cherry valley forever
todays bird
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available
RMH
DEAR READER
Peter Solarz
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
No title available
Andulka
Claire Keane
★
Not today Justin
d e v o n
JVL
Today's Document
tumblr dot com
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
seen from Türkiye
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
@wolfgrin
‘ you’re leaving. right now. ’
@misterjanson | x | accepting
“And go where?” His voice doesn’t raise an octave with the beginnings of panic. It DOES NOT. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to get out of here, but I’ve nowhere to go.”
“the fuck? who are you?”
@misterjanson | x | accepting
Janson...has a general sense of what he looks like, he thinks. He remembers one sunny day, back when everyone was still calling him Greenie (god, he’d hated that, never mind how funny it is to do it to other newbies), he’d come across a pond that turned out to be a frequent water source for the Gladers, and spent a while looking at his reflection out of curiosity. He’d realized, back then, he didn’t know what he looked like, or how tall he was, or even his own age, or....or anything, really. Nothing concrete, nothing that would help him tell up from down in this hell. But he’d sat by that pond for as long as he could stand it (not long), and since then he’s caught other glimpses of his own face too, small ones like in spoons or fiddling with cups of water. He’s pretty sure he knows what he looks like.
A bit like this guy, actually, without the extra two decades or so tacked on.
More than a bit.
Okay then.
(What now?)
“That’s my business,” he says with a small, defensive sneer curling at his lip. Where’d Thomas go? Newt? Any of them? Is he alone here with this bastard in a coat? (Looks warm. Fuck, he’s cold.) “Who are you?”
“fuck off. i mean it.”
@misterjanson | x | accepting
“Oh, well then.” He puts on a faux-chagrined act, just this side of too sweet, broken slightly by the snide look of annoyance that still shows through. (He’s stressed, sue him.) “I was just thinking, if you don’t know what you’re doing, we might have a problem, seein’ as we’re a bit short on other options for the moment. But if ya mean it...”
“give and take. that’s life.”
@misterjanson | x | accepting
“Pretty sure I know that better than you.”
Does he know that? No. He’s only got so much memory to work with here --- certainly far less than...who. This man who looks like him, but is not. He’s not talking to himself. They are not the same. The Assistant Director, then. Janson (the real Janson, the Janson of his universe, the only Janson HE cares about) isn’t sure how to feel about this, but he DOES know he doesn’t particularly like him at the moment.
Anyway. Memory. Right.
“Last a month in the Maze and then you can tell me all about how much life sucks.”
five word prompts
[inspired by this]
“actually… i just miss you.”
“alright, i’ll leave you alone.”
“and slowly… i was forgotten.”
“and then everything just disappears.”
“and where do i go?”
“anyone could tell from here.”
“are you finishing that or…?”
“are you stupid or stupid?”
“anything, just call me, okay?”
“bitch better have my money.”
“bro… that’s so… not cool…”
“but did you do it?”
“call me now. it’s urgent.”
“can’t you listen to me?”
“cross that. don’t answer that.”
“don’t even think about it.”
“don’t you dare walk away.”
“do it. i dare you.”
“did you think i forgot?”
“eventually… you just move on.”
“even if you still do.”
“everything will fall into place.”
“fight me, you attractive stranger.”
“for once, i need you.”
“for once… i was right.”
“for once… i was wrong.”
“forget i even asked you.”
“forget it. you fucking suck.”
“fuck’s sake, what’s your problem?”
“fuck off. i mean it.”
“give and take. that’s life.”
“great. perfect. nice. fuck this.”
“have you lost your mind?”
“hello? it’s me. i was-”
“hey… that wasn’t so nice.”
“here’s a glass of whatever.”
“how about a hug, hm?”
“how about you make me?”
“i haven’t forgot you yet.”
“i can’t be around you.”
“i don’t need you, really.”
“i don’t need this now.”
“is this your first time?”
“it’s just a cut, really.”
“it wasn’t me, i swear!”
“i said i love you.”
“just don’t fuck it up.”
"just… come back alive, okay?”
“just make sure you’ve eaten.”
“kick his ass for me.”
“killed him? wait, what, literally?”
“life really sucks. feel better.”
“letting go hurts… a lot.”
“let me live, will you?”
“no, i don’t need you.”
“nothing can hurt me now.”
“nothing matters anymore to me.”
“okay it was me… so?”
“people lie all the time.”
“pipe the fuck down, asshole.”
“please, you can’t die now.”
“please don’t leave me alone.”
“quiet. they can hear us.”
“quick! give me your phone!”
“quicker, you freaking piece of-”
“quit it or i’ll bite.”
“quit staring! they’ll notice us!”
"really? do i look stupid?”
“real smooth, tripping over air.”
“rise and shine, sweet thing.”
“rise and fucking shine, motherfucker.”
“seriously? give me a break.”
“so… what are we now?”
“so… did you miss me?”
“so… can we go eat?”
“so… when’s the next flight?”
“so… how did everything go?”
“sometimes, i wish you died.”
“so what? you did it.”
“time passes slower without you.”
“then what do you suggest?”
“the fuck? who are you?”
“then you tell me why.”
“this is not working out.”
“this isn’t what i wanted.”
“this is all a fucking disaster.”
“when did it all happen?”
“who knew you’d be here?”
“why do i even bother?”
“why do i love you?”
“why didn’t you tell me?”
“you’re just… so, so stupid.”
“you can’t be here now.”
“you look like an accident.”
“you really need to go.”
“you know who to call.”
"zero fucks given. next please.”
Janson doesn’t drink. Doesn’t like the taste of it, any of it, and it always leaves him with a feeling that’s less floaty and more...just a headache, really. He looks down on drunk people as obnoxious, bumbling idiots, and he’s about as much a fan of Gally’s moonshine as Thomas is. He doesn’t understand how people can drink that shite.
Janson curses a lot. His mother did too, although he doesn’t remember that, and it left him with a very...colorful vocabulary. And also a variety of insults. He can get creative when he wants to.
Janson didn’t become a Runner because he’s brave --- quite the contrary, actually, he’s a coward when it really comes down to it --- or because he likes running, which, like. No. Not even a little bit. He became a Runner because he wants out, and he’s smart enough to figure out quick that the only way out is in the Maze somewhere. He’s surrounded by eejits who’ve all just...accepted their current situation, even come to like it and the sense of community that comes with it, and he HATES it. Sure there’s relative safety in the Glade, but he doesn’t like the others, and he doesn’t like the farmer lifestyle, and he doesn’t like feeling trapped by faceless Creators who must be watching them. The memory loss, and the piecemeal quality of it, also drives him crazy if he thinks about it too long; he doesn’t even know why he’s there. It’s all more than a little overwhelming, and if it’s all the same to the Creators, Janson would like to opt out, thank you very much.
Except, see, the thing is...he’s not a distance runner. He’s just not. He’s not built for it and he’s not inclined, and he doesn’t have the stamina to go out there and run several miles every single day. Think the Runners get days off? Nope! Think they even really get enough food to sustain that level of physical activity? Also nope! And even if no one’s ever actually seen a Griever during the day, Janson knows they’re out there, he hears them at night, and they sound utterly terrifying. All put together, he was never going to last.
He’s only a little bitter about having to “work like a peasant,” as Newt put it. Just a little.
(The experience does, however, give him the tools to be able to use Thomas’s curiosity to his advantage, when the time comes...)
Janson hated his older brother. His father’s been out of the picture since he was very small, his mother was mediocre at best and he never cared enough to legitimately hate her, but Marcus? He hated Marcus, and the feeling was very much mutual.
To this day, even without his memories, he loathes the idea of having siblings, and just kind of assumes anyone named Marcus is an asshole by default. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just one of those asshole names. Like Chad.
(He’s usually not wrong, as it turns out.)
lazyresources:
full name: [ REDACTED ] nickname(s): janson. just janson. good luck to you if you try to shorten it. title: mister age: 19 species: human ethnicity: irish gender: cismale pronoun(s): he/him/his romantic orientation: aromantic sexual orientation: bisexual with a heavy preference for men current residence: [ REDACTED ] religion: unconcerned occupation: officially a bagger/guard, part time slicer & bricknick (aka the fixer-uppers), ex-runner, full time lab rat. financial status: N/A (poor as dirt in modern verses) marital status: single
status: independent & private, selective, sideblog fandom: the maze runner face claim: younger aidan gillen
height: 5′10″ facial features: dark blue eyes, bit of a rat-like face, often found smirking body build: fairly average, leans more to the skinny side, kind of scrappy looking hair: short mousy hair, curly, his method of styling is generally just sort of “run my hands through it until it sticks up in the front.” no brushes or mirrors in the glade, y’see. fashion: light hoodie + t-shirt combo in the glade, complete with pants similar to thomas’s and a pair of boots. traded in for a jacket + sweater combo later on that should look dumb but somehow works for him? magic.
