#red head writes a thing
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Hold the Gate
( @driftward the magic half of your ask! With another micro story!)
One week ago they had reclaimed Ala Mhigo from the Mad King.
Six days ago he had toasted victory with his brothers and sisters in the Crimson Duelists.
Two days ago Lambert betrayed them all and he was the only one left.
Yesterday the Fourteenth Legion had begun their invasion.
Last night any fighters who had survived the revolution fought in the streets losing their city road by road.
The sun was dawning blood red and last week’s victors were now refugees.
“Get them out! I’ll hold the bastards here!” X’rhun yelled at the monk who was fighting along side him.
The woman nodded and herded their countrymen out of the gate they had pried out of Garlean hands for just this. X’rhun grit his teeth. He was exhausted and nearly run dry of aether. He could not rest yet though. Not with black helmeted troops coming around the corner. Not with the massive demon that walked behind the troops. The legatus walked tall and looked like a voidsent prince come to bleed his city dry.
X’rhun flicked blood off his blade as he threw his arms wide. Deepest black chaos on his left hand, purest white stagnation on his right. He reversed his grip on the hilt and brought his hands together forming a staff of the rapier and focus. At center where life beat red with blood, was the balance. In his mind he drew sigils and arcane geometries and held them in his thoughts as he poured every last drop of aether and to much of himself into the focus. X’rhun braced against the pressure the accelerating aether exerted on him.
He released the spell he’d been holding in. Spidery writing and geometry spread out from his feet. Distantly he felt blood trickle from his nose but ignored it. The spell collapsed around him into pulsing shafts of crimson light. A sweep of X’rhun’s rapier directed the aether towards the Garlean troops. The streaking aether left winding crimson after trails on his vision. He collapsed to his knees and in the moment before columns of blood red aether burned a crater in the street he saw the Black Wolf throw up an arm to protect his eyes.
X’rhun crumpled to the side. His focus rang with a clear mellow tone when it hit the ground. He couldn’t hear those who were escaping anymore. That was good, hopefully. He shook himself and picked up his weapon again. X’rhun looped his fingers through the filigree at the top of his focus, he didn’t have the aether to keep it floating above his hand. If he cast the Scourge once more and kept the bastards back by a few more moments, the others would have a better chance. He would need to burn his life aether to do it this time, but it would by more time. The spell was sluggish and sloppy as he began to form it in his mind. It was not the crisp elegant thing he wished to blind the Garlean’s senses. Still it was what he had to work with.
“Not today Deep Red!” The monk was back and hauled him onto her broad shoulders like a bag annoying green potatoes. The spell in his mind jangled like dropped wind chimes as he lost track of it. His hands went limp but she caught both focus and the rapier before they could hit the ground. Without looking back she turned and ran through the gates.
Injuries old and new, the aether of his life that he’d burned, grief for his fallen home, every nick cut and tear, all demanded their due. As consciousness left him he wanted to laugh out hysterical sobs.
The last two free Ala Mhigans fled the city gates.
#ffxiv#ffxiv fan fiction#red head writes a thing#ask answered#the fall of Ala Mhigo#guest staring Amarantha Stagheart the monk#whom I have never ever mentioned on tumblr before#I was actually taking shots of Art casting Vermillion Scourge when I thought of this#x'rhun tia
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Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.
#writing#fic writing#like this is stuff i'm doing for fun with my perfectionism meter turned down as far as i can get it#and i am still thinking about it A LOT#talk to me about how in red string fic jgy perceives the memory block both as syrup and as mud but nmj thinks it feels like blood#it's just a thing in their heads that mentally feels kind of thick and sticky but they both made something different of it#it's about issues with cleanliness / lies as a way to craft an illusion of a better lopking world vs the constant violence nmj lives in
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Friends forever ?
#art#illustration#fanart#dhmis#don't hug me i'm scared#dhmis yellow guy#dhmis duck guy#dhmis red guy#yellow guy#duck guy#red guy#comic#I've had the idea for this rolling around in my head a while#actually. I also did something with a similar opening in the thing I'm writing too lol#that goes a little differently though :]
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uhhhhhh that tiktok (thanks @peter-pantomime, hope you don’t mind the tag) that points out that Eddie coulda zipped up his leather jacket and tac vest combo and maybe not been eaten by bats, but it’s Eddie saying “Steve? [significant pause] Make him pay” and Steve taking a step forward to zip up his jacket and saying something cheesy
...upon reflection i didn’t think i was actually going to sit here and write this all in one go but lo and behold i’m supposed to be working on an article shhhh
further update: this is now on ao3
Something crosses Steve’s face when Eddie points out that he and Dustin are nooooooot heroes, but Eddie ignores it in favor of indulging himself, just for a second, watching the set of the three heroes’ shoulders as they move toward Creel House.
“Hey, Steve?” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself, some unchained impulse to at least let Steve know Eddie respects the fuck out of him now, just in case they both die.
The real heroes turn back, waiting.
“Make him pay.”
Steve retreads those last few steps, back over to Eddie and Dustin, claps a hand to Eddie’s leather-clad shoulder, the sound of it drowned out by sickening red thunder. He leaves his hand there, too, and Eddie’s confusion is only silenced by the thudding of his heart when Steve’s free hand comes up to his chest.
He tugs at the teeth of Eddie’s War Zone vest, real live actual tactical armor to replace the battle vest that Steve’s still got over his fresh War Zone shirt and under his fresh War Zone jacket, for reasons Eddie doesn’t have the brain power to contemplate. It doesn’t seem at all like him -- they’ve been all tense and snarky at each other (and Eddie supposes he gets why) since he’d pinned Steve to that boathouse wall and held glass to his throat. That felt like a lifetime ago, though. They’d been different people then, or at least, Eddie thought maybe he had been.
“You should zip up,” he tells Eddie, like he’s actually saying something else. “You’ll catch your death.”
Eddie does not catch his death, though the blood under Dustin’s fingernails from keeping pressure on his neck loudly proclaims just how close they came. He knows it’s just luck that he didn’t bleed out anyway -- a couple inches toward his chin and he’d be just as mangled as the poor, brave vest Robin had insisted on confiscating for cremation later -- but now that the anesthetic has worn off and the fever has gone and the fresh stitches in his face and neck start to itch like a lot, actually, it occurs to him that if Steve Harrington hadn’t taken that one moment of absolute character-breaking insanity, Eddie’d have been ripped apart. Bled out, there on the rocky ground of the Upside Down, probably all over Dustin since the little shit had come after him anyway.
Fucking kid. Eddie loves him so goddamn much.
But back to Steve, and his incomprehensibly tender moment in the middle of the apocalypse.
Once they were all patched up and cleared and definitely not rabid, thank you Robin, they’d been released. Free to go. Nary an NDA in sight, just a withering look from Agent Stinson and an edict to just “please, for the love of God lay low until we sort this out.”
Cool, as far as Eddie’s concerned. He’s too busy not scratching at his stitches and reeling over Steve inadvertently saving his life.
Eventually, he can’t resist the urge. The line rings and he fidgets with the cord.
“Robin,” says the voice after the ringing ends, no greeting at all. “For the last time, I’m not rabid, none of the blood tests showed any scary Upside Down shit, everything is --”
“Steve.”
Steve stops on the other end. Which is fair, really, since Eddie’s literally never called him on anything that’s not a walkie talkie before, and that was mostly incidental. “Eddie. What’s going on, man?”
The edge in his voice is subtle, enough to dismiss and make the question either casual or an alarm bell, but Eddie doesn’t miss it. He just gets to the point, and Steve-on-the-other-end can do with it what he will. Eddie’s not his mom. But Wayne raised him right even if the rest of Hawkins doesn’t think so, so he’s gotta say something. “You know you saved my life, right? The jacket thing. Down in... Before we split the party.”
“What?”
“You told me to zip up my jacket, and the vest,” Eddie insists. “I’d have been chewed up like a cheap dog bone if you hadn’t. I just. Thanks, man.”
Steve’s quiet on his end of the line. At first, Eddie thinks maybe he’s just stunned that The Freak has any manners, but as the silence stretches on, he begins to wonder if actually the line’s been cut or something.
“Steve? Buddy? Steeeeeeeve,” he croons into the phone. “You OD on pain meds over there or something?” Steve, having been significantly more chewed up and run around on it far longer than Eddie, had been stuck in the hospital for several days with a high-grade fever, after all was said and done and Vecna was burnt up to a crisp. None of it had seemed particularly Upside-Down-y, just regular exhaustion, dehydration, and good old rampant infection, but once he’d been released, Eddie had it on good authority that he was a champ about taking antibiotics and an absolute nightmare about taking the pain pills they’d given him for all of the…everything on his back, arms, and sides.
There’s a strangled noise from down the phone line, and Eddie wonders if the phone actually is fucked. Before he can ask, though –
“Guess I did, huh?” Steve’s voice is soft. “Don’t mention it.”
Eddie scoffs a little, playful but casual. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to think about it much, either.” Steve actually does let out a chuckle at that, and Eddie grins, since there’s no chance of anyone seeing and calling him on it. What, then, is the harm? It’s just a little hero crush. “Hey, I’ll let you go, man. See you around, when Buckley lets you rejoin society.”
Steve groans just a little at that. “Yeah. Robin.”
“Robin,” Eddie agrees. “Later, Steve.”
And then Steve’s voice is all soft again, like it was when Eddie thanked him, like it was when he told Eddie to zip up his vest, and now – “Yeah. Later, Eddie.” There’s a lingering silence on the line, like Steve’s waiting in case Eddie has more to say.
Eddie hangs up first, and resolutely doesn’t think about it.
Who doesn’t get crushes on heroes, anyway.
#poplarste.mp3#poplarste.fic#steddie ficlet#steddie#is it a ficlet if it's 1k and change???????#catch me double checking the scene while writing this#and finding to my delight that indeed there is a thunderclap and some red lightning right there where i'd already written it in#this was NOT supposed to be 1000 words.#there's an expanded version in my head where Eddie tries to act normal about his crush in public and is a total bitch about it#but even this much is more than i expected to write right now at this moment when i'm SUPPOSED to be doing other things so. enjoy i guess?#for clerical reasons: the plan worked vecna's dead eddie has no idea he likes men but steve DOES and IS flirting on purpose
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Lost (Fluff/Angst)
Pairing: Pyramid Head x Reader
You lost him. You aren’t sure how exactly, given his unmistakable stature and the reverberating sound of scraping metal that follows him.
The predicament you found yourself in was one of unfamiliarity. You walked in slight panic across the decayed walls, looking around for the behemoth that protected you.
But he was nowhere to be found.
You heart dropped when the dreaded siren pierced the air, your stomach coiling in terror. You shrieked and jumped back from the wall when it started peeling, the building you were in growing dark.
The atmosphere shifted and air grew thick. You weren’t safe before, but now, now you were in trouble.
Nowhere was safe, and you knew that. You drew in an unsteady breath and ventured forward. Surely he couldn’t be too far, right?
You walked slowly, looking around with caution. Your body halted when you felt something poke at your leg.
You looked down, relieved to find it was only a piece of metal that stuck out from the fence beside you.
You backed away and turned down a hall, limp arms hanging out the sides of what looked to be cells. You hesitated but moved forward nonetheless, your steps quick, eager to leave the inclosed space.
You shrieked when a hand grabbed your ankle, trying to pull you closer to the bars. Another grabbed your wrist, pulling you the opposite way.
You cried out in horror, trying to shake your way out of their grasp but to no avail. You screamed for Pyramid Head in a desperate plea, trapped by the hands coming at you from all sides.
A familiar sound soon echoed at the entrance of the hall and the hands on your body tightened and grew frantic in their tugging, as if they knew the punishment that awaited them.
Still you fought to get away, only stopping when Pyramids large frame entered your view. You knew he wasn’t there to hurt you, but the sight was still terrifying.
You cowered back when he lifted his weapon, slinging it down over the arms to your right and hoisting it up to do the same on your left side. The floor vibrated at the force and nearly knocked you off your feet.
You stared at the severed limbs beside you with wide eyes and then up at the executioner, “I’m sorry- I didn’t think I’d wandered so far…” you said in a whisper.
He groaned deeply, the sound mimicking one of displeasure and turned around. You were quick to follow, hurrying to his side as fast at you could.
You hugged his hand close to your torso as you walked, trying to hide yourself against him.
Pyramid Head felt the tension in his shoulders relax a little as he felt you warm beside him. He moved his arm slightly toward the front of his body, you following with the motion.
His mind rested a little more with you in his line of sight, his wide form providing a shield for yours from the back.
You stuck impossibly close to him the whole walk to the worn-down place you call home, having no desire to leave his side.
#pyramid head x you#red pyramid thing x reader#pyramid head x reader#red pyramid thing#pyramid head#silent hill#fluff#x reader#my writing#rainywriter#monster x reader#angst#soft pyramid head
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Halloween Recommendation: Stephen King's Rose Red
** This one can be tricky to find. It was originally released as a 3 night mini-series in 2002, but then re-released as a motion picture. Apparently Hulu has it?
In 1906, oil barron John Rimbauer built a veritable palace overlooking Seattle. It was his young bride, Ellen, who would give the house it's name: Rose Red.
First blood was drawn before the foundation was even laid. A foreman, murdered over a simple argument. Bizarre deaths and mysterious disappearances plagued Rose Red, swallowing up the Rimbauer family, their servants, friends, and anyone who dared enter.
Eventually, the grand estate fell into disrepair. Paranormal investigators descended upon the property, but none were ever able to solve the mystery, nor stop the deaths.
Now, more than 90 years after the first deaths at Rose Red, Steven Rimbauer, the last living descendant of John and Ellen Rimbauer, has been offered massive sums of money to sell Rose Red. It will be totally leveled, the land used for condos.
Before the house is destroyed, Steven agrees to let Dr. Joyce Reardon and a cobbled-together team of psychics, mediums, and other paranormal investigators do one final sweep of the house.
What evil lurks within Rose Red?
What horrors did John and Ellen Rimbauer summon in their palatial estate- or were they victims themselves?
Why does Rose Red kill the men, but swallow the souls of the women and force them to haunt it's halls?
How many of Dr. Joyce Reardon's team can escape with their lives?
*** Stephen King wrote the screenplay for this story, but there is no novel. Instead, as part of the publicity and hype leading up to the miniseries premiere, "The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer" was published, serving as a prequel. You can buy the novel on Kindle.
#tv recommendations#tv recommendation#movie recommendations#movie recommendation#rose red#stephen king#one of his least known that's been translated to screen i'd say#mainly because he wrote the screenplay but for whatever reason it was never released in book form#god this scared me as a kid- to the point where i was nervous just writing this thing#let alone finding the poster for this- there's a still of 2 of the ghosts that usually comes up and i was scared i'd see it#literally had to sleep with blankets over my head and spread eagle across any bed for like 10 years because of one scene in particular#i was terrified#still can't sleep with a closet door even the slightest bit open#my parents wanted to prevent me from watching more than the 2nd night#because as much as the 1st night scared me#the 2nd night was so much worse and where most of my fears came from#i should say at this point- i loved horror; i couldn't be scared; but this one wrecked me#anyways#i had to fight my parents to be allowed to see the final night because i needed to see how it ended to MAYBE be less scared#like if you see the evil die you're fine#but i was so scared i kept my eyes covered the whole time anyways and i have no idea what happened#nowadays it might not even be scary to adult-me but why take the RISK
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as I'm going back over my past history and items and journals and years, I come across all sorts of things, like the pencil I saved from that so-precious memory from second grade, and a pair of flip flops I've been missing for two years, and (tw for murder/crime/killings) the modern-high-school-AU-kidnapped-by-a-serial-killer story I wrote in late high school jdfsjdfsjkjlksfd
#i can't wait to find out what red flags I didn't see in my own self back when I last read this thing in 2015 hfdhfdhjsfd#also. there's gonna be like a good sentence here and there and then CRINGE. the whole rest of everything is just me still trying to copy th#breathing pace (essentially) and ways-of-describing-things of mainstream authors like I thought I was supposed to#so this'll be somewhat painful but also god what a joy and a gift and an honor and a delight to get to hold this close to my heart#and witness it with understanding and empathy and slow reflection and care like my past younger self deserves#i'm so lucky i'm alive to be here and do this#i'm so grateful i'm headed towards welcoming back and embracing the last little girl i was that still felt a lot of things#so excited for her focus and precision and tenacity and constant curious joy and movement to be back someday#i'm afraid people won't like the me i was before rule after rule and then dangers#but my god it'll feel so good to be the fully-flowing energy machine and dance and conduit again how will I have enough bother to care?#people who are good to each others' nervous systems cumulatively feel better and better#if i'm not good for you and yours then you really truly SHOULD go elsewhere and find someone who makes YOUR self feel right and light + war#anyway now that i wrote an essay in the tags as usual [nervous laughter]#personal#add to journal#words n rhythm#WHY DID I FEEL CAPABLE OF UNDERTAKING A STORY LIKE THIS#cradling my past self gently but also BANGING my HEAD against the WALL lmao#i'm proud of myself for writing and sharing this and its creative ideas. even if i don't like it now or feel ashamed or see mistakes.#anything. it mattered that it came to me and it mattered that i explored it and it mattered that i poured myself through it to help shape i#and it mattered that I left it on the internet so that now it still exists. i'm going to honor this story no matter what current me would#objectively think about it if it was written by anyone else.#this is a gift i give myself now.#this is a lot of what I learn and learn to do#trauma evolution#mosswrites
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Hmm brain just conjured up another fictional little guy; at this rate, I am eventually going to run out of room to accommodate all of these fictional little guys, they will have to find a motel or something
#writing#writeblr#writer things#his name is tommy because that is the first name that came to my head#dark curly hair tanned skin hooked nose and dimples and dark eyes#an easygoingness and just genuine passion about him that's contagious#he may be a mechanic and wears loose oversize clothing a too long red button up with the sleeves rolled up#he smokes more out of habit and boredom than wanting to do it he hates it#he's got that classic awkward nerdy but strangely appealing best friend in a movie or show kind of vibe to him#except instead of being in that standard best friend role he is currently trying to usurp the role of love interest in my mind in the vague#new wip i had been thinking about making#though maybe i should make a new wip as this other wip is already new and has different vibes but...#i have made three new wips in the span of the last few days i am not making another i am not i am not#shoe meet horn#he's also mentally ill and the narrative is going to be f*cking normal about it#alright maybe i'll make a new wip#god am i going to make a new wip#my other brand new characters staring at me as i barely even got them off the ground yet like really come on dude#but don't worry oh god I remembered a 4th wip from the past two weeks don't worry bennett i haven't forgotten you#and the several hundred others up there#hmmm thinking about tossing him into a scifi#yes he looks suspiciously similar to some of my other ocs but different maybe i'm pulling a t*m b*rton#and hiring the same actor for all my movies
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I get the urge to doodle them now and then...
#Volo#volo pokemon#pokemon oc#oc x canon#Most of the time they simply live rent free in my head#I rarely write things down but I do have 3 fics in the works of different povs of the post game battle...#I don't know how to describe my feelings about them other than they make me ill in a good way#★stormy's ocs★#Ancestraltaleshipping#tw: eyestrain#<- just in case cause the reds may be a little hard on the eyes!
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September 06: Ring
Art'imis Chysgoda checked her gear for the final time. There were still two matches until hers, but she didn't like to rush. She allowed herself a smirk of satisfaction. She'd be fighting in the main event for a deliciously large purse. A fervent whisper and a widening ring of silence around it drew her attention. A welp of a kid, he'd barely been with the guild a month, was praying before his match. Art'imis sighed. It looked like no one else was going to show the kid the ropes. She walked up to stand beside the kid, ishgardian by the look of him. She wondered what drove him to the sands, and decided she didn't need or want to know. She waited a few breaths for him to acknowledge her and when he didn't she kicked him in the shin. The kid turned furious blue eyes on her and then paled when he realized who had gotten his attention
"A word to the wise kid," she nodded to the entrance of the blood sands, "it's bad luck to do your praying before stepping into that ring of sand."
"The Fury-"
"You really think the Fury gives a flying fuck about these kinds of fights? If she's watching it's for the same reason as everyone in the stands," the Raen woman said bluntly. "One way or the other we're fighting for gold and glory not justice or truth or anything noble."
The doors opened and the roar of the crowd rushed in like a flash flood. A fighter, the looser given how the crowd was still roaring, limped in. She stopped and turned to one of the grizzly shrines that flanked the doors. Visages of Rhalgr and Halone oversaw all who came and went on the blood sands, and below each effigy was a shallow basin. The losing gladiator spat into her hand and dropped bloody spittle and a tooth into the basin at Rhalgr's feet. The kid next to Art'imis recoiled. it always baffled her when these ishgardian kids saw the bloody idols. Halone and Rhalgr were gods of war and destruction, no matter how divine their nature the hems of their robes where soaked in blood.
"You do your praying after. You give thanks for whatever grace they gave to confound the bookies and offer up something of yourself." She pointed at the bloody basins and their offerings. Her heart ached a bit thinking of when her own mentor had taught her this lesson, "the gods like a show as much as anyone else. All we can do is hope they aren't cheering the other bastard too loudly."
#ffxiv#ffxivwrite2023#red head writes a thing#art'imis chysgoda#Ul'dah#Blood Sands of Ul'dah#Halone#Rhalgr#this has been a long standing headcannon that's never made it into actual prose
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Something q!Philza absolutely being a dick about saying he doesn't want to kill then joining the hunt team anyway, about being stabbed in the back while fleeing then doing the same to Rivers, and so on. But also... I do think he's genuine about not /wanting/ to? He just convinces himself there isn't a choice, or that what he's actually doing is protecting his teammates. He kills Rivers without hesitation when she tries to run, and tells himself it was so she didn't summon BBH on their heads, or it's to bait Pac out. He gets out the lava and let's his team destroy her things as revenge, as a warning, as ugly, ugly emotions. Destruction isn't killing, right? Maybe it's even punishment to BBH for daring to suggest the bodies are left alone after days of what Philza perceives as he and his getting picked clean, an agreement only asked for once the other teams are in danger. Afterall in his head it isnt about Rivers or Tina or Pac, it's about BBH and about the eggs.
How can he kill a running woman and then cry because he doesn't want to kill his friends? When he already knew that it's not just a realisation? It's not guilt, he doesn't think of it as hypocrisy, it just... He didn't want to kill her, but the moment she ran she was already dead, at which point shouldn't he save Foolish and Cellbit from the blood on their hands? Foolish isn't a fighter, this isn't his place. Cellbit has a husband and brothers and a life, let him be the better man. In Philza's eyes he's not valuable or respected (yes theres plenty of evidence to the contrary but theres also plenty of evidence Philza does think he is without value - look at how he assumed his kids are dead because even he will save his teammates children before his own thats what being a leader /means/. Its sacrificing yourself and everything you are at the alter of the people you serve and maybe that's why he kills for them too, whenever they demand, because as a leader he is their protector and servant first and his own person third because it's the only form of leadership other than tyranny, to martyr yourself and your values at your people's feet, to sacrifice his concerns and opinions and morals and bend to the whims of those beneath him).
Either way he doesn't want to kill his friends. And he will kill his friends without hesitation in the correct circumstances.
Both are true.
He doesn't want to kill his friends, but he will, and knowing he will makes the first bit even more distressing.
#qsmp rambling#I'm hashing it out in my head too#The leader thing came to me while I was writing and... maybe?#Hes red team leader but he grinds for them then says what do you want and serves as their hands in that#Rather than actually giving a plan#He only plans when nobody else does#Also yes for my 2 cents hes being a hypocrite by spirit even if not by law
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wait- your name is 7oby (Toby) and you had a cat named toby- which came first your name or the cats name- who stole who's name ~pumpkin anon
The cat came first. I needed a name to sign my art with and didn't want to use my birth name so I borrowed the cat's. But then it started getting a little confusing because there was Toby (cat), Toby (me), and Toby (character), and I was super into Halo at the time so I swapped the T out for a 7 haha
Bungie, Halo's devs, used to hide references to the number 7 EVERYWHERE in their old games. Like map layouts would branch out into 7 directions, random numbers would add up to 7 or were a multiple of 7, characters would have 7s hidden in their textures, etc.
Somehow 7oby stuck. It's been 18 years. I'm indifferent about it at this point and honestly only still use it because Sol (character) and Sol (me) can get confusing. 5ol is out of the question, I've already laughed at that idea lol
#asks#Way back when I used to have an original setting that my very first fursona fit into#And there was a character for each number 0 through 9. 5 was 5oap and was an albino cat mechanic with biomecha wings#I didn't write any of it down so my memory is foggy...#But iirc they were all experiments in DNA splicing and they all had unique powers#5oap had sort of like an anti-gravity thing going on but it was hard to control hence the wings. He couldn't propel himself without them#7oby absorbed radiation and used it to power a magic sword that looked like a dragon head. It didn't have a blade by default but when it-#-was turned on it would flash-freeze moisture into a cobalt blue magic ice blade#I think there was a big downside to 7oby's radiation powers like it wasn't entirely safe to be around them when-#-they had a lot stored or something but I can't remember if I ever came up with a workaround for that or how 7oby dealt with it#7oby did have a red bandanna/headband though. /Hilarious/ in hindsight
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Kinda funny how you've never read any of the books but you correctly characterized everyone including Louis being a wife and Lestat having drug problems while people who've had these books under their pillow since they were 10 are wandering the desert. Sad!
🥹 the pillow thing is so funny bc they really do act like that. but I always say that projection is the mind killer… of course these aren’t new issues per se history is cyclical but heightening individualism and the believe that everything you engage with needs to serve you or be productive in some way even if that productivity is through viewing it as a journal or personality test and the obvious microcosm of this w kin culture have done irreparable damage… whenever I’m on iwtv twt I’m like bush won 😞
#qs#I can’t read or write so redacted university really would’ve kicked me out if not for my analytical ability 😞 I’m stupid but my head is#always the iasip red string crazy board meme#had meeting with an advisor today about some readings and I was like this book about colonial Japanese scientists is just like 1820s south#he always looks confused when I start a sentence but then will catch on by the end he’s such a sweetheart#white man studying Japan that went to Harvard that description gave you a Jumpscare didn’t it. but he’s one of the good ones dw#he also has a complex about going to Harvard which is funny bc do you see where you are#though I concede that few things are worse than Harvard except uchicago and Columbia sorry E#do you know how fucked up you have to be to break a working class middle America white man he talks about Harvard like that was his#red summer XsvsvsWXSHDJFKTJGJFJFJ#and you know what. I bet it was
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#ever sit like a corpse in your own body?#im doing a job i wasnt designed for. theres this funny thing we do in academia where we beg for money. write in consise phrasing why we#deserve funding. what it is about our project what it is about our personhood that makes us deserving. what we're doing in our present to#give back and ensure a better future. and i can pull together a description of a nervous kid who couldn't read but loved to learn anyway.#who didnt kno how to hold proper a conversation until college and so tried and got better at ppl. who wouldnt let a language problem get in#the way of information gain. who cares about making complicated info visually digestible. and that's a nice story. but it falls apart when#projected into the future. what r u doing for the future? im just trying to continue existing#dont u want to help other ppl like u? sure but i dont have anything nice to say to them. does it ever get easier? no. it probably never will#ur brain was not built for reading. sometimes things r just terrible and u have to accept that. develop a crippling mental disorder or do#something where u dont have to read. see. not helpful. bad attitude. im just too full of blood and broken glass. all my achievements r#stained red and it hurts to look at them. to get myself to function i have to squeeze so tight i can feel the strain in my head. and even#then its not enough. do u kno what its like to spend ur whole life building something only to watch it burn to ashes in front of u? just a#broken machine rotting away underground where no one will see it. but dont let things fester. speak up if somethings wrong. and say what?#lmao i wrote this last night and then today when my advisor was like: hows it going? do u feel like u have enough time to get everything#done? and i had the gall to be like *voice strained high to prevent crying* its alright i think ive got enough time. bc yea technically i#think there r enough hours in yhr day that if i really tried i could get it all done. but that doesn't count the time i spend laying with#thr absolute desolation of my mind. so no. there isnt enough time bc im not doing well. but there's nothing he can do abt it so ya kno#whats the point in talking abt it except to say ya sorry im such a wretched miserable person. i dont kno how to fix it. my enthusiasm is#hidden under layer upon layer of pain. i burnef out before even getting here and im only making it worse#but whatever ill see my therapist Tuesday#unrelated
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Trying to get swing inspo for the next chapter of OWDLIF and this is absolutely the Lucilith mood. (Lilith is Maks)
#the flipping over the top of his head#the one bit where he's just holding her on one arm#tell me that's not the cheeky bitch kind of moves lucifer would love#YES FLING ME AROUND MY BELOVED TOL WIFE#my writing#red roses and dead things#Youtube
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Someone help me I'm thinking about the 'kid in a yellow raincoat' horror trope in relation to Jason
#Like. The kid covered in bright yellow in the midst of the “dark and stormy night”#You see that in a movie and you know immediately that something bad is going to happen to that kid#And Jason's Robin cape practically swallowed him whole#The yellow as a symbol of both an innocence and a warning!!!#But also!!!! Yellow as the warning for what that child will become too!!!#Like. The trope subversion in Little Nightmares where (spoilers)#The yellow raincoat kid (Six) Turns Out to be the bad thing that happens- or at least a part of the horror in the story#Which in my head kind of fits Jason??#Like he's the kid in the yellow raincoat that stuck out in the night and bled for it in the end#But he's also the man who comes Out of the raincoat- scarier than the thing that took him#Obsessed with whatever symbolism there is in him dying in the yellow cape and then being revived into a man he never thought he'd be#The cape was torn away covered in blood and he rose from those stains y'know???#Does this make sense??? Whatever it is I want to put it into a fic somewhere somehow#jason todd#red hood#robin#dc#Bongo's Writing!!!#(??? Probably counts)
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