open further on its own accord, slow and deliberate, and even though the other side is a mass of pitch black Jack knows exactly who's waiting for him. He can hear the telltale tap, tap, tap of the cane against the floor taunting him.

Jack wakes up flailing and drenched in sweat before he can reach the door. He scrambles back across the rooftop until he knocks into bars of the fire escape and realizes that gone is the terrible hallway and in its place is the open air of the roof. His chest is heaving with gasping breaths even after he recognizes that it was all a nightmare. He curls up against the iron railing while he tries to catch his breath. "You's fine, Kelly," Jack mumbles into his knees, "Get over it." It's not that easy. He can try all he wants to command his emotions but he's well-versed in just how little control he really has over them. He wraps his arms around his legs and tugs them impossibly closer to his chest in a futile effort to keep himself from shaking apart. He's not proud of how viscerally nightmares effect him but he's powerless against their iron grasp. They exist to remind him of what he's suffered through and the horrors that lurk around every corner, crouched low in every back alley ready to pounce if he ever dares to let his guard down. The dreams are especially jarring now. Without the other newsies he was vulnerable, kids like them didn't survive on their own. It seems like with every passing moment Jack is becoming more and more aware of just how monumentally he's fucked up.

Usually around now Crutchie would stir, roused by the noise Jack's making or the lazily lightening sky, and he'd stumble his way over with a limp more pronounced because he hadn't had time to really wake up yet. He'd ask if Jack was okay but he'd never pry. Instead they'd just sit together until Jack felt steady enough to start getting ready for the day. Even though Crutchie never said anything he clearly could tell that the dreams clung to Jack. Crutchie'd just spend the rest of the day glued to Jack's side in a comforting show of support.

There's no Crutchie today.

Jack gets up.

He feels disgusting, layers of sweat and dirt stuck to his skin, but he's grateful he didn't undress any before falling asleep last night. His whole body is throbbing and he isn't sure he'd be able to get dressed if he had to. It's too early for the morning bells to have rung yet, the sun hasn't even peeked over the horizon and the sky was still gray, but Jack isn't sure he can stomach it if he stays up here and listens to them forget about him again. No, not forget. Cast aside. So instead he scoops up a few dimes from the shattered jar and he climbs down the fire escape, bypassing the window into the lodging house to instead descend all the way into the alley below. Each rung reverberates painfully through his body and by the time he's carefully lowering himself down onto the cobblestone he's panting from the effort.

This isn't the first time Jack's been beat to hell. Far from it, actually. He's used to how your whole body can feel like one giant bruise a few days after you got your ass handed to you. The first few days after are always the most painful. That doesn't change the fact that he feels like his ribs are trying to claw into his lungs or that his shoulder shrieks every time he moves his arm even a little. His back feels like it's made of fire and each step makes him feel like his legs are gonna give out on the next. He knew that Snyder and the Delanceys had worked him over pretty badly in the cellar but now he was really feeling it. He wishes he could stay curled up in the penthouse but he has more important things to do.

Jack kills some time by just wandering the streets. The circulation gates won't open up for about an hour but he would've driven himself crazy sitting around at the lodging house listening to his boys come together so easily without him. His limbs still feel frail as he shuffles down the sidewalks of Lower Manhattan but despite that he finds some peace in the quiet morning. In the gentle white light of the coming dawn Jack takes the chance to breathe for what feels like the first time since he strut into Pulitzer's office. For just a fleeting moment he's allowed to exist outside of the strike, outside of the newsies, outside of himself. For a moment he's just a kid taking a stroll and while he can't entirely shake the weight that lives heavy on his shoulders the world permits him this one second of relief.

It's over before he knows it, golden light finally spilling across the sky and filtering through the tall buildings of the city. That's all it takes for the weight of the world to crash back into him and he changes course for the circulation gates, dragging his feet in hopes to make the trek just long enough that he won't cross paths with any of the newsies today either. Jack doesn't want to see the way they'll look at him. He doesn't think he'll be able to keep a brave face again if he has to see their scowls and glares, distrust and betrayal thick in the air between them. Even just thinking of it makes his empty stomach churn unbearably.

The sight of the circulation gates is an unwelcome one but he still refuses to let himself stop, not even taking a second to gather himself before he slips through the already open gates and prays that maybe he can get through the day with little incident. He's relieved to see that his molasses pace paid off and the place is at least void of any stragglers. Just him and the rotten men more than happy to watch the newsies crash and burn. Wiesel and the Delanceys are sitting over at the distribution desk as always, watching with that same sick pleasure as Jack drags himself over to grab his papers for the day.

Jack feels disgusting as he digs the two dimes from his pocket, offering them compliantly. "Quiet lately, Kelly?" Wiesel quips but Jack just slides down the line without retort. He just wants to get through this, all the energy in him focused solely on surviving the day. But Jack's paid for his papers without his usual banter for the second day in a row and he should've known the Delanceys wouldn't let that slide.

Morris slams the slim stack of newspapers into Jack's chest and laughs when Jack scrabbles to grab them, gasping as the constant pain wrapped around his chest blazes. The blow easily rips the air from his lungs, bruised ribs flaring up in bursts of white-hot agony. "Who would've thought it was this easy to tame the famous Jack Kelly, eh, Oscar?" Morris jeers, chortling with his brother.

"You wanna see how tame I am?" Jack wheezes back through a clenched jaw, baring his teeth like the animal they wanted him to be. He could be an animal, he's had to fight like one to make his place in this world.

Oscar saunters up behind his brother, propping an elbow up on Morris' shoulder so they could both stare smugly down at Jack. "You're beat to hell and back, Kelly, you wouldn't stand a chance." Jack was well aware of that.

"I ain't scared of yous." Jack sniffs, tilting his chin up to paint an air of confidence he didn't really feel. He's pretty sure a strong breeze could knock him over but he'd never bow to the Delanceys.

"Yeah," Morris agrees far too easily, both Delanceys' smiles growing sinister.

"But you sure are scared of Snyder." Oscar nearly sings it he's so giddy to throw it in Jack's face.

Jack opens his mouth to refute it. He desperately wants to deny it but his nightmare is too fresh on his mind. Instead he cringes as images of the cellar and the basement clash in his head, both equally coated in blood and shadow. He can feel Snyder's looming presence over his shoulder, poised to strike, even though he knows the man is nowhere to be seen. The Delanceys cackle like hyenas and Jack sneers as shame bubbles up inside of him.

"If we'd known it would be this easy to shut you up we would've invited Snyder over a long time ago," Oscar chuckles, Morris beaming with a sick pride at his side. Jack tries to stomp down to spike of terror that pierces through him as he snatches up one of the paper bags and settles the strap across his chest. It was an empty threat, he knew that, but the idea is still so unsettling that the fear from his dream is stirring back up. He feels like a stupid little kid but not even the familiar spikes of anger are enough to drown out the terror clogging his veins.

"Fuck you," he throws back, shoving his papers into his bag and stalking off before the Delanceys could say anything about his sorry excuse of a come back. They'd found his weak spot and they all knew it but he would be damned if he just stood there and let them rub it in his face.

He stomps back through the streets, his righteous anger and the underlying embarrassment that fueled it the only things keeping his steps steady as he storms through Manhattan to start hawking at his usual spot. He just needs to keep going, persevere and push through until he can meet up with David to split whatever meager earnings he can manage with this small stack of papers. He'll toss the rest into the emergency jar again and maybe if he's lucky he'll be able to scrounge something up for dinner before he rinses and repeats. That's the only motivation he has to pry himself off the cold roof each morning; he has to make it up to them. If nothing else Jack needs to make sure that his boys know how sorry he is, that he's just as angry with himself as they are.

Jack's step falters when he sees a familiar head of dark hair at his usual corner, the determined fire falling away the second that David's eyes meet his. He had expected David to keep selling with Race or maybe one of the other boys. He hadn't expected to see much of David at all after their confrontation. Jack swallows thickly, willing his legs to start moving again when David's cold gaze flicks away and he continues to call out feeble headlines like he'd never seen Jack at all.

Jack fumbles as he pulls out a paper of his own, clumsy fingers trying to separate the different editions while he fails to pull himself together. He's being ridiculous. He hasn't even known David that long. He shouldn't care how coldly the other man looks at him, it shouldn't matter how disappointed and angry David is. It shouldn't crush Jack's heart the way it does. He throws his arm up into the air, waving around a newspaper like a white flag, and screams whatever hyperbolic headlines that come to mind.

David doesn't so much as turn his way.

Because David is there the morning drags by. Jack is hyper aware of David's every move no matter how far apart they get. Even when David is a few blocks down by the street corner Jack startles every time he hears the other boy call out a headline, stumbling over his own words and fumbling more than one sale when he gets distracted. It's a long and torturous day of selling and Jack is nearly ready to sob in relief when he finally sells his last pape. He's grateful he didn't buy in bulk like he did yesterday.

David finished selling before Jack did, which was unusual in its own right, but David had stuck around to wait for Jack to finish. Jack only hesitates a little before he makes his way over to where David has made himself comfortable on some stairs in front of a shopfront. "Where's Les?" Jack asks when he's close enough, forcing a smile to spread with some imitation of ease across his face.

"He's with Race," David replies curtly from where he's sat stiffly on the steps. Despite the fact that he was sitting Jack still felt like David was staring down at him. David digs into his pocket and pulls out his earnings, impatiently gesturing for Jack to join him on the stairs so they can divvy up the money and go their separate ways. Jack obeys without a second thought, practically collapsing onto the steps and biting back a sigh of relief when his aching legs finally get a break.

They haven't made much. Even combined the coins don't amount to anything special. "Shouldn't we wait for 'im then?" Jack muses. If they were going to split their earnings then it would be smart to wait until Les could add whatever he made into the mix. Maybe David really did catch on yesterday and he was just making the job easier for Jack, having Les sell separately so they could keep all of what he made instead of letting Jack count it out himself.

"No, Racetrack is keeping whatever Les earns." David sighs, shooting Jack an irritated glance.

Jack blinks, "What? Why?"

David sighs again, "You guys need the money more than we do." Jack opens his mouth to protest but quickly quiets when David raises a hand to silence him, "With the strike and the raised prices newsies are barely making a fraction of what they usually do. So far Les and I are still bringing in enough to be okay, especially with my mom and sister picking up odd jobs where they can. We're fine, but you guys aren't." It was equal parts David just stating fact and David trying to forcefully remind Jack of just how important this strike was. It was obvious that David still wanted answers, trying to dig them up no matter how clear Jack made it that he had no intentions of sharing.

"We'll be fine," Jack argues. It’s a weak argument even to his own ears but he does his best to project his usual bravado into it regardless.

"Yeah, once we win the strike," David agrees tersely. He wouldn't back down either.

Jack shrugs, not bothering to come up with a response to that, and skillfully counts out the coins between them. It's a lot harder to split the earnings fifty-fifty with David watching so intently and such a small amount to work with but he snatches up his share the second he's finished in hopes that the swift movement will be enough to keep David from noticing. He bounces to his feet just as quickly, wincing as his whole body protests, and shoves the money into his packet. Jack looks down at David where he sits visibly startled by Jack's swift movements and his rush to make an exit, "I'll see you tomorrow, David," Curiously, David makes a face. His nose wrinkles in clear disgust when his name slips off Jack's tongue but Jack turns on his heels and slips into the crowd before David has a chance to even open his mouth.

That's the first part of Jack's two-step plan complete for the day. Step two is dump the rest into the emergency savings and then once again he'll be left to figure out just what to do with all the time left in the day. Jack never thought he'd be without the other newsies like this so he never had to worry before about just how much of his life revolved around them. He spent every day surrounded by them, spending time together during every second of spare time he had, and now that they wanted nothing to do with him he had no idea what to do with himself. They didn't want his help, they didn't even want him, and he's so lost without that purpose to guide him. Who was he supposed to be if he wasn't the leader of Manhattan? What was he if he wasn't a newsie?

He doesn't want to linger on those questions, he doesn't know what answers he'll come up with if he manages to find answers at all, so he focuses only on weaving around the bustling bodies filling the streets and making his way back to the lodging house. It requires more attention than it typically would. Usually he'd twist and dance around the people with grace, flitting around each passerby like it was something he was born to do, but every time he shifts his body finds a new way to complain and every time he's jostled by an elbow or a shoulder his vision blurs with the fresh spark of pain.

Jack's covered in a fresh new sheen of sweat and grime by the time he makes it back to the lodging house just a measly three streets over. He's never felt so dirty and rotten in his life. What an accomplishment that is; he's sure Snyder would be proud of himself if he knew where his efforts had landed Jack this time. Looking at the building in front of him Jack desperately doesn't want to go inside. Call him a coward but he wanted to avoid any more confrontation. He never wanted there to be a confrontation to begin with. Not here, never here. They fought and roughhoused and argued but very rarely were they genuinely cross with each other and even rarer was it for Jack to be at the center of it all. He hated this. He deserved this.

He glances over towards the alleyway he'd left from earlier that morning but with the way his whole body shook with fine tremors he knew there was no way he would make it up that fire escape. Not with how his shoulder was screaming at him and how his legs felt like pudding. He'd sooner fall to his death than actually make it to the roof and that wouldn't do anyone any good. Probably.

A ball of apprehension settles in his chest as he looks back to the front doors. Well, it didn't look like he had much of a choice now, did it?

Jack tries to steel himself as best he can before he enters the lodging house, shoulders back and head held high despite how desperately he wanted to crumble into pieces. The second he steps through the doors he's met with the loud chatter of boys off to his right in the cramped common area. It's not much, just a bunch of open space, but they make the most of it. No one acknowledges him and Jack wonders if they even realized he was there as he heads back over to where Kloppman is stationed. Kloppman glances up at him, offering a soft smile in greeting, and Jack digs the coin out of his pocket and counts out enough to pay for two more days. It leaves only a pitiful amount for the savings jar but he'll even it out again when he can.

"What's this, boy?" Kloppman asks curiously, finally taking notice.

"Just payin' you back what we's owe you is all." Jack sniffs, pushing the money pointedly across the counter.

Kloppman stares back for a few beats, "You eating?" He asks instead of taking the coins.

Jack shrugs, "Enough." He grins, hoping that he can sell the picture he's painting. And Jack is an artist, a damn good one, so Kloppman only shakes his head and accepts the payment with a cautious glint in his eyes. As long as Kloppman lets Jack keep paying off their debt than it doesn't matter how much of Jack's bullshit he believes. "Don't worry about me, Kloppman," Jack reaches up and flicks his hat, smile still painfully fixed in place, "You oughta know by now I don't go down easy." It's enough of a reassurance it seems to chase the suspicion from the old man's gaze so Jack takes it as a win and turns on his heel to flee upstairs.

He doesn't make it far before Racetrack's voice calls from across the room, "Hey," Race yells before Jack can even get close to the staircase, "Yous got a visitor!" He doesn't sound fond of having to play the messenger and when Jack looks over to ask what the hell Racer's talking about he suddenly realizes why they were all huddled together to begin with.

About of dozen or so of his boys are sat around, scattered about on the floor and leaning against the walls, and in the center of it all was Katherine herself. Jack realizes with a sudden clarity that he hadn't actually expected to see her again. It's especially unsettling that she's in one of the only places he's ever had the chance to call home when he certainly didn't want her here. Her sharp eyes scan him over and it's never felt as violating as it does now.

"The hell are you doin' 'ere?" Jack huffs, grabbing onto that ever-present anger that's kept him upright and holding on tight.

Katherine glares back at him, picking herself up from where she's folded elegantly on the floor and meeting his gaze with the same deft confidence she always paraded around with. At least now Jack knows just who she got it from. "We need to talk about the next step of the strike, of course," Katherine says matter-of-factly as she dusts dirt from her skirt. She visibly falters, her eyes briefly drifting to the floor before she pulls herself together to meet his gaze again, "And I wanted to see you." She admits. A brave thing to do surrounded by a bunch of teenage boys but none of the newsies start whistling and hollering the way they usually would have.

"Yeah, well," Jack sniffs, tilting his head and projecting as much bitter indifference as he can, "I ain't wanna see you. I don't make a habit outta meetin' up with liars."

Katherine looks briefly offended before she scoffs. "I didn't lie," she bristles.

Jack rolls his eyes, gripping the strap of the newspaper bag he still hasn't returned so tightly that his nails dig into his palm and his knuckles go white. "Oh, what'd'ya want me to call it? You just purposefully hid the truth from the rest of us, is that it?" Katherine is satisfyingly cowed by his rebuttal, eyes flicking back to the floor. Good. Who does she think she is coming in here and telling him to his face that she'd never lied to him? He'd asked her name and she'd given him a pseudonym. She intentionally hid her identity from them and in doing so she'd allowed her father— her father— one more piece of ammunition against him. He supposes he shouldn't be wondering who an heiress thinks she is. She knows exactly who she is and she never once expected to face the consequences of her actions, did she? No, it was Jack who had to do that for her.

"That's not fair," Katherine hisses after a brief silence, stepping away from the boys to shorten the distance between them. The boys drift along after her, curious and not at all ashamed of it. She doesn't close the gap but she stops just a yard away with the newsies still spread out behind her. Jack felt like he was a single man fighting against an army.

"Life ain't fair," Jack snaps back, hoping that the way his shoulders shake comes across as anger and not pure, hopeless exhaustion.

"Are you seriously going to give up after everything?" Katherine switches the topic quickly, pulling the conversation in a more favorable direction instead of admitting that Jack was right. She'll make a damn good journalist, he'll give her that. It obviously ran in the family.

"I'm not givin' up," Jack wishes the boys would stop fanning out. They were shuffling around, keeping their distance so that it wasn't suffocating while slowly but surely encircling him and Katherine. He felt like he was being herded by a bunch of predators, cornered in a way that made him instinctively want to bare his teeth and snap his jaws. "I just know when I's beat." They were beat the day they were born but he'd never stopped fighting then, had he? Soft murmurs surround them but Jack can't hear them well enough to decipher the words through the blood rushing in his ears.

"It isn't over yet-" Katherine tries to insist. "Yes it is!" He doesn't quite yell but it's enough to stop Katherine in her tracks. "Yes it is. At least for me." He couldn't do it. He lost. He couldn't risk taking a single step out of line. Not when Pulitzer clearly knows that the way to get Jack to back down is to threaten the boys. To threaten David. Not when Pulitzer was willing to bring Snyder and the Refuge into the fight. The very idea makes his blood freeze in his veins.

"We need you," Katherine says.

"No you don't," Jack rolls his eyes.

"You are impossible, Jack Kelly," She snarls, stomping her foot like a petulant child and still somehow looking absolutely stunning. "You are so ready to give up on these boys because of what? A little slap on the wrist? You won't even try to fight for them?" Katherine gestures to the gathered newsies around them and Jack feels exposed trapped in the circle of bodies. It feels like they're drawing closer, boxing him in, and the air suddenly feels thick and heavy.

Jack scoffs, "We both know I wasn't givin' up on nobody." He can't believe she'd accuse him of that. She'd been there. She watched her father dangle his boys' safety over his head the same way she just watched as he had Jack dragged away to make sure it was understood how sincere the threat had been.

"They wouldn't have had any reason to arrest anyone but you-" Katherine has the audacity to sound frustrated with him, clearly starting to reach her wits' end, but Jack is too tired and hurt and starved to sit back and let her tell him how the world works. She's never really had to live in it, after all, she had no right to lecture him.

"I couldn't risk it!" Jack finally screams, the building tension firing out of him like a shot. His voice easily sends the room into a deafening silence that echos in his aching bones. "You think people like them give a damn if we's done anythin' wrong?" Jack laughs incredulously and he can see the concern starting to blossom across the surrounding faces but he just can't find it in him to fucking care anymore. "You think I deserved it every time theys nabbed me? They can do whatever they want to kids like us and I ain't throwing my boys to the wolves." He snarls.

"What are you talkin' about?" Race pipes up, stepping up and looking between Jack and Katherine with a furrowed brow, clutching his cigar between his fingers.

Katherine startles, staring at Jack with pure disbelief, "You didn't tell them?"

"They ain't need to know." Jack insists. He can feel his legs shaking and he needs to sit down but he can't see a clear way out.

"Know what?" Finch cuts in with exasperation.

"What? Don't want us to know the dirty little details of how Pulitzer bought you?" Race murmurs, voice drenched in bitterness and betrayal.

Katherine stares at Jack with an expression that Jack can't discern. Some of the fire has drained out of her but the way she looks at him now makes him feel like some train wreck she just can't manage to tear her eyes away from. Maybe that wasn't too far from the truth. "He didn't," She says slowly.

"Don't," Jack tries to sound angry but he's just so fucking tired. His voice comes out raw and pleading and he can feel the fury he's tried so hard to latch onto start to slip through his fingers.

"What do you mean?" Specs presses, shooting Jack a concerned glance before returning his attention to Katherine.

"Pulitzer didn't buy him. He threatened you. All of you. That's why Jack spoke out against the strike at the rally," She explains and it's like once she's started she can't stop. She doesn't turn away from Jack while she speaks and he can't find it in himself to look away from her while she spills his secrets like they meant nothing. "Pulitzer told Jack that if he didn't call off the strike then he'd have the rally flooded with police. That he'd have as many newsies as they could grab carted off to the Refuge if Jack didn't comply." It's only when she finishes that Jack tears his eyes away and glares daggers into the dirty floor freshly coated in the muck that the newsies brought in after a day of selling.

"Why didn't he come say anythin'?" Racer presses and Jack can hear the pleading note in his voice, begging for answers that he's been deprived of from the only person who seemed willing to give them. Jack knows that the younger boy must have taken Jack's betrayal personally, more so than even the others, and his heart hurts listening to his brother practically beg for some sort of explanation. Jack doesn't say anything, he keeps his mouth shut and stands there in shame as Katherine tells them just how pathetic he'd been. How pathetic he is.

"Pulitzer had him thrown in the cellar." Katherine says it so bluntly. Somehow even though the words are spoken with a sympathetic undertone it sounds so harsh. "He said it would give Jack time to think about it."

The room echos with a round of scoffs and snorts of laughter devoid of any humor. "Yeah," Race drawls and he sounds so lost, "I'm sure he did."

"How's a bunch of stuffy office lackeys lock Jack up? And why do you knows all this?" Jojo demands inadvertently drawing everyone's attention back to the conversation at hand. Jack really wishes that there wasn't so many bodies blocking his escape.

"Ah, well," Katherine hums, "Those Delancey boys were there, and the man who runs the Refuge. Warden Snyder." She confesses, conveniently glancing over Jojo's other question but no one seems to notice after what she's just dropped on them.

"Snyder?" Albert mutters in a soft, horrified tone. That's all it takes for the room to break out into a new round of shouting and disbelief.

"Next time I see the Delanceys I'll drive my fist through their faces!"

"If they think theys can just beat on one of our own they got another thing comin'!"

"If Pulitzer thinks that's all it'll take to stop us-!"

"Those bastards!"

"She's Pulitzer's kid." Jack doesn't raise his voice but a hush quickly falls over the room once more. "That's why she was there." He lifts his head to stare at Katherine, feeling listless and defeated. "I think you should go." It's not a suggestion.

Katherine looks ready to fight, fists at her sides and jaw clenched, but the tension drains out of her before she even opens her mouth, "Okay," She agrees but of course that isn't the end of it. "This isn't the last you'll see of me but I understand if you need some time." She keeps her head high and exchanges a few soft goodbyes before she makes her way out of the lodging house with grace and dignity. Jack wishes he could follow after her if only so he didn't have to deal with the aftermath of their very public argument.

"Jack,"

"Don't," Jack pleads for the second time in less than an hour. His eyes drift shut and he wants so badly to just climb up to the penthouse and curl up for the rest of the day. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He doesn't want to have this conversation. "Please."

Race doesn't pay him any mind, "Me and Jack are gonna have a talk, alright? Keep everyone else out for a little bit." He addresses the room, not even acknowledging the overlapping murmurs of agreement as he steps up to Jack and places a hand on his shoulder. It's Jack's bad shoulder, because that's just his luck, and he can't stop himself from wincing and flinching away from the gentle pressure. Race looks at him with sympathetic eyes, "They really wanted to gives you some time to think about it then, huh?"

Jack huffs a bitter laugh, "Yeah."

"Come on," Race moves to lead the way and the rest of the boys part easily to make a path. They all stare at Jack with caring eyes that Jack hadn't expected to see directed at him any time soon. He follows after Racetrack numbly, dead on his feet as he heaves himself up the stairs. The mask he's worn to convince everyone he was persevering was cracked after Katherine so carelessly laid out his dirty laundry and the anger that's been fueling him all this time has flickered out. All that's left is exhaustion, pain, and shame. It's nearly impossible to keep himself from collapsing while the colossal defeat tries to drag him down.

He stumbles after Race into the boarding room and allows himself to collapse into the first bunk he can reach. The tremors that have wracked his body for days don't relent even as he's finally able to relax. Jack carefully lowers himself down onto his back, wincing when the flimsy mattress presses against the welts and contusions from Snyder's cane. Race lowers himself onto the bed beside him, sitting down at the foot of the bunk as softly as he can to avoid jostling Jack. Race is kind enough to give Jack a few minutes to just breathe, settling into the new position and letting the pain fade back into a steady thrum that Jack could almost ignore if he tried hard enough.

"What happened, Jack?" Race implores, eyes wide and sincere and softer than Jack's seen them in days. So Jack tells him. He tells him about going in to Pulitzer's office, tells him about Katherine, about Snyder, about that damn deal. Tells him that the cellar was more than a timeout while keeping all the dirty details to himself. He paints the picture in broad strokes, leaving all the finer work absent and sharing only a vague idea. He doesn't want to talk about what happened down there. After days of feeling so alone and so, so scared Jack finally just lets it all bleed out of him.

"Theys beat me, Race," Jack chokes back a sob. He can't cry now or else he won't be able to stop and he can't break down right now. They both know that he doesn't just mean physically. Jack's always been good at taking a beating. Despite that he's never stopped being soft. He can take anything the world throws at him but when it's the people he cares for caught in the crossfire he shatters. He's supposed to be stronger than this. He's the leader; they need to be able to trust him to take care of dozens of kids and yet he can't even keep his eyes dry for Christ's sake. Though, he supposes, he threw trust out the window back at the rally.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" Race sounds so sad and Jack hates it. Racetrack was such a bubbly and witty guy to hear him so upset and small makes Jack feel so vile. It's so fundamentally wrong and it was Jack who did this to him.

"What was there to say," Jack grits his teeth against the lump forming in his throat, trying desperately to swallow it down and blink away the tears rapidly filling his eyes, "I ain't proud to say they won, Racer. You's all right to be pissed with me."

"We's still pissed with you, Jack, but this is different. It sucks what you did but we'd've understood if yous just told us," Racetrack insists easily, scooting a bit closer until he was pressed into Jack's side. "You didn't have a choice."

"Yeah I did," Jack argues.

"No you didn't," Racetrack shakes his head, fiddling with the cigar still settled between his fingers. "No one would've expected you to do anythin' else in this situation. He threatened all of us and then threw you in a basement with the Spyder. We may not like it but there wasn't really anything else that could've happened." And while that doesn't necessarily make Jack feel any better the weight that's been crushing him still somehow feels just a small bit lighter.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispers up at the top bunk hanging over them.

"Yeah," Race mutters, "Me too." They just sit in silence after exchanging those gentle apologies, pressed together and just soaking in the company that they've deprived themselves of. Jack basks in it, the warmth of Racer's hip against his ribs the only friendly touch he's had in far too long. He just takes this time to breathe and enjoy the comfort of his brother at his side. It's not long enough when Racetrack shifts, leaning over so he can properly look Jack in the eyes, "How hurt are you?"

"Nothin' broken," Jack promises, "Some pretty bad bruises and a welt or two but I'm alright." He knows better than to tell Race that's he's fine. Not after the near-breakdown he just had in front of the other boy and especially not when Racer knew that he'd had some one-on-three time with Snyder and the Delanceys. Race doesn't really look convinced but Jack continues before he has a chance to pester him more about it, "I swear to you. They busted me up but I's okay. Couldn't risk makin' it too obvious they nabbed me right before the rally, I guess."

The logic is sound enough that Racetrack relaxes some but he still doesn't look happy. Jack supposes that that's fair. He's just grateful that Racetrack doesn't seem adamant about poking and prodding at him. He'll live but that doesn't mean he doesn't still hurt. "It took you a while to get up the stairs," Race still wasn't as eager to drop the subject as Jack was.

"Yeah, well, been workin' harder than usual." Jack shrugs, groaning with a grimace when his shoulder slides across the mattress. Bad idea. He doesn't need to look at Race to see that the concern has returned full force.

"Yeah, I saw you give Davey more than yous agreed yesterday." Well, shit. Race is staring at him, not even bothering to pretend like he didn't just call Jack out on his shit. Jack doesn't need to wonder why Race hasn't said anything until now. Racetrack was pissed, furious with Jack in a way that he's never been before, and he'd probably thought it served Jack right to cut his profits like that in a futile attempt to make amends.

"You didn't tell 'im, did you?" Jack hopes not. That would mean that David had to know that Jack did the same thing again today. Jack isn't sure how David will respond to Jack's deception but he's sure it isn't positively. David would've been pissed with Jack for pulling something like this before everything with the rally but now? David would probably be outraged for a multitude of reasons.

"Nah, Dave would've said somethin' to you if I did." Racetrack assures and he's right. They didn't call David Mouth for no reason and since the start of the strike David's inability to stay quiet has only gotten worse. There's no way David would have let Jack get away with it again if he'd known, he would have chewed Jack out while he split their earnings himself. "You been eatin'?" Jack's forgotten how perceptive Racetrack could be.

"I'll live," Jack says in lieu of an answer. Racetrack takes it for what it is.

"Will you? With how you's actin' I doubt you'll make it to the end of the week." Race huffs, his irritation flaring when it becomes clear to him just how moronic Jack's been acting while they've been estranged. "The hell were you thinkin'? When's the last time you ate somethin'?" Race was working himself up now and Jack was just too drained to do anything more than watch.

Jack very nearly shrugged again before he remembered how much it hurt last time, "I've gone longer," He says in hopes to calm Race. Instead Racetrack throws his hands up in frustration and Jack just barely suppresses a flinch.

"Will you just give me a straight answer, Kelly," Race snaps, turning a glare in Jack's direction that makes his stomach drop uncomfortably. He wasn't too fond of Racer looking at him like that after everything that's happened. "That could mean anywhere from a few hours to a few days." Precisely.

Jack knows there's not much point to it but he's trying his best to avoid worrying Racetrack as much as possible. They may have been fighting before this very moment but it makes Jack squirm when people fuss over him. He hates the way Race looks at him with this hopeless uncertainty whenever he feels like he needs to take care of Jack but he just doesn't know how. Jack is supposed to take care of him, not the other way around, and he doesn't want to put that responsibility on anyone's shoulders if he can help it.

"Alright, fine," Race huffs, peeling away from Jack and pushing himself off the bed. "You don't have to tell me but I'm gonna go grab you somethin' to eat." He's clearly still not happy about it but he's also decided that he's fighting a losing battle. Jack winces, cringing slightly when Race turns to send him a hard look, "What?"

"Ah, maybe," Jack pauses, pushing himself into a sitting position with a low groan. He grins at Race sheepishly, raising his good arm to rub at the back of his neck, "Maybe don't grab anythin' too solid, yeah?" He's not sure he could stomach it. Both with how empty and shriveled his stomach feels and with how the residual anxiety and dread from this whole ordeal is still churning nausea in his gut.

Racetrack's expression softens and he nods, "Yeah, course." And with that he makes his leave, slipping out the door and leaving Jack alone again. The vacant bunks don't feel taunting like they did before and even though he's without company he doesn't feel so crushed and discarded like he did that morning. It's not perfect and he's still drowning in guilt and despondency but things seem like they might be starting to look up and he holds onto that.

He still feels oddly vulnerable in the empty room so Jack waits a couple minutes after Race leaves to make sure the other isn't going to reappear any time soon before peeling himself up off the bed and stumbling over to the window. Getting up onto the roof is an event and one of his legs gives out halfway up the ladder but he makes it up without any new bruises. Personally, he considers it a victory. The afternoon heat isn't nearly as sweltering as it'd been the day before and a gentle breeze drifts through the air, chilling Jack's sweat-soaked skin. He settles himself down on his bundle of blankets, sitting up against the edge of the roof and allowing the tension to finally bleed out of his body.

#|| circulation gates #| jackie |#| davey |#| racer |#| lodging house |#jack kelly #david jacobs #racetrack higgins #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #newsies live #newsies broadway #newsies #livesies #angst #hurt/comfort #// injury

10 notes · View notes

bottlecaprabbitgames · 16 days

Text

ALSO NONE OF YOU TOLD ME CYBERPUNK2077 GOT A HUGE OVERHAUL!!! I decided to check it out last night bc I saw some big updates had come out, and OMFG???? RIVERS ROMANCE IS STILL NOT FINISHED OR WELL WRITTEN BUT THE ENTIRE LEVELING AND PERK SYSTEM IS SO MUCH BETTER!!

i still got mass effect brain rot but i GENUINELY feel like i can finish cyberpunk2077 finally because it feels hella more balanced and complex in the way i prefer!!! god it's so fun. loving it so SO much more this time around

#cyberpunk 2077 #cy rambles

11 notes · View notes

stupid-sloot-headcanons · 10 months

Note

since mass effect requests are open—could I request some spicy hcs for Saren (in an AU where he lives) being assigned a cute human caseworker/therapist on the Citadel…who he finds himself VERY obsessed with? 👀

I imagine the Council would have him imprisoned in THE top tier prison facility I the galaxy, sort of like Kuril's prison ship but with the full power and funding to keep the most dangerous man in the galaxy under wraps. And to avoid a panic, they lie to the public and say he was killed during the attack on the Citadel.

His wardens honestly couldn't believe that a therapist would be assigned to him, much less a human. He can't Indoctrinate anyone anymore, but why not let an Asari pick his brain and sift through his thoughts instead? But none of the experts are willing to do it due to it being a full-time, live-in job with a very hostile patient. Then again, humans always seemed to relish death-defying odds and dangerous situations that smarter species would avoid or give up on.

Darling is patient and was right to expect an uphill battle. Now that Sovereign is destroyed, his mind is his own even if he is badly damaged: paranoia and obsession with control over himself/his mind, nightmares, visions, hallucinations. But Saren refuses to accept any help from a human. He's broken and a failure, but they are NOT his equal.

It's only when Darling orders the guards in the room to leave them alone one day that he finally starts to talk to them. He's still in restraints, but Darling says that she doesn't think they're necessary; she would be a meaningless kill, and if he tried to escape where would he go? If he has nothing and nowhere to call his own, then he also has nothing to lose by explaining the truth to her.

Now THIS is something Saren hasn't seen since Shepard. Someone wants to know the truth, why he did all of this? How does he even explain to someone who hasn't seen the Protheans or the Reapers? She replies that she's seen enough evidence firsthand to know he and Shepard are right, and not once does she interrupt when he angrily rants that he did everything for the greater good. He was so close to saving the universe, if he'd just acted sooner and done things a bit differently. He wouldn't have been used by the Reapers and managed to save a few people when they destroyed organic life!

No...no, he would have. He was. It took Shepard convincing him that he'd been Indoctrinated and was too far gone to fight back. It's why he turned his gun on himself. And yet he didn't die, by a miracle or by the hardware and software that made up his body now. His plan was meaningless. His life was meaningless. The Reapers will still come, and not even Shepard knows or has the power to stop them.

Darling is the only person to listen in full and sympathize with him, something that annoys him but is also validating. And once he starts talking, he doesn't stop. Most of it is angry, bitter, and he lashes out at Darling sometimes. She never gets upset or indignant, and that calmness gets under his skin. Does she think she's above his insults and harsh words? Above him? It's why she listens to him. He sees the pity on her face. He hates it, but he's surprised that he can feel anything that interrupts the despair in his head 24/7.

He knows he'll never be freed from this prison, and he doesn't really care. The Reapers will come either way, after all. Maybe if he fought alongside Shepard, there might be a chance? Still...it'd take their cooperation and the entire galaxy working together, and he knows that would never happen. Too many factions and races and politics and petty pursuits keeping organics apart and unfocused. He's fine to rot here; he doesn't mind the company, either.

That desire for control makes him feel suffocated in prison, though. He needs control over some part of his life, and he'll fixate on whatever he thinks can help him do that. That control he had over the Geth, his subordinates, and those he intimidated/coerced/indoctrinated...he needs something like it again. And there's one person in particular he cares enough about to want to control them. They've seen him powerless, but they've never returned the favor.

He's stealthy enough to collect a few mementos of them in his cell (after earning the right to be house in one, instead of a high-security pod like Jack in prison. Darling is the one who insisted he wasn't going to try to escape, and that he deserved to be rewarded for cooperating with all of this). It's very scarce: a scrap of cloth from the couch he's forced to sit down on during sessions, a few strands of her hair, and a few wax scrapings from those scented candles in her office. She specifically ordered ones from Palaven, to remind him of "the scents of home." He doesn't have one anymore, but now he associates those scents with her.

He doesn't need to break out. He just needs to slip away for long enough to corner Darling in her quarters, easily overpower her, and do everything he's dreamed of doing to her. He's rough and punishing one second, then suddenly gentle and sickeningly intimate. Maybe what he wants is a kind of mutual control and power: he dominates her here, but she's consumed his mind. And he finds that he doesn't entirely hate it, even when he was fighting so hard to keep his sense of control. He'll force her to relinquish control to him, and in return he'll reward her by giving himself to her as well. It's codependence to the highest, most illogical, most disturbing extreme.

#tw: noncon #fem darling #.mass effect #yandere mass effect #.saren #yandere saren #.myshit

30 notes · View notes

a-cosmic-elf · 2 months

Note

Oooo- ask game! For the Fanfiction Writing Ask:

55! 62 (for ME: Absolution)! And 75 (for research purposes).

Hi, @tafferling ! Thank you for sending me this; it really had me thinking! I’ll put it under a cut because it’s going to be pretty long, lol

55. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

No, I don’t think so. Unless rare pairs and OCs can be considered a theme.

I seem to like starting my stories with a line of dialogue, sometimes from canon. I enjoy doing that, and I don’t care if it’s considered ‘meh’ in writing circles. This is fanfic. Readers will recognise it, and I get a kick out of making an immediate connection that, in turn sets the scene.

62. In Absolution, is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included? Why did it get cut?

No, I think everything in the main story is still there. It’s just evolved over time.

I do have Emrys’s origin story, everything leading up to that point where he reaches self-awareness, mostly written. I plan to release it as an epilogue since it’s ridiculously spoilerific and in a slightly darker (currently nsfw) tone. It’s a tragic love story.

Emrys eludes to it when questioned by Yin:

"I've been meaning to ask you, how did they do it? How did the turians build a ship powered by a mass relay? It's hard to get my head around."

"Hmm." Emrys seemed to think on the question for a while before responding, "Several project leads were overseeing their respective areas on the design and construction. One of them was a brilliant young scientist. He had been a child prodigy, in fact, thought to be a genius. By the time he reached adulthood, he had unlocked secrets of mass effect technology that others before him, and since, have only dreamt of. His level of understanding, skills and knowledge were unprecedented. He was indeed ahead of his time."

Yin was transfixed, "what happened to him?" he asked.

"Oh, it's not an unusual story. At the apex of his career, he fell in love. It got him into all kinds of trouble. He was never the same after that." Emrys said, staring forward as if he knew what that was like.

And if you put that together with the following from the infamous chapter 13:

</Personnel Record: Shyyla Cirian

/Rank: Doctor [SPECIAL ORDER] sibling of Primarch Jasris Cirian.

/Assignment: Head of AI development

/Current location: THS Absolution, deck 15, section 001

/Status: DECEASED.

/end of report.>

You know a love story between a young and gifted engineer and the head of AI development (the Primarch’s sister, no less, who’s caught the eye of the evil General) will be heart-wrenching. But the best origin stories are usually tragic. And I like dark tales with romance.

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

I’m glad that you asked this one. There’s always that one fic, right? The one that you spat out in an afternoon but stands head and shoulders above the rest, not by comments or kudos, but by hits because nobody comments on porn.

I mean seriously, it’s trash! I’d delete it, but the stats don’t lie, lol

Thank you again for such a lovely ask and for supporting my oc brain rot. It truly means the world to me. 🙏🏼💕🥰

Fic writing asks

#fanfiction ask game #asks and answers #fic writer #ao3 writer #cosmic chats #cosmic writes #🥰✨💕🙌🏼🙏🏼#let me know if you’d like me to send you an ask #i don’t always see mutual’s posts :/#mutuals 💜

5 notes · View notes

ragnarlothcat · 7 months

Text

9 people you would like to get to know better

Tagged by @nixie-deangel, thank you 🥰

1. 3 ships - obikin is the only one I'm actively participating in. I flipped through Mulder/Scully (sculder???) a few months ago and then fem!shep/Miranda because we were talking about Mass Effect. Neither rotted my brain but I enjoyed my time there.

2. first ever ship - I think when I was like...three I was weirdly invested in the elephants from Babar if that counts (not the cousins, I liked the uptight one). If not, I'm pretty sure drarry is the first ship I ever actively sought out.

3. last song - Good Times Roll - The Cars

4. last movie - A Haunting in Venice (hmu if you want to hear a lot of opinions)

5. currently reading - It's called Circus of Wonders. It's ok, but I'm not exactly deep into it.

6. currently watching - Ostensibly still the X-Files but I hit a point where I wasn't having fun so it's been a little while. I think I need a new show 🤔

7. currently consuming - Just water, sadly

8. currently craving - Curry, which I am having for dinner so I just need to be patient! (Find me in ten minutes gnawing on the spice rack like a beaver)

No pressure tagging (and aware that many of you have probably been tagged before: @artemisthehuntress, @bi-wan, @renlyslittlerose, @tideswept, @virahaus, @grapenehifics, @demon----dean, @palfriendpatine66, @skyfucker

#ask game #thank you!#i'm so hungry for curry #what if we went and got it now

11 notes · View notes

falloutnewvegasdeadmoney · 8 months

Text

In the event of a zombie apocalypse, getting bitten by a zombie and escaping quickly is one of the better ways to go in a world like this, in my opinion. but not as good as surviving. Let me explain my thoughts on how this works in my opinion.

Anyways, in this case the world as we know it is most likely gone. Even in a World War Z situation, the end doesn't even begin for years.

Upon being bitten (and presumably escaping to relative safety) I'd say I get maybe 3-6 hours before I start feeling ill. I use this time to jack it one last time, and then I say my goodbyes to anyone I know who's left before leaving with a friend who is on board with my plans. I'd strike out in a shack or abandoned building about a 5 hour walk from my primary base (this is for testing purposes and whoever I'm with up til now will be on board with assisting me in furthering science).

If I'm lucky I can make it to the secondary location (planned beforehand with my partner beforehand) before I start feeling seriously sick. worst case scenario, we/they manage to get the place in a state of relative safety before I crumple up in a heap. I'd say realistically I personally would start feeling ill an hour before we arrive, but once there I have a bit longer before I get worse. I get set up as comfortably as realistically possible (not very) and proceed to narrate my dying thoughts and everything I feel as infection courses through my body.

The effects will include the kind of nausea that leaves you wishing you were dead, as well as headaches, rashes, extreme fatigue, and joint pain (amongst other less common symptoms). Once I am no longer able to speak coherently, my partner will turn music on for me and leave. I will eventually begin choking on my own vomit before dying rather unceremoniously and alone as my last coherent thought drifts to the song playing. It's nice.

In my mind, a potential zombie virus wouldn't revive corpses. That's fun but leaves little room for playing around. Once I'm basically dead, the virus has fully taken hold of me as it begins focusing more of it's attention on my brain. Anything that was once me is gone. At most, all I would retain are rudimentary and simple motor based habits I would do extensively in my former life (likely nothing beyond my habit of grabbing my shoulder or swaying.)

Once I regain some semblance of what could pass for consciousness, I am about as thoughtless in my mind as a brick. I am guided entirely by instinct. Any attempts to test my memory or intelligence all end in failure, but the act of absently grabbing my shoulder is just enough to leave them wondering if I'm still in here somewhere.

They get too close one day, several weeks into our experiment. Their job is to watch me from afar, to never garner my attention unless necessary for a test. Under no circumstances are they to approach me, and if I even get a bit too close or seem like I could lash out they are to kill me. But I'm grabbing my shoulder, and they find themselves walking away from the upstairs window they had been watching me for weeks from (keeping me lured to the area by playing music if I strayed too far chasing some mindless impulse to simply devour), they head down the stairs and outside and they know it's stupid but they approach me. They know I'm gone but they're not ready to admit this. They get within 20 feet before I notice. I immediately begin trudging towards them. At this point, my body has been reduced to a mass of sores and bruises and rot but I'm just alive enough to follow my impulse and they stop approaching as I get closer.

They don't move away, even as I start biting and tearing at their flesh as they die miserably and painfully and it's awful but we're together in their final moments before I'm doomed to simply continue wandering aimlessly until I drop dead. I don't know who they are. I've already forgotten killing them. I simply wander and eat and grab my shoulder until I die. I sway in place. I can hear music.

#vomit tw #zombie #short fiction #no idea how to tag this #tw death

8 notes · View notes

tmnt-obsessed-ace · 10 months

Text

Fractured (Lost) Hamato Clan time

Lets talk about the brain worms that will be in the boys' heads for most of the story! (Mostly because I had a REALLY angsty idea and I have to inflict it on you all)

Ok so the brain worms are different that the ones that got put into Karai. These brain worms are slightly shorter but nearly twice as thick as the canon brain worms, a near pitch black with pale yellow stripes along the bodies. And unlike the canon brain worms that go through preexisting holes (ear holes, eye sockets, etc) they just drill straight through the skull and burrow themselves directly into the brain. (If these brainworms went through the turtles' eye sockets like in the show then that entire eye socket would have to be surgically repaired. These are FAT brainworms)

The most notable sign that the brain worm is in would be a change of eye color, turning the irises a pale almost watery looking yellow that glows hauntingly in the darkness.

The worms effects are also different.

Instead of acting like sleeper agents the worms are constantly on and constantly active. They dont so much cause blind obedience when Shredder gives a command but rather allowing for the turtles' personalities to remain completely intact even when following Shredder's orders.

They still ACT like themselves, only problem is that they are now completely loyal to the Shredder and will do whatever he says with smiles on their faces.

And that was exactly the intended effect.

This entire plan was created for the sole purpose of getting Splinter killed in the most devastating way possible.

Killed by his own children, the ones he held so dear.

And thats also the problem.

This entire brain worm plan was supposed to be incredibly short term as the turtles would've been ordered to kill themselves after taking Splinter's life.

So now that that little scenario hadnt happened and the turtles will be wormed for much longer than intended it will cause problems.

Like the first problem, these worms are actively DYING inside the turtles' brains. They werent made to live very long because of how unstable they were so now that they're existing far longer than intended they are approaching the end of their life spans.

The dying and eventual rotting of the brain worms will cause lots of problems, like slowly changing the turtles' behaviors. Making them more aggressive, more hostile and snappy towards literally anyone, skewing their morals and sense of judgment which will cause them to make worse and worse decisions as the story progresses.

Other side effects of the decay/rot will include memory loss, impaired coordination and mobility, headaches, nausea, rapidly increasing aggression, loss of one's self, mass organ failure...

So not a fun time.

But another effect of the brain worms dying is that their influence over the turtles is decreasing, more weak spots presenting itself and more chances to try and get the worms out.

One such weakness is causing extreme amounts of mental distress, forcing the worm to squirm around to try and stop it and making it much more vulnerable than when it was just sitting inside the brain. If one could cause a violent enough reaction the worm might come out.

There is an issue with that though.

Causing that much mental distress would already be traumatizing and horrible enough, especially since when the worm is moving around the host isnt under its control and is back to normal.

But I mentioned how the worm would be MOVING? Well the host would be able to FEEL that fat worm quickly squirming around in their BRAIN, an organ that was NEVER meant to have something inside it!

The pain will be excruciating as the worm scurries about, agony following its every step. Like you could full on feel it running across your OPTICAL NERVES levels of painful.

Add this agony on top of probably having a full blown major panic attack from the extreme mental stress that CAUSED the brain worm to boogie around in your brain like its a friday night. It will be absolute HELL.

I bring this up because that is the EXACT scenario that my angst loing brain thought up and inspired this post.

The scenario, 2012 Leo gets locked in a freezer during a fight and freaks the fuck out, triggering the brain worm to freak the fuck out.

And Splinter finds his son trying to literally BASH HIS OWN HEAD IN AGAINST THE WALL TO MAKE THE PAIN STOP.

Leo full on sobbing, hugging Splinter so tight as he BEGS for the pain to stop, for Splinter to just kill him and put him out of his misery, that he's so sorry for everything he's done and he just wants to stop.

Its gonna absolutely SHATTER Splinter's poor heart as the only thing he can do is hold Leo close, trying to soothe him as he screams until his voice gives out.

And before you ask no the healing hands wont work on removing the brain worm, in fact all it would do is heal the worm and increase its control over the turtles

#tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #:)#enjoy the angst

17 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 9 months

Note

Do it!! We love your ideas chief, that’s why we’re here!

Also ghoul reader is hot as fuck

[Light body horror. Angst]

Well- two important factors about ghoul reader are both their body and mind deteriorate over time, but can be rebuilt to full structure by eating human meat/brain healthy meals.

This led me to think of a "healer" ghoul reader who can sorta transfer/reconstruct the healthy cells to others and heal people that way. Lose a kidney? Ghoul Reader can create a new one and negate most side effects by eating some ground beef left in the freezer. A personal sacrifice of their flesh for another being.

Given the nature of their healing properties, Ghoul Reader is extremely caring and always puts others before themself. They make friends with the wrong person- someone who hardly cares about their well-being and uses Reader for their personal gain. They had been scarred horribly by mistakes they'd already made and without them even asking Reader starts to slowly heal them. Their body needs more work than reader's can take, but they just write the ghoul off as lazy and trying to keep them around. Reader's body mass continues to shrink no matter how much they eat. It hurts them to put so much strain on their body... it hurts so much... but they still try. They still keep that "friend" in their heart and notebooks so they'll never forget them when their memory blanks. They care about their friend. They love them. They want them to be okay and love themself for who they are-

But they never knew how truly rotten that person was - inside and out.

"Finally... All those horrid scars were a damper on my social life. I'm even more beautiful than I was then. That being said, I can't be seen around something like you. It was fun."

That isn't what friends are supposed to say.. After all they did for them... Gone without even saying goodbye. That was the ghouls first time being betrayed to such caliber- and it crushed them. They wouldn't feel this pain if they were just another mindless creature, but they were proud of the person they'd become. The "normal" human being who walked around same as everyone else. They were just like them... only rotting... maybe that person wasn't so wrong to leave them behind...

Ghoul Reader shuts off from the outside world after that. They stick to their routine as it's all they've ever known, but they've lost that rosy view of the world. Is it worth making friends anymore? What's the point of trying if they'll just be abandoned again? They were more human than the people around them. Unlike them - they felt pain. They wanted to forget it all - so they did. Most of it at least.

While out one night reader notices a musky scent in the air. So faint only their nose would catch it. They follow the trail to a body lying behind some dumpsters - stab wounds having torn deep holes through their vital organs. Their pulse was weak - fading. Despite all the pain they've been dealt, Ghoul couldn't let someone die for another's mistake. They fixed up the near corpse and waited for them to wake up so they couldn't get home safety.

"Ugh....I'm still alive....lame...who the fuck are you?.."

Ghoul Reader explains everything that lead up to the encounter and their healing capabilities.

"Eh....with how my nights gone - I'll believe anything at this point. Thanks for the help, bud."

It was nothing. Ghoul Reader gets up to leave.

"Aye! Where ya going? You save people's lives on the regular and expect nothing back? Lemme treat you to dinner. Know a good spot close by and I still have the wallet I was gutted over. Let's get going already!"

Reader learns more about their new acquaintance. A petty thief trying to get on the right track in life. They spun some wild story about seeing a guy dropping his wallet and them trying to return it with the guy flying off the rails and accusing them of stealing it. The details were spotty, but Reader nodded along to every word. They needed a place to stay for the night as their home was too far to trek back too at that hour. They give Reader the rest of the cash in the wallet in exchange for their couch and they become the first real friend Reader makes.

Everything Reader gave they always tried to give back double. The near death experience gave them a new outlook on life. It was something to be cherished and not thrown away so easily as they had in the past. They wanted to share that new view with their only friend. Reader was a better companion than people they'd know their entire life. A little bitey when they got hungry, but everyone gets a little cranky when they're starving.

The friend gets a call over. Reader had skipped breakfast and wasn't sticking to their usual diet. They sat alone, unable to move and succumbing to the painful cramps of hunger. They begged their friend to bring them meat from the store, but their friend wanted to end their suffering as quickly as they could. They pulled out their trusty switchblade, embedding its teeth in their pinky finger. Ghoul Reader tries to stop them.

"Y/n, you saved my life. It's as much yours as it is mine. I'd give anything to properly replay you, but I'll never be able to and I don't mind living with that debt on my shoulders if it means we're together. This is the least I can do for you- so shut up and eat my damn finger."

A week after Reader tries them their finger back there's a knock on the door. Their friend refused treatment seeing it as a marker of their loyality to reader. They make sure reader is well fed at all times. A face reader has seen before stands behind the door. Some model they've seen on billboards and flyers. What could someone like that with them?

"Y/n. I know you probably don't want to see me after what I've done, but I need your help. I got into an accident after a few drinks last week. Nothing serious before you ask, but I've got these bruises and I have an important party to attend this Saturday. I'll allow you to be my plus one if that fixes things."

....

"I'll be out with a friend Saturday, but thank you. I can still fix you, but if you don't mind me asking - how do you know my name?"

Reader leads them to their couch and heals their spotty face all while the stranger is left bewildered. They're acting like nothing happened. Why are they acting like nothing happened? Who was this new friend and who the hell was that standing by their bedroom door?

"Are you seriously going to play this game?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pretending like you don't know who I am. That's harsh even with everything that's happened."

Ghoul Reader backs away from them.

"I've seen you in pictures, but that's it. I don't know who you are."

"It was cute at first, but I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to start. You know who I am."

Ghoul Reader racks their brain for answers, but there's no result. They begin to hyperventilate. "I don't....I don't know who you are....Stop it, please!"

"Not til you say my name. I'll own up to my part when do that simple thing."

They grip at their face, talons catching on their softened skin. "I don't know who you are...Don't make me remember..... Get out.... GET OUT!"

As the stranger leaves and heads towards their car a notebook flies out reader's window - aiming for their skull had they not stepped out of the way in time. Inside are pages of filled with scratched out ink held on a weakened spine. It was a miracle they held together. The pages stick togethered, water damgaged by crusted specks of blood and smaller dots of a clearer fluid. The words written were near illegible, but there's a few key points they could make out. A birthday, the begining and ending characters to a person's name, a repeated phrase pieced together over the various pages. Don't forget. Never forget.

They'd been erased completely from reader's conscious mind. This notebook had been kept to prevent that very thing from happening. All those precious memories thrown away. The stranger was happy with the life they'd been robbed of - but no one had ever been their for them like Reader had. A new stain falls to the page.

Flipping to the final page, a note slides off the back cover.

"Come here again - and I'll erase you permanently."

It wasn't reader's hand writing. The person in the window holds up a new journal - comforting a sobbing ghoul on their shoulder.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere blurb #yandere oc #tw yandere #yandere angst #zombie reader #yandere drabble

206 notes · View notes

lyntergalactic · 3 months

Text

took a brief detour from the star wars brain rot to giggle over some of my favorite dialogue from mass effect and these bits of wrex dialogue just--reminded me so much of the mandalorians that i suddenly have a need for a star wars/mass effect crossover of some kind just to see mandos and krogan interact

"My people have spent too much time selling ourselves out as mercenaries. Now we can get back to doing what krogan do best: saving everyone else from giant monsters."

"Clans Jorgal and Ravanor sighted a few landing parties. The Reapers are up to something. Tuchanka may be a pile of radioactive rubble, but it's our pile. And we'll fight to the last krogan to keep it that way."

#someone introduce the mandos to ryncol #lyn txt #star wars #mass effect

3 notes · View notes

thorougly-melted-brains · 8 months

Text

Monster AU: Ghost Ghost is just maggots. Literally, he’s a zombie who’s body is held together by a hive mind of thousands and thousands of maggots. They don’t survive that long, so he’s got generations of maggots worth in his rotted body. His body can regenerate fully if given the time to, but he’s at a point where he can maintain a good maggot to flesh level.

If they’re not feeding on him as often he has to feed them. He’s not a zombie as in he has to eat human meat, any works, but hey sometimes times are hard. He can also eat vegetables and other foods for funsies, it’s just not as effective.

Drugs work… poorly, since he doesn’t generally have veins or a digestive organs most of the time. Alcohol and caffeine works similarly. Topical treatments actually work okay, for some strange reason. If his regeneration is stunted because of malnutrition or excessive injury, he can soak in medicated baths for short periods (maggots who don't want to drown need to jump ship before he gets in).

Outside maggots can be added to the mass if they eat some of his flesh. He needs to maintain at least the shell of his body to move. Most of the time he’s skin and bones basically (still a hunk, just, made of bugs).

A few maggots choose to leave once they’re old enough, so he has to keep the window in his room open for those who wanna become adults, but most just stay maggots until they die and get eaten.

As for the distinctions between him and the maggots, it’s pretty clear they just have a telepathic bond. His brain is intact and their’s are… really not all that great, but he can give them directions and usually they follow. They have emotions as a whole and they care for him, in the bizarre way a parasite can care for its host.

He’s not sure how it happened. He crawled out of the maggot filled grave with Vernon and once he got out and into daylight he realized they weren’t just on him they were in him. He panicked and tried to get them off and they obeyed, scattering out of his body like a leaking balloon. He collapsed and quickly realized that he didn’t have all that much flesh left.

He didn’t feel the pain but human minds don’t respond all that well to the visual of their body being injured so all he could do was choke down bile at the sight of his rotted body.

Then he finally noticed the fullness in his brain, thousands of specks of consciousness and they’re all feeling. They’re feeling shame and fear and cold and sympathy and love and he can’t handle it. He knows it’s the maggots, he knows, and he wants them out.

But they are out. and yet he can feel them writhing, like they’re his own flesh. Because they are his flesh now. Even outside his body they flex like his muscles used to. When he tries to grasp at his face a mass of them cover his eyes and nose and mouth and he screams. He knows he has his face and his eyes and even his nose, but the rest of him is just numb.

He tries to take his “hands” off his face and they maggots move, settling at his sides like his hands would. He lays there for some unknown amount of time and the next time he moves it works. He tries his leg, bending it at the knee and it does. His legs, and the rest of his body for that matter, are back.

But to either side of him, like a halved clone, still are the maggots. They writhe and crawl upon one another to mimic his movement. They’re cold and he’s calmed down enough to take pity on them. It’s weird, how quickly he becomes okay with the idea of them. He wasn’t particularly afraid of them before… whatever this was, but he didn’t like being around them.

They take his calmness as an invitation to go back to the warm, and burrow back into him. He shudders as they carve out their home in him again. But just as soon as they wounds on the outside of him appeared they disappear, leaving unmarred deathly-pale skin.

He comes to terms with the fact he feels their emotion and he feels there’s, and sits up. They way they shift and mimic his missing flesh is disconcerting, but he manages. He sets off, maggots and all, escaping the grave now empty of all life.

He later learns he wasn’t meant to live, that the maggots were meant to just be his final torture.

Roba had used them on people before. The simultaneous experience of you being eaten alive and the sympathetic feeling of eating your own flesh via the maggots. It was enough for peoples brains to overload. One final insult that felt self inflicted, Roba’s style exactly.

But Ghost survived, somehow, his flesh mended itself. Some sick adaptation his body made after years and years of abuse, to regenerate.

#creature au #simon ghost riley #writing #cod mw2 #monster au #entomophobia #body horror #au

4 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

fitchick411

scarerob

rob

her-hijab-journey

Her hijab journey

starrypotions

romantique ✨

cutegirl4lifez