#to some extent

[kinerxy]

The Molar Horse, they're similar to IRL horses but alot bigger and with a bulkier neck... beside the obvious frontal tusks used for defense against predators and in intraspecific competition.

Due to their aggressive and fearless nature aswell as gigantic size theyre an excellent war mount, even if their domestication isnt for the weak.

when their lips are relaxed they cover all the teeth, this is to protect their integrity and also to avoid infections, this tissue is hardy but flexible enough to be pulled all the way back to show the hidden upward incisives and the rest of the teeth, baring their teeth can be out of distress or as a threat.

(the silly)

In a previous ask I explained how these animals can eat, in short I didn't want to add some type of trunk nor modify the appearance of the tusks especially the big frontal one so the easiest option to go is to have a large tounge strong enough to help it eat in a similar fashion to a giraffe.

But I was thinking that in my setting the general landescape is very desertic and there aren't many trees around, this opens an issue since the tounge was based on a giraffe tounge which is made to grab tree branches and pull the leaves into their mouths, so maybe these tounges could have spiky cavities similar to a feline tounge but much more exaggerated, this to be able to have a stronger hold on the dry grass and other types of dry food that probably would be on the ground.

TW: (fictional) Animal abuse

In my story there are many important factions and in general they aren't benevolent specially since the war is a common occassion and each one have to do what it needs to success and maintain territory and resources, this faction, the Altan Empire (which hopefully i will show more of them in a future) is one of the few important nations that have managed to domesticate the dangerous Molar Horses, but to conceive this they had to do some evil shit

The lips of a molar horse are a very sensitive part of their body, these have many nerve conections to be able to move them and show different types of expressions, emotions and give indications to other Molar horses.

The removal of these lips greatly vaffects their behavior, making them docier and easier to handle aswell as opening a entrance to put the mouthpiece and colocate the bridle without having problems with the vast tissue, this is called marking.

A marked molar horse is alot less unstable than its wild counterpart, making them an excellent mount to be used in the loud and unpredictable battles between factions, it also improves their intimidation factor

But beside their obvious degradation in appearance, these animals become incapable of communicating normally with other molar horses.

Another problem are the infections, is common to see marked molar horses with infected pimples, scars or without some back teeth that fell off or had to be removed.

on the bright side, in recent times and due to the domestication of the marked molar horses, meaning that newborns are more docile withouth having to mark them aswell as improvements in the design of the bridle, said newborns are commonly left with their intact lips.

[ghostlysoaps]

Restitution

[part 1] [part 2]

this is... 3.4k long. cw: idiots in love being idiots

Simon "Ghost" Riley, as a general rule, doesn't get sick. It's been a staunch constant throughout his life. In school, throughout basic training and even when little Joseph was old enough for kindergarten. He managed to dodge the illnesses plaguing his fellow men with the same efficiency he avoided enemy fire. Even Kyle and Johnny's bout of sickness hadn't rubbed off on him after he'd meticulously cleaned, aired out and disinfected his room. 

He'd thought as much at least. 

What began as a tickle in the back of his throat and a slight increase in sneezing, both of which he'd attributed to a visiting lieutenant's overreliance on cologne, spiralled over the course of a night's rest. He awakens to his alarm blaring loud enough to wish for a bullet between the eyes, a nose so stuffed he can't breathe and a frontal lobe full of cotton. The insides of his throat is raw. As if sandpaper had been dragged carelessly up and down the sensitive flesh until ulcers formed in its wake. He blinks at the crackled ceiling for a bit, allows himself a couple moments of self-pity, then heaves himself over the side of the mattress.

He sways on his feet, remembers taking a few steps and then dark starbursts rising up over his eyes until his field of vision is nothing but galaxies.

Ghost wakes up for a second time, on the floor, an undetermined amount of time later. His head is worse than it was – however impossible he'd thought that to be. The floor is a welcome relief from the excessive heat but the firmness is hell on his aching body. The back of his head smarts. He pokes at the swollen lump with fingers made of lead and winces at the responding lash of agony.

He's not ashamed to admit he crawls back to bed in the literal sense when he manages to get his uncooperative limbs to obey him. Squints through writing a short text to Price informing him of the situation before sinking into unconsciousness with a small sigh of relief. He just needs a minute, that's all, just a little bit of time...

_ _ _ _ _

Someone is calling his name. It registers vaguely in the periphery of his consciousness though it's the rough shake of his shoulders that truly rouses him to a state of near wakefulness. 

His eyelids strain to unglue themselves and he slams them l shut almost immediately when the dim light in the room sends a spike of flaming pain straight through his skull. Opening them halfway is easier but the compromise is a world blurred. Needs must, however, and Simon manages to zero in on a flash of blue standing out against the drab surroundings. Simon blinks, slow and lethargic, parting his dry lips. 

"Tommy?" he croaks. It has to be, right? Who else would look at him with worry in their eyes apart from their mother? The vague figure is much too broad to be her and lacks her frizzy, shoulder-length hair.

Sleep claims him before he can hear his reply.

_ _ _ _ _

The next time he wakes, porcelain is pressed against his lips and he's urged to drink from the thin rim. The content within is chalky, lukewarm and medicinal. Simon scrunches his nose at it, turning his face away long enough to say it's gross. He goes back to sipping it though – not needing the urged words he can't parse though he appreciates the gentle coaxing nonetheless – the cool hand on his forehead and fingers enveloping his own another form of balm.

How bad is it, if they're wasting precious medication on him? How long has he been here? She'd have to take on additional shifts without Simon there picking up his father's slack. As if she isn't running herself into an early grave already. 

His eyes sting, stuffed nose trailing snot when the first tears fall.

"'M sorry," he whispers through a choked sob, too exhausted to run the numbers. It'll be a bad month, of that he's certain, but can forgo sleep and school if it means his paycheck will see results from it. Prioritise rent before groceries. Make sure Tommy eats enough. Simon isn't a stranger to going without. Subsisting on one meal a day isn't ideal but he can do it. Knows himself and his limits. He'll be fine. 

Someone brushes the tears from his cheeks and it only serves to make him cry harder. Wretched and ugly. He clings to whomever is holding him, making a mess of their clothes through hitched apologies. Perhaps they kiss his temple as he struggles to remain awake, perhaps they don't, but the imagined comfort settles him regardless. He soaks in their warmth for as long as he's able and counts the steady beat of their heart as time trickles through his fingers.

_ _ _ _ _

He wakes up lucid but for the general fatigue sickness wrecks on the body. It takes him a couple of moments to truly land in his own body again. Sore, in a perpetual state of both dry and dripping. Sweat dried upon his brow even as new beads formed around his hairline and temples. Simon grimaces before he heaves himself up on shaking arms.

Only to realise that he's not alone.

Kyle startles at the noise he makes. He whips his head around and, as soon as he sees Simon upright, scrambles to get to his bedside. Too fast to stop him, he first cups Simon's cheeks with soft hands, cool and comfortable but burning all the same. A relieved smile tugs at his lips. It quickly turns to worry as one hand migrates up to check his temperature in the least reliable way known to man. An errant thumb swipes over the ridge of Simon's brow and he gasps in a breath as it skates over sensitive nerves.

There's nothing but white-noise in his ear. Static. A high-pitched tone growing louder and louder.

"Mask," he croaks and Kyle's mouth snaps shut.

Had he been speaking? Simon hadn't heard a word.

Cloth is pressed into his hands not a second later to which Simon grasps it like a lifeline. With the burst of adrenaline he's able to stagger to his feet. Righting himself on the edge of his desk then supporting himself against the wall as he steps towards the bathroom. He shakes off Kyle's helping hands with a violent jerk and has the door shut between them as fast as humanly possible.

The bolt slides into place and Simon takes a page out of its book as he lowers himself to the floor in a similarly oiled motion. He supposes the nausea thick in his throat could be attributed to whatever illness has taken root in him and, well... he's always been good at lying to himself. His fingers are shaking. Simon glares at them in affront until they begrudgingly stop. Only then does he hoist himself up. Takes a piss, brushes his teeth and shuffles into the shower while taking care to avoid the mirror above the sink.

The ghost of Kyle's touch lingers until he scrubs his face clean with soap, scars and calluses rasping against days-old stubble. Warm water for a bit, then glacially cold. It's nearly good enough to make him moan. When he at last shuts the faucet off he feels marginally more human. Refreshed. Though he grimaces at the thought of weaseling himself back into the same old clothes.

It's not the ones he’d gone to bed with however long ago. These sweats are grey rather than black. The shirt, too, is without the stretched hem and the three penny-sized holes right by the left sleeve. He decidedly doesn't think about how that might have come to pass as he towels his hair dry. He steps back into his trousers and leaves the rest in a pile. Glances once into the mirror to see his own red-nosed, sullen face staring back. Blotchy. Plain.

Unsightly.

Shoving the mask on, Simon squares his shoulders and does his best to ignore the ridiculous picture he must make. Kyle says nothing about it. Merely offers him a short nod. Guilt keeps his gaze downcast whilst Simon pulls a shirt over his head but the moment he takes a step towards the front door, Gaz slides in front of him with a clench to his jaw that spells trouble. 

"Back to bed with you, mate." 

"Sod off, Sergeant." It's not in the least bit intimidating, the way his voice turns nasal with mucus, not that Garrick had found it in himself to fear Ghost for years at this point. The glare he levels his way seems ineffectual when Kyle merely plants his feet, glares right back and points to the bed where new linens have taken the place of old, sweat-soaked ones.

"You're getting back under the covers without fussing or I'm tackling you onto them."

Simon squints at him, wonders if he should try for the door again just for the hell of it. Unfortunately, he knows Johnny isn't the only one prone to fighting dirty and as much as it pains him to admit it, if even just to himself, he values the integrity of his spine too much to try. Doesn't stop him from grinding his teeth and continuing the ridiculous stand-off they're tangled in. 

"And if you're good, I'll make you a cuppa with that fancy shite,” Kyle says, low and wheedling, after the silence has stretched a mite too long.

"What kind?"

"Ceylon black with wild cherries."

He sniffs. In part because his nose is dripping again, and in part because he hates how the bribe is working. Lumbering back to his bunk, Simon pretends the short period of physical movement hadn't drained him. That there isn't a trembling down to his bones or involuntary twitches of muscle protesting at being used again. It's a relief to sit back against the wall with the faint breeze of the cracked window fanning across his eyelids.

"Here," Kyle murmurs and he opens his eyes to find the ear of a brimming mug pressed into his hands while Kyle peers at him from beneath his ridiculously long lashes.

The aroma he faintly discerns is rich and dark. He mutters a "thank you," against the rim – because his mother raised him with manners – and pretends he isn't somewhat touched by the fact he remembers how Simon takes it. Splash of milk and blisteringly hot, although undercut with an unfamiliar nip of sweetness. He'll excuse the use of honey, though, because Kyle grins at him and Simon quickly loses the ability to focus on anything else. Breath coming short until Gaz returns to the fold-out chairs he'd shoved into the corner of the room and the portable gas stove he'd set up on one of them.

Simon takes the time to study his profile. Undeniably pretty in spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes and rumpled clothes. Stealing glances at Simon as if worried his newfound compliance is temporary.

"What are you doing?" he asks, trying to gain a footing in this strange reality he's found himself in.

"I'm heating up soup."

"No. What are you doing here?"

Kyle looks at him with his lower lip caught between his teeth. "Price got your message. Thought it looked odd and asked Tav to check up on you. It was... bad," he mutters, gaze sliding off him to stare at the floor. "Least we could do was help, seeing as we're the ones who got you sick. Didn't think you'd much appreciate being marched to medical either so–" he shrugs, "–here we are."

"Feeling better. No reason to stick around anymore."

A peal of laughter follows his statement, Kyle's eyes curving into half-moons, teeth glinting. 

"You're a riot, sir."

"Wasn't joking."

"I know." 

Gaz busies himself with pouring soup into a bowl and carrying it over, depositing it on the nightstand. He hooks a foot around the legs of one of the chairs to drag it closer and settles in as if he owns the space, kicking his feet up on Simon's bed while staring at him with imploring eyes until Simon rolls his and swallows a spoonful of broth. 

It's perfectly balanced between salty and spiced with meat tender enough to fall apart at a stern glance. The vegetables he'd tossed in have retained enough structure to offer a difference in texture. Easy to devour with a lingering warmth settling in his chest when he scrapes the last of it out.

A chime sounds at just about the same time and Kyle takes the bowl from him to refill it, swiping a thumb over the screen of his phone with his free hand, before handing him a bottle of water and an oval pill. "Antibiotics," he explains and Simon takes his word for it, swallowing it down dry and chasing away the chalky sensation with another mouthful of soup.

"It's good," he says instead of something like "thank you," or "you didn't have to do all this," or "if you don't stop looking at me I'm going to kiss you right on your stupid fucking mouth."

"That's because I barred John from helping out," Kyle says, wry and fondly exasperated. "Not like he put up much of a fight. Damn near drove Cap mental pacing around base like a wounded mutt whenever he couldn't shirk his duties. Put us on rotation after that."

Simon raises a brow.

"Can't say I blame him.” Kyle folds his arms over his chest and slouches into it. Searching over Simon's face, fingers absentmindedly twisting the fibres of his shirt. As he does whenever he's thinking too hard. “You're always a sight for sore eyes.”

His other eyebrow shoots up to join the first before he can wrestle his expression back under control. Turning the statement over in his mind, he finds it lacking the teasing he’d come to recognise in Garrick’s tone.

���Should you be flirting with men other than your boyfriend?” he questions, the words like ash in his mouth.

“I doubt he'd mind,” Gaz dismisses, unconcerned as he studies Simon's eyes, a lilt of laughter warming the words. “He's in love with you too.”

Simon, who’d done the age-old miscalculation of taking a sip of his drink while awaiting his response, promptly chokes on the liquid. He coughs and coughs and coughs, again barely audible over the ringing in his ears. The phrase circles around his mind like a vulture. One word in particular. He's vaguely aware of Gaz taking the mug from his cramping hands. Coaxing him to release the handle so as to not spill its contents into his lap and worsening the situation.

The door clicks open.

“Ye wouldnae believe wha–’s goin’ on ‘ere? Thought ye said he was doing better,” Soap frets. He takes a couple strides into the room. Three or so long steps to carry him from the door to their sides, hovering much like Gaz did previously. Piercing gaze taking the both of them in with a tight twist at the corners of his mouth. Simon ducks his head to avoid it under the guise of heaving for fire-laced breaths. The heel of his palm presses hard into his own ribcage, right above his galloping heart, as he attempts to wrestle back control of his protesting lungs.

He peeks at them through his fringe and finds them communicating entirely without words. A back and forth of ‘don’t make me say it’’s and ‘fess the fuck up or else’’s with varying degrees of wide-eyed looks tossed about. But eventually Kyle sighs and simply, reluctantly, says: “I might have told him.”

Simon doesn't need to see Johnny’s expression to know he understands what that means. It’s in the sharp breath he takes, the stiff then roundening of his shoulders and rueful chuckle. He rubs his neck and Simon averts his eyes before theirs meet. His brain feels as if it is swimming in snot and he doesn’t have the capacity to think critically about the information given. The six words simply play on repeat like a cartridge tripping over a scratch in vinyl.

“Hey,” Kyle says, with an accompanying brush of fingers over his bicep. “Sorry for springing that on you out of nowhere. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

A bark of hysterical laughter escapes him.

“It won’t change anything’,” Johnny corrects with a look in Gaz’s direction. “No’ unless ye act on it. Won’t treat ye any different.”

Simon tilts his head up just enough to look at them. To take in the earnest expressions they wear. To perhaps, fleetingly, allow himself to notice how the love they hold extends beyond themselves. A moment, yes. He allows himself that before he shakes his head. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

Johnny's face twists as if he'd tasted something sour and Kyle's frown has his nose scrunching in the most endearing fashion.

“We’re nae!”

“You are,” Simon insists.

“Don't think that's for you to decide, mate.”

Simon knows it isn’t but he stubbornly clamps his mouth shut and glares. He doesn't know how to express himself with words. It's always been actions that meant most to him – that he found easiest to speak through. But how would he even begin to convey the depths of his… feelings? Ones he’d barely begun wrestling with. How terrified he is they'd turn away the moment they learned how much Ghost and Simon differed in certain aspects, and how little they did in others. That once he’d had a taste, he’d disregard mission parameters if it meant keeping them safe – even at the expense of others. That, while they might be able to compartmentalise work and leisure, Simon isn’t all that sure he could do the same.

And setting all that aside, he’s been told, shown, time and time again, there’s little about him to love.

It was only a matter of time before the lesson stuck.

He grits his teeth, jaw working, as the tension rises, curdles and boils, until it finally snaps, not with sneering or anger, but with a sighed breath.

“It’s not the same,” he says with finality. “Emotions muddle… everything. Makes shit complicated. And I am your superior officer, like it or not. There are… rules in place,” he continues, grasping at straws. “The job has to come first.”

Kyle and Johnny exchange a glance. Neither of them look particularly happy.

“I didn't–” Kyle trails off. The syllables coated with a bone-deep, weary exhaustion. It wraps around them, weighs them down to fall into Simon’s lap, lingering to be examined, rather than float uninhibited through the air to vanish in the ether. Kyle’s fingertips are twisting in his shirt again. Smiling, rueful and joyless. Johnny brushes the backs of their hands together in a motion ingrained enough it has to be muscle memory, subtle enough to play off as coincidental, and Simon’s entire ribcage aches at the sight. “Take some time. Think on it. There’s a place for you with us if you want it. You've got three more days with antibiotics, so you're stuck with us until then no matter what you decide.” 

Kyle twists his hand around to slide the palm up and around Johnny’s wrist. Brushes a light kiss to the slope of his jaw. The skin dimples under his lips, fleetingly turning pale under the imprint of his mouth and Simon stares, enraptured. “I've got work waiting for me.”

He leaves with a stilted smile and not so much as a backwards glance. Johnny stares after him for a long moment. Conflicted. Teetering on his toes. He heaves a sigh as well, falling back to rest his weight on his heels, then slumping further backwards to settle into Kyle's chair instead of following him, blue eyes scrutinising when he turns them on Simon, burning like a propane flame.

“What?” Simon growls.

“Nothin’.”

“Spit it out, Soap.”

“Jus’… isnae like ye to be a coward, sir.”

Simon opens his mouth, but Johnny is quicker – and far more cutting.

“Ye asked.”

He shuts it again. A chastised dog tucking tail. Turns his face away to count the divot imperfections in the wall as if the likeness wasn’t apparent enough already. Listens to Johnny drum his fingers to a tune he vaguely recognises.

“He's a romantic at heart.”

He would've wanted it to play out differently, is left unsaid.

“Change the fucking subject.”

Johnny hums and does so, slipping right back into the tale he’d meant to divulge not ten minutes ago as if the time in-between had never passed at all.

[thewardenisonthecase]

when you look at the stars, I'll be there

Summary: For over ten years, Anneliese Cousland and Alistair have tried and failed to conceive. After much work, however, their son is born and Anneliese soons find herself struggling with being a mother. aka. the character study fic about anneliese and motherhood. A/N: idk anything about babies or being a mother btw so don't. come for me if smthg seems off. Word Count: 2,211

When she was young, Anneliese had been told that there was no moment like that when a mother first held her child. When she asked her sister-in-law, Oriana went into great detail at how full of love she felt when Oren came into the world. During her pregnancy, the other ladies in court all told her what wonderful and magical moment it was. 

But as Anneliese sat there, covered in sweat and bleeding, shaking from exhaustion, she wondered if something was wrong with her. When they placed the child in her arms, she could barely stand to look at him. 

For nine long months she had carried him inside of her, and she had hated almost every second of it. The constant nausea and vomiting that made her feel weak was bad enough. The fact that all those around her treated her like glass made it even worse. Soon, she no longer was allowed to carry a shield and days were no longer spent training in the courtyard. 

Embroidery did very little to sate her needs of stabbing. 

The worst part had been the nightmares. Especially during the later months, she had consistent nightmares where she was a Broodmother and from her, the slug like Children crawled out from her. She shivered even just remembering those. 

And now he was here, this long awaited child that had caused her so much suffering was in her arms. She had thought that his birth would make it all worth it, that it would all make sense. 

But when she looked at him, Anneliese felt nothing. It was the same nothing that she felt when she killed Howe. 

The memory of that day came back to the forefront of her mind. Howe, dead on the floor, his blood on her hands, her sword, her shield. His vile words echoing in her head, and she had been driven by the belief that his death would have meant more than this. That it would have felt something more than just another body in the pile she left behind wherever she went. 

She thought it would have given reason to all the pain she had endured but as she looked at his lifeless eyes, she felt nothing. 

“He’s so small.” Alistair’s voice brought her back to the present. Anneliese turned her head to look at him. He had a smile on his face and she swore she saw a tear on his eye. At least someone was happy. “I think he has your nose.” 

She wanted to say something but her only reply was a half smile, as the tiredness began to set in. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as her son began to settle down in her arms. 

“Have you thought of a name yet?” She heard Eamon ask. With a heavy sigh, she opened one eye and looked at Alistair. 

“Since he’s a boy, I believe we settled on Duncan.” He said, looking between the old man and the baby. 

It was almost ironic that their child be named after the man who put them on this path all those years ago. But it was a good name. 

“Yes.” She breathed out. “Duncan it is.”        

. 

Anneliese sat alone in the nursery, Duncan drinking from her breast. The topic of a wet nurse had been brought up but she insisted on feeding her child herself. It had taken her too long to have him, she wouldn’t let others raise her son. 

But as she sat there, her thoughts went to Morrigan.   

Morrigan all alone, pregnant, wandering Ferelden. Giving birth by herself and raising her son on her own. Did she feel scared? Did she ask for help? Did she feel the same as Anneliese did now? 

Did Morrigan doubt herself as Anneliese did?

She wondered where she was. A decade had passed, the boy would be all grown up by now. Who did he take after, she wondered. 

Anneliese looked down at Duncan, as he continued to drink. Alistair said he had her nose though it seemed to her too early to tell. He did have a mop of black hair on his head, much like hers.

She sighed heavily as she thought of the months that had passed. She had spent most of her time in this room, with him. She’d sing him to sleep, she’d feed and bathe him, and all this time spent together, she still waited for that moment. 

The moment she’d look at him and feel something.

Duncan cried endlessly. She would try to soothe him but it was never enough. She would hold him in her arms, trying to rock him but he wouldn’t stop crying. Then Alistair would hold him and he’d calm down in an instant. Anneliese wondered if there was something wrong with her. 

Sometimes, she almost resented him. She was always alone with him, and thought Alistair helped where he could, someone still had to lead the country. The few times she had met with others, the conversation had been solely about him. How’s the babe, is he doing well, he’s so big. She tired of it quickly. 

She missed her life before he was born, of days spent in the training yard. How long had it been since she last wielded a sword? 

But when she thought of handing Duncan to someone else, fear gnawed at her. He consumed her life and yet, she couldn’t stand to be separated from him. Did Oren not die the night his father wasn’t around? 

Still, she was tired, and only four months had passed. Would it be like this forever? 

Once he was done feeding and burping, she rocked him her arms, hoping he’d go to sleep. The peacefulness of the moment lay heavy on her eyes, and soon, she closed them. 

. 

“But I don’t want to get married!” Anneliese crossed her arms and pouted. She sat in front of the vanity, her tiny legs swinging from the chair as her mother brushed her hair. 

Eleanor huffed “You say that now, but then one day, you’ll be old and wrinkly and wondering where are you husband and children to keep you warm.”

“I can have my friends. And Buddy will be there.” 

She sighed. “I know, honey, but friends can leave and Buddy…well, it would just be safer if you had someone who would be with you. Like a husband.” She began braiding Anneliese’s hair. “I just want you to not be alone.” 

“I have you and father. I’ll never be alone.” 

“Your father and I…we won’t be here forever, love.”

Anneliese frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“I-” Eleanor did not finish her sentence, as an arrow was shot through her throat. Anneliese stood up from her chair, not a child anymore, as she saw her mother bleeding on the floor. 

Eleanor gasped, trying to say something but she couldn’t. 

“Mother!” She held her hand, tears streaming down her face. “Please, please. Mother, don’t leave me. I need you!” 

Her mother looked at her, eyes widened as life vanished from her body. Soon, it turned to ash into Anneliese’s hand, as she cried herself into waking up. 

.

The room was dark, with a gentle breeze flowing through the open window. Anneliese woke up with a gasp, and feeling an emptiness in her arms. 

Duncan was nowhere to be found. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked around. Seeing no sign of him, she ran out of the room. The halls were long and dark, but she knew her home well. She stopped first in the room, grabbing the sword she always kept underneath her bed and ran out again. 

She ignored the guards and servants that tried to talk to her. Soon, she found herself bursting into Alistair’s room. 

“Alistair! Duncan-” She said as she entered but soon the words died on her throat as she saw her husband, sitting on a chair, their son asleep on his chest. She placed her sword on the floor, as she breathed a sigh of relief, walking over to them. 

Alistair, who seemed half asleep, looked at her. “He was crying, so I decided to take him. He’s been out for hours now.” 

“He was crying?” She whispered. How had she not heard it? 

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t remember falling asleep. The fact that someone entered the nursery and took him without her noticing-

“You’re crying.” Alistair whispered, as he reached forward to hold her hand. “What happened?” 

She looked down, frowning as she touched her face. It was only then she had noticed the tears. “I had a bad dream and then I woke up and he was gone, and I…” She covered her face with her hands, trying not to sob as she took a deep breath. “Maker, what a mess.” 

“Hey…look at me. ” Alistair reached for her hand again, holding it in his. “He’s here, you’re here, I’m here. Everything’s alright.” 

She wiped the tears from her face with her other hand. “I just… Keep worrying something will happen if I’m not here.”

“He won’t be alone. There’ll always be someone watching over him.”

“It’s not that, it’s…. What if the wind blows too coldly, or what if wakes up scared, or what if someone takes him.” She looked at Alistair. “What if something happens and I’m not here?”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know that. Alistair, you took him from me and I didn’t wake up.” 

“I’m his father-”

“But what if you weren’t-”

“Anneliese.” He spoke in a slightly louder tone. “I worry too. All of the time. But you haven’t been resting well. That’s why you didn’t wake up. You spend every waking hour with him, and it's hurting you. Let others help.” 

She bit her lip. She knew he was right but he didn’t understand. Duncan was small, too small, and he did nothing besides eat, sleep and cry. It was her job to protect him, and if she couldn’t even do that…

His crying took her out of her thoughts, and soon, he was back in her arms. Alistair tried to protest, but she told him “I’ll put him to sleep and then…then we talk.” 

She marched out of the room, as she desperately tried to soothe him but it seemed an impossible task. Duncan always cried harder when she held him. 

In his room, she walked in circles, rocking him, singing to him but nothing worked. Soon, she too began to quietly cry. 

What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t calm her own child? Did he know his mother did not love him as she should? 

She didn’t know how to do this. There were others to help, yes, but none of them understood. She felt like a child again, lost and desperate and where was her own mother. 

Eleanor should have been there. She should have been there to hold her hand and guide her and tell her how to do this and how to fill the void inside of her. Duncan continued to cry. 

She walked towards the window, gulping down her own tears, and she looked to the sky, taking a deep breath. 

“When you look at the stars, I’ll be looking at them too.” Anneliese whispered to herself, remembering her mother’s words to her. “And it’ll be as if we’re looking at each other.” 

‘When you feel lonely and lost, just look to the stars, and I’ll be watching over you.’ 

Where are you now, mother, when I need you most? She thought to herself. 

Anneliese wondered if she could see her now. Anneliese was no longer the girl her mother had tried to protect - loss and constant battle had turned into a woman. When she was young, she thought her mother was over protective. She didn’t let Anneliese leave Highever, she didn’t want to put her in danger, she did not understand her fascination with blades and combat and stories of war and knights. 

But now, holding Duncan in her arms, she began to understand. All he had was Anneliese. Perhaps that’s how her mother always saw her, not as a young woman, but as the child she had to protect. 

As if by a miracle, Duncan ceased crying. She looked down at him, as he squirmed in the slightest before settling in her arms. 

She took a deep breath. “Nothing will ever hurt you.” She promised. “I won’t let anything hurt you, ever.” She kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry that I can’t be a good mother to you,” she wiped a tear off her cheek “but I promise to be there. I love you.” She said. 

Even if I can’t feel it, she thought to herself. 

Gently, she laid him on the crib, and stood over him, watching him sleep. Not too long after, Alistair walked into a room and went to her side, a hand on her back. 

“Go to sleep, love. I’ll stay with him.” 

She looked at Alistair, and saw the tiredness in his eyes. She nodded and said “I’ll go, just…give me a few more minutes.” 

He nodded, and the two stood there, watching their son sleep. 

.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[leoleolovesdc]

I feel like i’ve said this before but koncass would be fire if the transfem-kon pitch wasn’t rejeted and we could see both of them explore their gender + sexuality as a sapphic relationship

[froggos-are-superior]

I like when a character's true intentions are revealed and it's like hm. well that is actually contrary to everything you claim to stand for. are you aware of this.

[pinkflames]

They're married

[amimuu]

VTA AU LESHY AND MIYU (YELLOW CAT) DESIGNS! (+ DOODLES)

Boy oh boy!!! Leshycat be upon ye!!! While Narilamb is the focus of this au there WILL be a couple side-stories that focus on the little adventures of different characters, Leshy and Miyu being one of those cases.

But omg! Look at them!!!

(Pssss their color palettes compliment each other—WHO SAID THAT)

Ya’ll already know who Leshy is so I will be skipping his introduction, so meet Miyu! Likely the Cult’s best farmer who definitely doesn’t sleep a healthy amount of hours every night and totally not works overtime at the farm to avoid said activity! They were rescued along with their two little siblings after the farm they lived in was attacked by heretics, fanatics of a certain ex-god of chaos, which got Miyu to grow quite scared and resentful towards said god. The problem? They interact with him everyday…oh but don’t worry, it’s not like they know it’s him, so it should be fine, right?

*laughs in plot convenience*

Anyways DOODLE TIME!! (Under the cut)

(Leshycat mini-comic #1: First meeting)

Fellas is it gay to stick around a random farmer cat because their smell reminds you of home and safety and warmth and they have a nice voice. Is it gay to think all that

(Leshycat mini-comic #2: overtime)

They make me ILL. AND IM THE ONE CREATING THEIR STORYLINE SO LIKE. I need to throw them into the sun.

Anyways! Side plots will likely have little comics like this ones to go over the shenanigans of the side characters and silly stuff like that…I’m very excited to cover the fun lore I have planned for these two!!!

Until then :]

(He’s got that absolutely unhinged rizz)

[mchib]

‘We need more bipolar characters’ 

YOU COULDBNT EVEN HANDLE HIM

first of all i think this is common knowledge but he exhibits a complex and erratic personality which i think could potentially be interpreted as symptom of bipolar disorder - bipolar is a characterized by extreme mood swings that include emotional highs (mania) and lows (depression) - throughout the series and manga (i think the manga shows this better) mellos behavior fluctuates dramatically displaying periods of intense energy impulsivity and irritability which align with manic episodes,,. - in the manga mellos depicted as ambitious driven and sometimes reckless in his pursuit of catching Kira. he has a chronic case of impulsive decision making such as kidnapping poeple and hijacking a character showcases a lack of regard for consequences which is a hallmark trait of manic behavior - i also think mellos extreme emotional responses ranging from fits of rage to moments of despair mirror the intense mood swings characteristic of bipolar disorder. he also struggles with self esteem and identity also point towards bipolar disorder... individuals with bipolar disorder often experience fluctuations in self esteem oscillating between grandiosity during manic episodes and profound self doubt during depressive episodes - mellos constant comparison to near (who he he and only he sees as his rival) and his need to prove himself could stem from underlying insecurities exacerbated by his mood swings

him developing bipolar could totally be a normal trauma response from literally a lot of abuse that he has faced, most of the main characters from wammys house show no signs of like rebellion or outlandish behavior like he does but that doesnt necessarily mean that nothing happened and i think the author gave characters such as near and the other orphans way too much mental fortitude. bipolar can be developed at any age and its especially common between ages 15-19. not to mention other than it being genetic, theres a huge link between bipolar and childhood trauma. like imagine being groomed your whole childhood into this competitive environment with other 4 year olds to be the smartest toddler so u can substitute this crazy genius when he dies. and think of it like come on theres no chance all of these kids desperately wanted to be detectives when they grew up there was definitely like some sort of foul play. L is an exception obviously since the orphanage became abusive after he came and he was treated like a king basically while the other orphans mental state was completely disregarded because they were only brought in from several corners of the world solely to be his successor. in fact the first generation orphans were literally expected to kill themselves because of the pressure and A killing himself literally was not a shock at all to the orphanage in fact i suspect that a lot of the first generation orphans made to succeed L had a horrible mental state and also killed themselves which if you think about it B (which stood for backup) losing his mind was completely normal even if the way he went about challenging L was not. not to mention how he had to live with shinigami eyes but thats for another post lolol.,,, anyways yeah mello's behavior is actually justified when you think about how much of an abusive household he lived in even if its kind of obvious that the author disregarded coming up with an explanation for the orphans mental wellbeing and how it would have affected their adolescence except from the character of mello and even when they show mello they basically make him seem insane and watari like an angel . reading the la bb murder cases from mello's perspective really opened my eyes to like how it actually was in wammys house u can really understand it from his tone and stuff also with that one page hold on lemme find it

'but what if they could copy him? what if they could make a backup? that was us. L's children, gathered from all corners of the world. children gathered together, never told each other's names. but even for a genuis like watari, creating a fake L was easier said than done. even for near and i, who were said to be the closest to L... the more we tried to be like him, the closer we got, the farther away he was, like chasing a mirage. so i hardly need to tell you what it was like when wammy's house was first founded, when he was still experimenting. the first child, A, was unable to handle the pressure of living up to L and took his own life, and the second child, beyond birthday, was brilliand and deviant. B stood for Backup.'

'L was the goal of everyone in wammys house. everyone one of us wanted to surpass him. to step over him. to step on him. M did, N did and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal.'

sorry for my complete lack of spelling punctuation and grammar but i think i got my point across and also big thanks to @monards who helped me finish this draft by giving me the energy to continue and also encouraging my crippling death note addiction by feeding into it with questions and remarks like 'woah!' and 'eureka!'

[asteroid-fruitcup]

copying the way you type is my love language

[jovialknave]

There's something very interesting and very sad to me about the leadup to the cactus ring fight. Like, the way Scar's the one who gets nervous when he realizes Grians still yellow, the way Grian follows this by basically going "hey guys you should let me kill you both" and then tries the appeal to team loyalty when it doesnt work and, okay honestly I feel like the no kill pass thing could be a whole post of its own (undeniably still a betrayal no matter how you look at it but the choice of leaving it up to chance basically is interesting) but what it comes down to, I think, is that like.

In that moment, even if JUST for that moment, the partnership kind of falls apart, right? Like yeah, they come back together after. Bdubs dies, Scar lowers his sword and Grian says I cant kill you. They beg for a double victory and then insist on calling it that even when they have to fight anyway.

But even so there's that moment before. That moment where Scar gets nervous, where Grian tries to talk his way to winning, where Scar throws down the pass and then kills him.

The thing about the cactus ring fight is that it's still kind of a victory, at least as much as you can get in this situation. They go home together. They build the ring together, near Pizzas grave like Scar wanted. They remove their weapons and armor to make it as fair a fight as possible, and they declare it a double victory in spirit. They fight each other to the death, but they do it as friends, as partners.

In contrast, in that leadup with Bdubs, for a moment the partnership just, doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that when Scar first went red, the only thing he wanted was for Grian to stay. It doesn't matter that Grian stayed even after he died. It doesn't matter that they spent the entire game together up to that point.

In that moment, the only thing that matters to Scar is that Grian still has an extra life, and it makes him dangerous. The only thing that matters to Grian is that Scar has backup, and it makes him dangerous.

[akirayuri]

Himeno and himeaki: a rant

I've noticed a lot of people don't really like Himeno and one of the reasons being her apparent romantic attraction to Aki ( and also other than the fact that she almost slept with Denji ) and lmao I do get the hate to some degree but sometimes it feels lowkey forced. And that's why the relationship she shares with Aki kinda gets misinterpreted or it get's watered down to a 'oh he is hot I want to fuck him'

So I just kinda wanna yap my interpretation of their relationship cuz it's not just a typical one sided hetero relationship, it has a lot of layers to it.

For one, I do think what Himeno feels for Aki is more of a personification of her idea of being remembered and mourned. Until Aki came Himeno had a number of partners and subordinates simply dying on her, and it's a very prominent part of her character; watching the people she worked with die. As Kishibe says, Public safety devil hunters have to have a few screws loose and as I say it, you got to have thick skin. The idea of having a 'few screws loose ' including lacking empathy over time which means you don't mourn the death of your comrades.

But Himeno is normal. A country mouse sticking to the city mouse ( Aki ) for his company when she would rather live in the quiet countryside instead. Here there is a lot of parallel between Angel devil and Himeno as they both longed to stay by Aki's side which inevitably brought their doom.

And back to the topic of mourning, I think the idea of being forgotten, so replaceable and discarded into the past had scared Himeno. Deep down she was scared of being consumed by the oblivion that is the apathetic and replaceable management system of public safety. No one would remember her, no one would cry for her. When she probably cried over her drink late at night.

But then Aki happened.

What she loved was his empathy and the ability to feel so profoundly for other people. She wanted that. She carved that. He wore his heart on his sleeves and she was Hungry to take a bite of it. It is selfish, kind of twisted and so uncharacteristically none sexual of Himeno.

She loves Aki but I think it's more of a, "cry me a river and I will gladly hang myself for you" kind. Her tendency to have sex with anything that moves has no effect on her relationship with Aki nor the feelings she feels for him. It's beyond that.

Though I do think her habit of having sex with almost everyone is more of a bad coping mechanism than anything. Just like Aki, she didn't get to process her grief correctly. And unlike Aki, she can't cry.

Here is a bit of parallel she has with Denji of all people with their hypersexuality and the questionable methods of having and viewing sex. Also in that scene when she makes a deal with Denji with the, "you take Makima and I take Aki". For both of them, their person of affection was someone untenable and unreachable, someone who probably didn't return their feelings.

But what Himeno was wrong about Aki not Loving her back.

Yeah maybe he doesn't love her like the way she wanted him to love. He never viewed her as a lover or someone he can have sex with ( I do have a doubt they must've hooked up at some point or Himeno at least tried something very dubious consent with Aki at some point. ). But Aki cared. And He cared deeply. So much so Himeno basically starts to haunt the narrative from this point on lol.

I don't really hate Himeno, far from it. She's so interesting I would love to put her under a microscope and analysis from where that wrecky thought process of her comes from. She's my yaoi girl. What a little freak.

Their relationship is so Yuri coded I don't even count them as a straight ship lmao

But besides anything, my favourite genre of himeaki is bisexual disaster Himeno × gay/asexual Aki queer platonic partners from hell.

[chickenburgergmod]

watch out for that overhead

[angelheartzz]

HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH!!

Wishing all of my fellow black peoples a happy BHM and a very happy year! Erasure is futile <3

[bokudara5777]

toji fushiguro my favorite stuffed animal who's eyes I clear of fuzz >.<

[epicnex]

I forgat how hard it is to draw Zim's head from the back but hey he isnt torturing her with nonstop talking...atleast for now

Also this is from the last post cause some of yall were worried that my gurl needs help welll nuh uh buster shes okaaaaay😒

[daydreamalley]

The fact that there’s only one time in Chuuya’s life that Corruption was activated (outside of the lab) where Dazai wasn’t there in the aftermath and that was when Chuuya was just 7 years old and left in the crater of the explosion he created, in so much pain and with gravity probably still fluctuating around him. Nothing but complete destruction, hell on earth, and suffering for a seven-year-old child.

Chuuya is never in good shape after he uses Corruption, and I imagine he wasn’t in good shape after he used the full force of Arahabaki (and by used I mean when it was forced out of him due to Rimbaud). And like, we’ve seen Chuuya close Verlaine’s gate when he defeated the Beast of Guivre, and it left Verlaine close to death (though I also imagine that’s in part due to the fact Verlaine isn’t really human), and we also saw earlier on in Storm Bringer when Verlaine opened Corruption for only a second and then closed the gate that Chuuya was in agony, left to suffer in the hell of what was left of the street he’d been on. 

That scene of Chuuya lying on the ground in what used to be an alleyway in excruciating pain is already hard to read, and he’s 16 then (still so young) but at least Dazai still comes (even though he doesn’t technically have to) and nullifies the aftershocks of Chuuya’s ability that are causing him so much pain. Causing him to suffer.

But imagine Chuuya at 7 years old, imagine how small that is, probably in nothing more than a hospital gown, lying in the rubble of the giant crater that will one day become Suribachi city, experiencing all that suffering and probably more. He’s completely alone in the hell of his own ability’s destruction, in unimaginable pain. His frail body that’s been in a lab for so long probably spasming with the pain as he feels the sun for the first time in who knows how long. And there was no one to hold him or catch him or for him to fall into. No one’s lap to rest his head on. No one to hoist him onto their shoulders and carry him away from the carnage. No one to nullify the pain he was in. No one to comfort him or remind him who he was.

What did he probably have to do when he woke up? Wait until he had enough strength to sit up, wait until the dizziness abated enough for him to stand, and through the disorientation walk on his own two feet despite the pain. He’d been through plenty of it after all, even if he couldn’t remember why, his body remembered.

He’d have to piece together any scraps of memory he had. His name probably came first. Then the horrific feeling of the power inside him and that he was probably responsible for the hellscape he was trying to navigate, cutting and scraping his bare feet in the crater of what was.  

Find the corpse of some military personnel that’d been killed in the explosion Arahabaki had caused, far enough away he hadn’t been completely obliterated, and at least steal some of his uniform to wear, though it was much too big for his skinny 7-year-old frame. And the shoes wouldn’t do him any good, they’d just fall off, the jacket already kept slipping off his shoulder.

And then, in that moment, he was perhaps the loneliest person in the world. Not later, when he was 16 and had someone to catch him and someone had just attempted to sacrifice himself for Chuuya. No, then he had a semblance of a family. But when he was 7, that was when he was just alone, and in pain, with no one to reassure him that everything was alright, that nothing was his fault. That his destructive power didn’t make him less human. If anything, he was probably lucky no one with bad intentions found him. 

And then who knows how long later, he’d wandered far enough away from the wreckage, under a bridge where a couple of other kids around his age found him. Still without shoes and in a military uniform far too large for him. Filthy and starving, but having the strength, having the courage to ask a kid “what’s that square thing?” “Tell me what that square thing is in your hand. Right now.” Last ditch effort of demanding, because somehow he still had a strong will. And the kid was just holding a slice of bread. Chuuya just wanted to know if he could eat it. 

Like, can we just talk about the tragedy of that? How truly sad it is that when Chuuya asked “what’s that square thing” and the answer was just bread. Shirase just explaining“I was holding a slice of bread,” and then having to show him that it was edible. Like, my god. And then Chuuya just… faints, on the spot “like he was out of batteries,” as Shirase describes. Finally all his energy and willpower to survive depleted in this moment of hopeful safety. Shirase also says Chuuya looked half dead he was so skinny.

But at least Chuuya had finally found some people who’d given him some food and water. At least Shirase decided to take him to some shelter, even if it was in the sewers. He finally had people, even if they weren’t well off, they had something. Finally he wasn’t alone. And when he learned he had something to offer them in return in the form of his ability? Well, of course he was going to use it to help them.

Also, just, his first memory was of being alone and in pain. Where he is now may not be perfect, but thank god he’s come such a long way and has people and a home and food and luxuries. But like, he just has to live with that every day.

Oh, and mind you, all this was happening to Chuuya close to the end/in the aftermath of the war, which was already a bad time for people, as Murase talks about. He says “But it was the end of the war, and there were supply shortages everywhere you went. Some kids from the Settlement appeared out of nowhere and tried to sneak inside to steal some food.” So on top of Chuuya’s personal struggles, there were shortages of supplies everywhere, bad enough that kids were trying to sneak into military facilities for food. 

So, yeah, this actually massively got away from me, into the territory of hcs and back out again. But like, every time we see Chuuya use Corruption Dazai is around, because he really has to be. And I love that. But just thinking about the one time where Dazai wasn’t around after the full effects of Chuuya’s ability and how that was probably the worst time and Chuuya was only 7 and alone and woke up in the middle of essentially hell on earth with like no memories. It makes me want to scream, and that’s why I wrote this. And then I reread the part in SB where Shirase explains how he met Chuuya and just got even sadder. Fun times fun times.