[manhic-a]

@MANHIC: independent multi-muse of various characters from mixed media sources. highly selective, private, mutuals only, and 18+ only. written by viviana: she/they pronouns, 19, cst timezone.

mature themes will be present on this blog. while all triggers will be tagged accordingly and in the following format of #trigger /, if you are remotely uncomfortable by the following, i recommend refraining from following. triggers are not limited to: blood, gore, death, cannibalism, murder, human experimentation, body horror, trauma, abuse, mentions of sexual assault, drug usage, alcoholism, addiction, fictionalized war, fictionalized racism, fictionalized slavery, needles, insects, etcetera. please follow at your own discretion! under the cut, you will find a quick accessible list to the muses i currently am writing!

RULES + MUSES / SPOTIFY / PINTEREST

CURRENT MUSES      (of may 31, 2021)

camille preaker of sharp objects.

clarke griffin of the 100.

claire redfield of resident evil.

ellie williams of the last of us.

ethan winters of resident evil.

faith seed of far cry 5.

jill valentine of resident evil.

joel miller of the last of us.

mark grayson of invincible.

sienna aquino of fallout: new vegas.   (original character)

tiffany valentine of child’s play.

trish of devil may cry.

[manhic-a]

ive archived! i’ve moved over to @manhic :’)

[manhic-a]

ive archived! i’ve moved over to @manhic :’)

[manhic-a]

ive archived! i’ve moved over to @manhic :’)

[manhic-a]

ive archived! i’ve moved over to @manhic :’)

[manhic-a]

ive archived! i’ve moved over to @manhic :’)

[manhic-a]

….hey y’all….is this thing on….

[manhic-a]

❛ Do you find me sadistic? ❜ for jill

meme prompt.                                 accepting.

blackjack bar,  one of the hottest growing spots inside raccoon city.    it had everything one could desire:  cheap drinks,  a decent crowd of people,  &  a nonchalant atmosphere.    it was a nice spot to unwind after a long day  &  after most days at work,  the s.t.a.r.s members would have come here;  it was their spot.    the booth they once all used to share has grown empty over the passing weeks  &  their events.    her suspension lingers above her head like a stygian raincloud,  threatening to reign its chaos at any given moment.    [when the time is right,  it’ll strike.    it’s only a matter of time  &  she knows it.]    nothing has been the same since the mansion.    there’s too many bullet holes in these walls,  too many cracks with light beginning to shrine through;  the inferno of corruption has been ignited  &  it’s beginning to burn everything standing in its path.    (can you stop it before it’s too late?)

instead of chris sitting across from her in the booth,  his boyish gallant grin lighting up the entire bar,  she’s sat across from a woman cladded in red with a complacent expression across her features;  an ally with information to disclose,  but jill can’t help but wonder what the catch is.   trepidation is her first nature,  curiosity striking her for the better in this scenario.    (what’s more important:  personal feelings or taking down umbrella?    it’s a question she’s been asking herself for days.)    the words catch her off guard,  a brow raising as she chuckles. 

❝  sadistic’s a pretty strong word.  ❞    fingers wrap themselves around the neck of her beer bottle before taking another swig.    it’s hardly sadistic  —  if jill was in another position,  maybe she would perhaps be the one seated across from herself.    (the one with information to spill  &  wearing a shit-eating grin,  rather than the somber guise spread across jill’s exasperated features.)    ❝  you know what you want  &  how to get it.    i wouldn’t call you sadistic,  i’d actually call you smart.  ❞    a pause,  irises dipping down to fidget with her fingers;  a last ditch effort to convince herself to rise from the cracked leather booth  &  saunter her way out of the bar.     (before taking information that could make her a criminal  &  land in prison for the rest of her life.)    a deep breath is finally inhaled  &  the show begins,  her hands spreading themselves across the wooden tabletop.    

❝  so...   do you have what i want?   ❞

[evildead2-deactivated20211027]

Mark Grayson/Invincible S01E02 | HERE GOES NOTHING

[notmorbid]

dark places.

dialogue prompts from dark places by gillian flynn.

coffee goes great with sudden death.

i was born bent out of shape.

worries find you easily enough without inviting them.

you have a really nice face.

just yell and get it done with.

nothing to it but to do it.

i could just drink you in.

you don’t know how good it is to see you.

they should’ve taken better care of you.

you’re not supposed to be nice to me.

you were always a little liar.

i was such an unconfident kid.

it’s a good enough life for me.

i can’t imagine wanting anything different.

sometimes it feels good to fuck with something, instead of being fucked with.

i’m not angry or sad or happy to see you.

will you let me drive?

that’s a new one. i didn’t think there were new questions anymore.

i’m sorry i can’t give you the answer you want.

i wish i hadn’t made you so sad.

is something bad going to happen?

i was just saying hi.

if you know something, say it now.

you think you’re smarter than me?

i think i can trust you, and i like you.

half the time i look down, my hands are in fist.

it’s good to get to know you.

i remember thinking i was in the middle of something i’d never get over.

you were a kid with some horrible, weird luck.

i can’t do this without you.

i always thought someday you’d find me.

you think after what happened, there’s any peace for you?

i always wanted to meet you.

[jillvalentine]

resident evil 3 remake — idle animations (1/?)

[manhic-a]

yngai​:

the megamycete grows ,  hellish tendrils enveloping the small village in its grasp like fingers threatening to crush between them what few houses remain .  growling lycans perched on rooftops looking down upon advancing soldiers ,  hungry still ,  blood soaked fangs dripping with drool as to them ,  the BSAA was just another meal .  they have already gorged themselves upon the flesh of townsfolk ,  whatever bodies remained intact thrown into heisenberg’s machine & with him no longer in the picture ,  chaos reigned ,  an unending storm of fire that reminds her of so many times the world seemed to end around her .

she was a harbinger of the apocalypse ,  of death & disease who donned the mask of mother miranda as another symbol of false hope .  a shadow of her former self ,  a spectre between the trees that observed it all unfold & did what little she could to keep the beasts at bay .  one woman against descending packs & it seems even the BSAA ,  with an army perfected in a lab ,  hardly stood a chance .  serves them right ,  she thinks ,  an inkling of dangerous satisfaction that ceases when she spots a familiar face among them ,  jill—  in a moment she descends ,  coat & leather fluttering with the harsh winds ,  finding herself trapped in an unintentional parallel ,  removing a mask now literal .  in a town of crows ,  how else do you hide but by becoming one ?  a humour found in how they each stand ,  different & similar if only time were not to flow ,  how the years bring them closer no matter how much they spend them apart . 

jill valentine was statuesque ,  an agent like no other & even with guilt-formed cracks on her neck she is no less worthy of admiration .  a familiarity in her presence that made ada wong claw at her throat ,  a soft hum sung from her lips ,  an involuntary reflex ,    “    didn’t take you one for casual leather━━  noted .    ”    a quip book-ended with a nod ,  dart of her head to the side ,  her signature smirk that always ignored the situation around them .

“    cleanup going well ?    ”

her gaze is cutting edge,  synonymous with a knife awaiting to pierce through its opponent.    rather than choosing to slice,  she simply stares at the woman;  in a way,  it’s almost like staring directly through the glass of a mirror.    the appearance between them is different but their auras intertwine with one another,  dancing in a way she never dreamed imaginable.    (a shared trauma bond flows between them;  they stand on the same ground as one another,  locked in a cycle that started years ago for the both of them.)    there’s a connection between them;  ghosts inside a shell of people they once used to be.    the agent in her yells to grab her gun  &  aim at the other,  finger threatening to squeeze if a wrong movement if made;  the human in her chooses otherwise.    [ada’s not an amateur;  if she wanted out of the situation,  she would’ve never have been involved in the first place.]

laughter rolls off jill’s tongue,  head gesturing towards the destruction enveloping them.    darkness billows through the white clouds,  the infernos continuing to burn everything around them.    ❝  oh yeah,  it’s going great   ━   exactly how i want to be spending my time.  ❞    the roll of her eyes speak loud enough,  fingers edging closer towards her gun’s hoister as an precautionary measure.    ada wong is a woman of mystery,  after all.    (the crow costume is fitting,  ironically enough.)    she’s silhouette looming in the shadows  &  appears at given times;  you never know what to anticipate.    gaze remaining still,  a brow is raised as she tosses a bone.    ❝  can’t assume you’re on the payroll to help us with it?  ❞    (if you’re not here to help,  why are you here?    after all these years  &  all these scars betwixt us,  why appear now?)    the question roam through her mind like a broken record,  scratching as a deafening tone.    no matter how hard she tries,  she can’t soften them.    they speak at the rhythm of a war-drum,  shouting at every thump.    silence isn’t a luxury she has;  not anymore.

❝  so,  why are you here?    trying to land a date with mother miranda?  ❞

[manhic-a]

quick little activity notice: activity will be more sporadic than usual for the next month. i’m going to my hometown for the summer and tbh, i’ve been considering deactivating my social media accounts for the summer & just spend some time in the present moment with those around me! 

[manhic-a]

@yngai​

no survivors,  another area destroyed by bioterrorism with innocent lives lost in the process.    (the cycle of war continues onward.)    there is no escape from this;  this is the life you have chosen  &  you must continue to stride forward.    there’s wreckage around them,  flames ravishing the remaining wood  &  water soaking through their boots.    the air smells of burnt wood  &  decaying bodies,  the crackling of fires mixing with the buzzing of flies.    this wasn’t the first town she had seen end this way;  it wasn’t going to be the last either.    this was,  however,  the first time her own team had been the creation of biological warfare;  the surprise of the decade.

the towns folks had whispered of a plague doctor roaming down their streets,  a myth in the night  &  gone in the morning.    nothing surprised jill anymore;  science was endless  &  fiction had become non - fiction before her very eyes.    when presented with the sight in front of her,  her exterior remained calm  &  cool;  a mirror image of her years ago.    traversing through a village,  on the hunt for something of use   —   her gun is raised as her eyes remain focused down the sight.    (one wrong move  &  the trigger will be squeezed.)    it’s not until the mask is removed when the gun is lowered,  brows furrowing;  ada.

her face.   a woman she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.    (the aloof change of her mannerisms speak loud enough.)    quiet snickers spill from jill’s lips,  azures surveying the outfit once more.    ❝  nice outfit.    you steal it from my closet?  ❞    self - aware,  the guilt haunts her at night when she closes her eyes;  she was once a myth in the night as well.

[manhic-a]

❛ All I can tell you is that I’m a different person now. ❜ / claire

meme prompt.                                 accepting.

neither of them are.    their bodies were left in the rubble of raccoon city,  torn apart  &  ate them limb-by-limb.    naïvety nearly killed them but they survived,   walking into the sunset together unsure of what awaited them past the golden horizon.    (had you known the future,  would you have made the same decisions or would you have put a bullet in the middle of your forehead back at the raccoon city police station?)    it’s a thought she lives with  &  it eats at her like a parasite,  claiming her body as its permanent residence.    no matter how desperately tries,  it clings to her tightly  &  digs its claws deeper into her flesh.    (this is my home;   this is your grave.    you made it  &  now you must lie in it.)

her teeth sink down on the inside flesh of her cheek,  cerulean hues remaining pinned down on the hickory-colored wooden bar in front of them.    in her peripheral vision,  she can see him;   the first thing she noticed was the tuxedo,  an unorthodox appearance for him,  with a whiskey flask in his right hand  —  that’s more like it.    it was a government event;   senators shook hands with campaign donors as they fought for another term,  faux smiles spread across botoxed features like designer outfits  &  the bullshitting contests of the century.   (everything she despised  &  more.)    the president conversed with fellow congressmen in the corner of the room within leon’s vicinity,  his duty for the evening:  keep an eye on the president.    (a night brought out of furlough only to be laid back to rest in the morning,  synonymous with a retiring service animal.)    red clads her body,  carmine painted lips pressing together as she twists her neck in his direction.      ❝  so am i.    raccoon city was only twenty years ago,  after all.  ❞    fingernails tap on the neck of her champagne glass before the rim is brought to her lips,  eyes remaining stilled on him as the liquid trickles down the back of her throat.    the exasperation spread across aging features is a parallel image of what stares back at her in the mirror.    the trauma of that night still plays through her cold blue eyes   —   all the grotesque sights she’s seen,  they’re a broken record in her memories  &  they keep her awake at night.    they are the ghosts haunting her as she walks down the hallway,  her own vision gazing back at her in a mirror.    (concealer can only hide so many bags resting underneath your eyes.)

finishing the rest of her champagne,   claire slides off the barstool she was perched upon  &  takes two steps forward,  fingers resting themselves on across his forearm.    there’s a camaraderie between them   —   after all these years  &  the changes they’ve gone through,  she still finds herself smiling whilst in his company.    the smile doesn’t falter but the fond expression is quickly replaced with one full of sternness,  a rarity amongst her company.   

❝  do yourself a favor:  get out of this field.    go back home.    you deserve it,  leon.  ❞    empathy laces itself throughout her dulcet voice,  spreading evenly like bittersweet honey;   if these walls could talk,  they would be whispering to take care of yourself.

[jo-constantine]

choking on the colors of the rainbow | m.a.w

[gaylecleven]

words c/o @professorbellarke