#[ read-more'd for length ]

[radioiaci]

@cannibalxroses ⧐ [ hand & knuckles] [ lingering ] [goodbye] 𝑫𝑰𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑬.

He was not always so obtuse.

Being aware of her sadness that swam around in her features and words every time they spoke of his absence and his delayed return to her specifically, Alastor had done his best to avoid the topic as much as possible. Danced around it at every opportunity to keep her face from falling in the predictable way that he knew it would. Though he knew the seven-year gap had been difficult, a part of him resented how often he needed to tip-toe around the reality of it. She had not been the one to need to be pulled away from everything she had known. He had the occasional selfish thought. Be upset for him, not at him.

But he didn't have the heart to stay bothered. All he wanted to do was to somehow make it better, and yet he struggled with knowing how. He could make no promises, could not say with all honesty that it would never happen again. And now that they were bonded in such a way - starting as a rumor or not - he knew that she was that much more invested in his comings and goings; grew bitter every time he had to pick up and leave and handle hotel business or wrap himself up in his work for days at a time.

That was why he'd allowed Rosie to ensnare him into her home for three days. The longest span of time that he knew he could be absent from the hotel before someone noticed or kicked up a fuss about it. Or worse, tried to find him. This was not a part of himself that he had intent on sharing. The open non-secret about them being married was one thing. The fact that he would hide away in her bed with her hands in his hair as he sought solace in her arms and against her body was quite another. No doubt that could be used against him. It was toeing the line enough to say anything about their relationship at all.

And thus all good things came to an end. Not permanently - but for now. As the morning seeped through the windows and told him that the third night was quite over and done with, the stark reality of day coming to grasp him to entangle him once again - he found himself sat up in her bed as she dozed lightly. Unclothed from the waist up, he'd spent a better part of the night before simply basking in the attention she offered him and him to her in turn. But now there was a chill where there'd been warmth before, and as he gazed down at her, he felt the distinct weight of regret.

Not for anything that they had done, but for the things he still could not do.

Reaching over, Alastor sought out her hand, his touch soft and delicate to try and keep her unawares and well protected in the midst of her sleep (though deep down, he knew it was futile and she would know as soon as they touched). He brought it up to himself to press lips gently to the back of it, lingering and sensual in his movements. Her pale flesh was always so delicate and soft. Always a perfect canvas to paint red with the shared blood between them - but on this morning, he had no desire for that. Just to lavish her with apologetic kisses, trying to keep the sound of his own static to a bare minimum. He did not want to wake her.

Minutes ticked by and he knew that he was taking too long. The longer he stalled, the more likely it would be that she would wake. The harder it would be for him to again get up and go. But he had to. There was no choice.

His Deal would not be circumvented for anyone.

A final kiss was pressed to the palm of her hand before he was lightly setting it back down again. If she'd woken at any point, then it was likely she was just feigning sleep. And that was just as well.

Eventually, he had to shift to remove himself from the sheets, though his gaze lingered on her for longer than he felt was strictly necessary.

But a lot of what he did with her was not strictly necessary.

It was out of want. He wanted her. In more ways than he knew what to do with.

Then it grew lighter outside - and Alastor's mood grew darker. He leaned, reaching to lightly brush some hair from Rosie's face before laying another kiss to her temple. A soft, caring farewell.

Before he seeped into shadow and off once again. He would see her soon.

Perhaps, one day, she would forgive him.

[mmxstrangers]

Starter for @goodoldstrength​​

Sweet relief.

Among rocks and rubble laid the being, freshly labeled a Maverick and sought after by the Hunters after his unfortunate outburst earlier. He couldn’t remember too many clear details - the faces he saw were blurry, and the bright lights blinded him. All the “Maverick” could recall was a single, overpowering desire that drove him deep into these tunnels in the first place.

After somehow managing to evade the Maverick Hunters, he ran straight into the less-maintained part of town. There was an intimidatingly tall overpass located over the dilapidated buildings and failed projects. It was practically a breeding ground for unsavory activities, so irregulars were often sighted in the area. The being’s intentions were anything but malicious; the moment he saw stairs leading underground, he practically jumped down and charged through it.

He ran as fast as his legs would allow. He wanted to get away from the pain as much as possible - anything to escape the torture of the surface. Still overwhelmed and firing off on all cylinders, the Maverick kept driving himself deeper into the abandoned subway system. In his panic he refused to stop, only doing so when he suddenly collapsed and couldn’t move anymore.

His systems were overheating. Internal readings were screaming at him and threatening to involuntarily shut down. Vents needed to breathe and cycle out the thermal energy he produced. There would be no more running for now.

Thankfully, the oppressive strength of the daylight could not reach him here. The cool ground provided a wonderful heat sink for him, and he could catch his breath knowing that he was probably hidden from the Hunters. The being slowly came down from his overstimulation, deep breaths of cold air helping to stabilize faster. Eventually, he could sit up and look around himself.

Despite his sensitivity to brightness, he was not built with night vision. A glow illuminated from his head-fins and eyes, which helped with discerning surfaces, but he couldn’t see beyond his immediate vicinity. While he wasn’t complaining in any capacity, unease was starting to set back in.

However, the silence was interrupted by the approaching sound of hydraulics and footsteps, making the Reploid turn his head.

[erabundus]

he's  staring  at  the  ceiling  —  at  that  same  spiderweb-crack  he  used  to  drill  into  with  his  eyes  FOUR  YEARS  ago.  back  when  he  lost  everything.  back  when  even  finding  the  strength  to  get  out  of  bed  (  eat,  drink,  exist  in  any  capacity  beyond  some  sad  lichen  growing  on  a  rock  )  felt  so  far  beyond  his  capabilities,  there  was  hardly  any  point  in  TRYING.  minutes,  hours,  days  trickling  by  at  a  crawl  —  marked  only  by  the  shadows  in  his  room  growing,  shrinking  and  growing  again.  the  only  respite  from  his  stupor  were  the  occasional  chimes  of  his  phone.  like  a  bell,  ringing  to  pull  him  back  to  awareness  —  respond  to  farrow.  get  out  of  bed.  don't  make  them  worry.  how  long  has  it  been  since  you  visited  niwa  at  the  hospital?

he  thought  he  was  past  that.  he  thought  he  was  getting  BETTER  —  maybe  almost  happy,  even  if  only  for  fleeting  moments.  he  was  talking  to  ( some of ) his  family  again.  niwa  was  back.  his  career  was  gaining  traction.  somehow,  he  even  found  a  boyfriend  who  slotted  PERFECTLY  into  this  tangled,  messy  web  of  eccentrics  and  intermittent  chaos. 

yet  despite  all  odds,  he  finds  himself  HERE  AGAIN.  locked  away  (  hiding  )  in  his  apartment,  staring  at  that  same  fucking  crack  on  the  ceiling  that  hasn't  changed  —  like  some  unsightly  scar  on  room  and  psyche  alike.  maybe  his  mother  was  right  to  not  want  him;  despite  what  anyone  else  might  say  to  the  contrary,  his  life  has  surely  caused  more  harm  than  good.  ren  knows  he  has  a  peculiar  habit  of  trying  to  take  the  BLAME  for  most  things,  and  that  it's  no  doubt  a  source  of  endless  FRUSTRATION  for  those  overly  sympathetic  souls  who  take  it  upon  themselves  to  unravel  his  tangled  thoughts  —  a  kindness  he  does  not  necessarily  deserve,  but  receives  nonetheless.  it's  easier  to  see  the  world  in  shades  of  black  and  white;  to  shoulder  the  guilt  for  nothing  or  everything.  if  it's  his  fault,  he's  obligated  to  fix  it.  if  it  isn't  his  fault,  he  doesn't  have  to  get  involved.  this  particular  instance  is  most  definitely  ren's  fault  —  yet  he  has  no  way  of  rectifying  the  issue,  nothing  to  do  beyond  sit  and  wait  and  hope  for  the  best ...  all  the  while  this  spun  sugar-fragile  happiness  he's  so  painstakingly  built  for  himself  DISSOLVES  into  nothing.

he  should  have  kept  his  mouth  shut.  he  shouldn't  have  gotten  involved.  he  never  should  have  been  born  at  all.

it's  not  self-pity;  it's  an  objective  fact.  he  shouldn't  even  be  here  —  it's  only  by  DUMB  LUCK  that  he  wasn't  swept  up  in  the  disaster  that  destroyed  tatarasuna.  (  and  along  with  it,  nearly  every  single  person  in  this  world  that  he  loved.  )  perhaps  that's  the  problem;  he  isn't  meant  to  exist  —  and  the  UNIVERSE  is  punishing  him  for  his  continued acts of  defiance  by  wreaking  havoc  on  the  lives  of  those  he  meets.  as  if  he's  a  black  cat,  crossing  their  paths  with  a  curse  in  tow.

maybe ... it's better if he just stays INSIDE.

for everyone's sake.

[thinkaboutmeff7au]

flash time 115

(1997.)

I'm really good at getting lost in this place. I was supposed to go meet up with the other 2nds, but I might have gotten off on the wrong floor and taken a wrong turn. And I think I wandered through a security door with another group that I don't actually have access to...

Anyway, there's a huge break room that has a couple windows on the side at the corner, and it's full of Turks. It must be their break room...I slow down and peer through the window from the corner, just out of sight.

The bald one with sunglasses on is Rude. I've seen him around. He's standing in the corner looking at his watch. Then, there's Cissnei having coffee and a muffin at the table. Zack always says hi to her whenever he sees her. The blonde girl with the ponytail I've never seen, nor the guy with dark hair and glasses.

I hear footsteps down the hall. I quickly slip out of sight. Why am I doing this? I should be getting back to my station, but...

"'Sup, bitch," I hear someone say. It's a woman's voice with a gritty tone. It must be the blonde girl.

"Huh? Are you talking to me?" I recognize that voice, though. It's Reno, the red haired guy who always wears his shirt half unbuttoned.

The woman clicks her tongue. "Note to self, Reno responds to 'bitch' as predicted."

"Watch it, you're barely out of training," Reno says. "Tseng will have your ass...hey! Hey what's that look for?!"

A different voice giggles. "Sorry, I don't think Tseng will back you up on that." It's Cissnei. "He's got bigger fish to fry."

"'Sides, when did you become a rat? Little teacher's pet?" the other woman chides. "Hey, I can get you some concealer for those hickeys. Wall Market last night?"

"Dude! Come on!"

I take my chances and peer back around the corner through the window. Rude has popped his collar up, and the blonde woman has kicked back in her chair with a wry, cocky grin. "Hey man, no shame. I can help you touch up your roots while we're at it."

"Shotgun!" Reno hisses.

She puts her hands up. "I'm a bottle blonde, I'll admit it. I'll fix you right up."

Reno's fists are shaking, but Rude looks up. "Reno," he says.

This makes him back down, but only a little. "How the fuck do you know so much?" he snarls.

The other guy at the table, the one with the glasses, looks up from his magazine. "Really?" he remarks.

"Are you stupid? That's our thing," Shotgun says, leaning forward. "We gotta know stuff. What better place to start than in our own circle?"

"You don't have to stalk me!" Reno exclaims. "All right, what else do you know? Not about me, either! How about, uh..."

Cissnei perks in the middle of a bite of her muffin. "How about SOLIDER?" she says, then swallows. "It's easy to start with, especially if you shadow Tseng. He's eyes for their Director."

"Okay, okay." Shotgun tilts her head. "So 1st-class Fair--"

My heart jumps. I can't leave now. The small town gossip instinct roots me in place.

Reno cuts her off. "That's too easy, dude just got busted for crushing Hojo's nose."

"Okay, fine!" she huffs. "1st-class Hewley tends the community garden down in Sector 4. He's there about 3 times a week in the spring and summer. He also sits in for a jazz trio that plays above the plate."

"What instrument does he play?" Rude quizzes.

"Drums."

"Nice work."

Reno paces around her. "Okay, who else? There are more SOLDIER than that--more 1sts, even. That's still easy picking though, they're like celebrities in their own right--"

"1st-class Rhapsodos stashes his weed in Tseng's locker."

"Too easy," Reno says, albeit with a snort. "He complains about that pretty loudly when it happens."

Shotgun rolls her fingers on the table. "Okay...he's...in a gay relationship with 1st-class Cetra?"

Everyone seems to clear their throat at the same time. The guy reading a magazine pushes up his glasses and taps the side of his nose. "Don't be hasty," he mutters.

"Huh? What do you mean, they're not dating? I saw them...they're always fucking leaving together, and looking at each other with those huge goo goo mako eyes. Hell, I caught them coming out of the 1sts training room and Rhapsodos was still buttoning up his pants!"

"Just because they're fucking, doesn't mean they're together," Reno says.

"What?!"

"Don't," Cissnei says with a wave of her hand. "It's not worth it."

Shotgun rolls her eyes. "Well, if you know all that, then you probably know that he's adopted, too."

"Yup," Reno says. "He was 15 when Jenova Cetra swept him up with her three other kids. They're still down in Sector 2."

"No," Shotgun corrects, "I'm talking about Rhapsodos."

All the Turks stop to stare at her.

"What?" Cissnei asks. "Really?"

She appears to have stumped them, and she knows it, leaning back in her seat. "Oooh!" she says. "Gotcha!"

"Fuckin' Banora apple juice poster boy is adopted? Fuck!" Reno shakes his head. "How the hell...and he still got all that money for it? Lucky bastard..."

"That's enough," Tseng says appearing in the doorway, and everyone jerks back, startled, including me. "You were so busy gabbing that you didn't notice a 2nd was eavesdropping."

Uh-oh. I stumble backwards, and hustle around the corner. My heart pounds as I find the emergency stairway and race down it, ignoring the blue in the corners of my vision. Hopefully Zack can give me a pass so I don't get reprimanded...

(C.)

epilogue:

"Apologies, sir," Cissnei said, standing up and dusting off her lap. "We were waiting for you to arrive..."

Tseng shook his head and set his attention to Shotgun instead. "Rhapsodos isn't privy to that, so keep it to yourself," he advised. "They're his foster parents. He gets a cut of inheritance because of the little bit of acting he did as a child."

"A cut?!" Reno exclaimed. "You're telling me he's rolling in cash and that's only a cut?!"

Tseng glanced over to Reno with a side eye and wrinkled his nose. "Yes. You should really limit your...less savory life choices to your weekends."

"What about Strife?" Rude asked. "The eavesdropper."

"I'll speak with him later," he replied, then narrowed his eyes at everyone. "You all have your assignments. Shotgun is with me today. Dismissed."

As the room disbursed, Reno hung back with Rude. "You knew there was someone listening?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I'm on SOLDIER training duty. Hopefully Tseng will understand that's punishment enough."

Reno snorted. "Or front desk."

"Don't tell Elena that."

[dunerover]

∘˙○˚.• I read on an RP discussion forum that RP-related writer's block is often caused by not having your character tied down very well. So! I wrote down some core character motivations and aspects for Zandi as I slooowly try to reduce my writer's block by figuring out what questions about him I haven't answered. I think knowing how Zandi is supposed to work helps my partners figure out what to do with him, too, so I'm sharing it (read more'd for length)!:

Zandi grew up and lived in a world where he believed he needed someone who would step in and do something, no matter who didn't like it or what would be done to that someone if they got in the way—and that person didn't exist. Bad actors got away with cruelty, vulnerable people were exploited by the powerful, and problems got buried and blamed instead of solved. And that trauma makes him lash out, yes; he's often petulant at best and outright destructive at worst when something or someone reminds him of it. But Zandi also sees the person he was and the ones he loved in the eyes of people all over. He can be that "someone who does something", now. So, he is.

He has a lot of regrets about things he didn't do and letting things he didn't like slide to keep the peace or accomplish something bigger—even and especially the little things. Now that he's at the ground zero of his life despite doing that, Zandi can't bring himself to mind his own business or hold back anymore, for better or worse.

Despite and because of everything, Zandi just likes people in general. To him, people are some of the most colorful, exciting things on the planet. He likes learning about them, they make him happy, and he hates seeing them suffer.

Zandi is angry. I think he usually wears his "damage" well, so to speak, so it's usually hard to see; he's friendly, he's fun. But his fear, his resentment, his rage over what was done to him and his own is stronger than he likes to acknowledge. It fuels his most destructive behavior, no matter how much he wants to believe the past doesn't matter to him anymore.

Zandi is a daredevil—and he's in overdrive to cope with what happened to him. Zandi was always adventurous and daring by nature, but the extent to which he'll risk his own life and health just for the sensation of it is almost cartoonish now. As far as he's concerned, fear and pain are just as much luxuries of the living as love and pleasure —because there was a time where he couldn't feel anything. He wants to get as far away from that as possible.

[deliciouskeys]

im gonna be real i dont know who you are but i just saw a 10 meter long, un-read more'd callout post about you over seemingly nothing? figured id send some goodwill through an anon to a fellow comic disliking butchlander. dont let the discourse get you down xoxo

Thanks Anon, I wish I didn’t still get asks about this but I guess the readmore has still not been applied and it continues to catch people’s eye as they scroll past it for 5 minutes, especially in the slower moving tags. And I have to assume that’s what they want if they haven’t fixed it by this point. It is what it is. Ultimately, I can’t control what someone else thinks or writes about me. I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt— I assume many people who don’t know me who see a post that length “about me” don’t read it and assume I must have done at least one horrific thing. But nothing’s blocked or deleted for anyone who is morbidly curious enough to go back and read through what was actually said by me and by them on any post, at any point. My takeaway is: Don’t talk to strangers online. Even if they approached you first, offering to ‘help’ field diamond scat anon asks you said you didn’t want to receive anymore. (This admittedly seems more obvious in retrospect).

Anyway, I’d much rather spend my finite fandom time on actual fandom, Kinktober etc. If you’re newish to butchlander, welcome, if we just never crossed paths, nice to tumblr-meet you.

[hegrowings]

like this & I'll make a room inspired by your muse / blog in sims ! || accepting

for @oflostinfound !! oh my god, this was SO MUCH FUN to do ! I love clutter and there was so much I wanted to use. at first it was really only Eath's space, but as I was going through I found some stuff I tried to incorporate for Hax. not going to lie, I read through your notes page and based a lot off that ! but I got so many cute ideas as I was decorating the room, so I'm gonna share some of my favorite details ! [read more'd for length !]

first we have the island. that book pedestal fit perfectly within the cabinet so I made Eath a little area to blend her own teas. then there's some fabric, fashion magazines, and other supplies for Hax to tailor with, as well as a little craft cart. I also added a cookie jar; I liked that it had the lid off, I had this cute idea that it was the "hard-at-work" cookie jar, there for idle snacking while Eath or Hax were working on something at the island. I even included a tray of fresh baked cookies on top of the oven to keep it filled !

I wanted lots of kitchen clutter, to make it feel used and lived in. I tried to use every teapot I could find because I feel like Eath might be the person to have teapots for specific moods or occasions. but there's also storage, snacks, dishware, etc. please imagine the postcards are actually selfies of Hax and photos of them with Eath. Hax also has a little basket with stuff for athletics by the backdoor.

then, on the side is more stuff for gardening and creating tea blends. I liked the idea of a woodstove to keep the kitchen warm and dry to better preserve home grown ingredients. like I said, most of the space was based around Eath, but I tried to sneak in some Hax there at the end. owo;

I also added a little easter egg referencing your recent event for Eath. :3 also, below are screenshots with lights ! I actually took those first and then replaced them with smaller lights to get photos of the decorations without them in the way, so the lighting is different.

[fictionkinfessions]

THESE ARE ALL THE HETALIA RACIST SOURCE ASK RESPONSES. IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION REPLY OR REBLOG THIS POST. IM NOT POSTING ANY MORE ASK RESPONSE ABOUT THIS

I'M SHOVING THEM ALL INTO ONE POST BECAUSE YOU ALL HAVE A TERRIBLE HABIT OF READING PAST EACH OTHER AND PLAYING TELEPHONE GAME. NOT ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT BECAUSE THEY GET PARTITIONED ON ON THE QUEUE. ANYWAYS.

THANKS FOR UDNERSTANDING.

READ MORE'D DUE TO LENGTH. CAPSLOCK CRUISE CONTRol deactivate.

Anonymous asked:

Some of y'all need to remember that it is not, in fact, morally wrong for people to make fanworks of your kin that you don't like. I'm not talking about legitimately problematic stuff, I'm talking about totally normal ships and interpretations you don't like. You don't get to be the fandom police, suck it up and just block people and tags that make you uncomfortable like the rest of us

Anonymous asked:

guys you can just… choose to not talk about certain kintypes, esp if you know they are from something harmful 😭 like, sure, on here it’s fine, that’s what the blog is for! but it supremely sucks seeing people defend their sources from criticism when the criticism genuinely is ‘this has so much racism/antisemitism/ableism/etc.’ i have kintypes from harmful media, i get it! i just… don’t talk about them, or if i DO i recognize the harm the media has caused, and boost the voices of those it affects. also, on this point: no one ever needs to feel guilty for kinning from smth - esp spiritual kin or someone who does not control it! just be understanding of the harm the Media does, and be respectful - thats it. idk, critical thinking and respecting others is so important.

Anonymous asked:

@ post/703018736627679232 - Would you rather someone be upfront about it on my list so you can block them and move on or befriend them not knowing and then only learn it way into a friendship? I've had the latter happen before as someone who kins from a problematic source (not Hetalia), which is why I mention it upfront.

Anonymous asked:

cannot believe we are actively having hetalia discourse in 2022. don't you guys have jobs

Anonymous asked:

Respectfully, it is not the responsibility of everyone else to suppress themselves when it comes to catering to some random individual's personal discomforts. It's up to you to curate your own online experience.

Block users! Block more tags (such as # racism cw)! Don't interact with content that bothers you! Nobody is forcing you to read, reply to, or send in your own asks about sources that are triggering to you.

Also, being kin doesn't mean you support or enjoy your source's creative origins, writing, or canon at all, obviously. Identity on this level is not a moral issue, it's just a fact of being.

Anonymous asked:

Boy some of y'all are missing the point of that guy's ask about Hetalia kins. The "stop kinning" thing might've been poor wording because yeah, most people can't simply not kin anymore, but you can absolutely stop engaging with the source, stop supporting it, not list your kintypes publicly.. I kin from Hetalia too and I simply don't talk about it publicly. I actually started keeping a diary where I write about my problematic sources and kins when I get the urge to talk about it. It's helped a lot more than I thought it would, honestly. Maybe some of y'all should try that too?

Anonymous asked:

Hmmm MPC, if it’s okay, could you add on to my Hetalia ask (the one signed from a biracial POC) the addition that the anon I think was very out of line was the one who claimed only the English dub was racist, however, I was already seeing people say this before that ask, so don’t think those comments are only directed at them?

(I felt a little bad about singling someone out, but the more I think about it, I really do need to clarify that. Sorry for a SECOND discourse ask now!)

Anonymous asked:

Okay sorry to add to the discourse but I think some people are seriously conflating “kins a character from a show” to “enjoys the show.” To me, someone liking Hetalia is one of the biggest red flags, but idk why we’re acting like kintypes can be helped. They can SOMETIMES be suppressed healthily, but not always!

I totally get if you don’t want to interact with Hetaliakin. I’m not sure I could comfortably, tbh. But people keep saying stuff like “how dare you ignore the racism in that show and act like nothing is wrong with it,” when I don’t think a single person defending the ‘kin from it has said anything like that. -A mixed POC

Anonymous asked:

wrt 703034476015566848 - yes, there was someone in the replies of one of the (many) hetalia posts blaming you for their being triggered because the post was "untagged" … even though if you use blacklist properly it blocks any post with the blocked word (in this case "hetalia") even if its untagged, so its just kind of on them and i dont like seeing people put responsibility on strangers for their own caretaking lmao. sorry if commenting on it was out of place though.

Anonymous asked:

Hetalia discussion: idk why this is a discussion at all. It's between a kin identity and a history of oppression and genocide and real people's trauma and discomfort. Genuinely how is this discourse. What's more important.

[twinfoxtails]

Modern AU: Sexism

Because it wouldn’t be Eri without a bit of sexism problems, huh.

As many might know, Modern Eri’s a streamer who works as a VTuber, under the name ‘Fuyuki Shirakami’, a kitsune girl who does... well, VTuber things. Sing, dance, play games, talk to people... and the occasional ASMR streams. People tend to love ‘Fuyuki’ a lot and she does have lots of subscribers on YouTube.

Unfortunately, aside from getting harassed by people on social media by the vocal minority including unwanted lewd fan-mail, he sometimes gets passing comments of sexism on his streams as well, most prominently on hard games like Celeste, Cuphead, and the like. Occasionally, he does get insults that ‘girls can’t play video games so of course she can’t clear this certain level’ or ‘go back to playing Animal Crossing like how you normally do’.

He also gets comments such as ‘You’re only popular because you’re a cute girl’.

Even if Eri is a boy in real life, it was never his intention of wanting to sell his stream persona as a ‘girl’ in any way. He built his channel to be a place where people could get comfortable, laugh, and enjoy what he’s doing. There’s no doubt people follow him just because Fuyuki’s a girl, but he doesn’t want to sell it like a shallow selling point.

It’s also because that he presents himself as a girl that he feels like he’s pressured to do well. He’s stressed out that if he does badly, it gives those vocal minority to go ‘Haha you see, girl bad, they can’t play skill-dependent video games’ that he’s obliged to feel like he HAS to do good. 

While he knows most of his audience just liked Fuyuki for who she is, Eri also feels like he’s partly representing the girls to not let them down, even if he’s a boy himself.

Of course, there’s his other co-workers who are MUCH better gamers than him, but he’s still pressured regardless when he doesn’t provide entertaining gameplay like he’s letting his viewers down, and there’s the feeling of ‘Fuyuki’ requiring to prove herself in the game to be taken seriously.

[magnificentmuses]

“Eri’s missing and it’s my job to find him! Let’s go through the clues one by one. The smartest detective is on the case!” Cirno, you’re not a detective...and he isn’t missing, he’s just imperson-

”Let’s start!”

“#1: The person he’s impersonating is female,”

“Well, I am a female! I think!”

“#2: The person smells nice,”

“I smell amazing, yup!”

“#3: The person is actually pretty well-known!”

”I’m the strongest fairy, I’m super famous,”

“#4: The person is pro,”

”I’m the pro-est fairy,”

“#5: The person has something white in her clothes,”

”The shirt beneath my dress, of course!”

“#6: It isn’t a NSFW blog, your pants are safe,”

”This isn’t a NSFW blog! Whatever the heck that means.”

“#7: Look not for their writing style, but for their behavior on certain topics!”

”My...writing...style? What?”

“#8: The person he’s impersonating is good in interrogation as well! Be sure to ask around!”

”I’m a detective so I’m a pretty mean interrogatorer!”

“#9: The person he’s impersonating is sociable,”

”I love talking to people!”

“#10: That person is right under your nose this entire time!”

”Well I guess I am pretty small, so this fits...”

“#11: Try throwing a potato to the person you suspect. That might work. Maybe.”

”I don’t get this one.”

“#12: One of the people who has been accused of being Eri is actually right!”

”I am right...right handed!”

“#13: It’s definitely not Sakuya,”

”I’m not Sakuya!”

“#14: It’s prooobably not Reimu. Probably,”

”Or Reimu!”

“#15: It might not be Chen either.”

“And I don’t think I’m Chen...”

“Am...am I Eri...?”

[spiiderwiick]

Compared to the first day, in which they had a clown chomp on their hand, today had gone much smoother. They’d had the idea to set up a little blanket fort for her and later made many home-made circus tent jokes to themself. Patches had taken well to it and mostly remained in there, much like a cat hiding under a bed in a new home.

Wick had learned quickly that Patches had a thing about the idea of magic. She seemed genuinely unsettled by it. They found that odd given how clearly magic she was with her rainbow clown jelly, unnatural healing ability, not to mention the ability to get anywhere she pleased. They’d made a point to let anyone interacting with her know not to bring it up. At all. No magic allowed.

Patches had rediscovered her phone today and Wick had to very quickly come up with a mundane, non-magical reason that it works. They weren’t sure how old she was or what her current worldly perspective was, but they figured carrier pigeons and mailmen were a close enough analogy. She called it a birdbox. They nodded in agreement, it’s a birdbox.

Soon after, someone introduced her to cat videos, which thankfully took up most of the day, except for the parts where she ended up on a rabbit hole that took her to food videos and she started demanding fish and other tasty things. That was fine, they’d been wanting sushi lately anyway.

The day was winding down, the sun was setting and nothing had exploded. Wick wouldn’t ever truly let their guard down, not around Patches, but from the other side of the room, they were confident they could move quickly enough to outrun a baby.

They take a seat across from the blanket fort, leaning their back against the wall, “hey patches? you mind if i ask you a couple questions?”

Patches lifts the blanket curtain blocking the entrance to her lair. She doesn’t look terribly thrilled to be bothered, but since Wick has been feeding her, she’s willing to humor them, “What?”

Ah. They decide they need to tread carefully, “how uh.. how old are you? you seem kinda young to be out on your own.”

The clown narrows her eyes at them, “Dunno.”

Wick isn’t sure if she’s being difficult on purpose or if she genuinely doesn’t know. Even the Patches they knew was always vague with her age. They decide to try a different approach, “do you remember how many winters you’ve seen?”

“Winters..?” Her eyes drop to the floor in thought, “I think... Seven? I don’t like winter. It’s cold and there’s less food.”

Wick nods. Seven was a good ballpark, depending on the sort of critter Patches is, she might not remember her first year or two, most seemed to lose those early on. They’d hazard a guess at her being eight or nine. Still absolutely a baby, even if not a literal toddler, “yeah? yeah.. it’s not so bad here at least. what was.. what is your home like?”

“I don’t have one.” Her frown returns, “I never had one.”

They can feel their heart breaking with every little detail Patches reveals, and have to keep reminding themself about who she is when she grows up. Regardless of how they try to help her now, she’s almost assuredly going to return to her usual awful self later. They already knew the answer to their question, “really? what about family?”

Patches shakes her head, “I came outta an egg but I never saw another monster like me. I am all by myself.”

“then where.. where in the world have you been living?”

She crawls a little further out of her fort to sit on the floor, “Everywhere. I sleep in trees and in alleys and sometimes hide out in people’s houses when it’s too cold or rainy. Sometimes I can even get away with taking their food before they can catch me!”

Wick is only mildly perturbed by her sense of pride at that. They’ve read enough novels about kids on the run, on their own, “you just scavenge for food wherever you can get it, huh?”

“Or I hunt.” Patches lifts her head and those round pupils thin a bit into predatory slits at the thought, “I’m really good at hunting!”

“heh.. i bet you’ve got lots of practice.” Wick does not like the way they’re being watched all of a sudden, “you just hunt whatever you can catch, yeah?”

Patches nods, “I’m really good at catching rabbits and squirrels and birds and people and fish and stuff.”

Wick’s expression falls, “...people?”

“Uh-huh!” Patches doesn’t see anything wrong with this and hops up onto her feet in her excitement, “They try to hurt me sometimes, cause I stole food or something from them! They wanna do bad things but I don’t let ‘em! Sometimes.. They try to catch me cause they think I’m just a weak little kid but I show ‘em! And then I’m not hungry for a lil bit either!!”

Somehow, the news that she’s killing and eating people in self defense doesn’t seem to make Wick any less anxious, “w-well, that’s. not very nice of them at all, is it?” Oh they want to abort this conversation so badly. How can they leave?

“They say they’re good people cause I’m evil.” Patches is staring right at them with those glowing red eyes of hers, “Cause I’m a monster.. But you said I’m not evil.”

Goddamnit they did say that. Or something close enough to it. They choose their next words very, very carefully and slowly, “being evil is.. a choice. it’s something you choose with your actions, not something you inherently are.” They pause, “plenty of people who say they’re good and think they’re the purest person on earth do evil things.” And you Patches, have been choosing to do many evil things, even as a baby, apparently.

The clown seems confused by this, it looks like she’s thinking hard about things. After what feels like an eternity to Wick, she speaks, “You think I’m evil, don’t you?”

Yes, yes they do, but they shake their head in response, “i- don’t think.... i don’t think i know enough about your situation to judge whether or not you're evil.” They are growing increasingly anxious with the way she’s staring at them, “i think.. killing and eating people is wrong.. even if you are doing it in self defense, two wrongs don’t make a right. it’d be better to just.. you know. do something to get ‘em to let you go like bite them really good?”

Patches ears flatten defensively, “I’ve tried that!! They just get madder and try to hurt me worse!!!”

Of course she had, Wick thinks, she’d bit them pretty good when she was feeling threatened. She already had a concept of warning people to leave her alone. That last sentence did remind them of a question they’d wanted to know, and.. Maybe it would be a way to steer the conversation away from eating people, “hurt you? i’d heard a rumor you couldn’t feel pain.. which is kinda silly sounding to say out loud, it can’t be true, right?”

A rumor? Maybe this place wasn’t as far from “home” as she thought, if they knew things about her that she hadn’t told them. That did explain why the man the other night knew her given name, “That’s stupid. You’re stupid. Being hurt hurts. Who told you that?”

That was interesting news. Wick shrugs, thankful for their years of acting training to lean on as they improvise and try not to look too freaked, “some rando from the birdbox. guess they were full of it though. why would someone think you don’t feel pain?”

Patches steps back a bit and her long tail curls close as if she’s worried someone might try to grab it, “Cause... I’m a monster.. And when I get hurt it goes away... But it still hurts until it goes away.”

“you can.. heal yourself? that’s pretty cool.” Hm.. Maybe they should show her a certain movie, one they know she’s referenced in regards to her healing before.

“Cool..? You think that’s cool?” She sounds hopeful, like this is some of the first validation she’s received in her life. For all they know, maybe it actually is.

“yeah? i think all that magic stuff is pretty neat.” Oh. They said the M word. They are full of regret before she can even react.

At first, she doesn’t react, she just freezes up. Patches.exe has encountered a problem, would you like to end the program? When she does speak it’s quiet, barely above a whisper. Wick is afraid to ask for her to speak up because they don’t know if they want to know what she said. They don’t get a choice, “I’m. Not. Magic. I’m a monster. I’m a scary evil monster. I’m not magic.”

“hey- hey it’s- it’s okay. i’m probably wrong. it just- sounds like- something magical. it’s-” They’re at a loss for words. They don’t get it. Why is magic such a bad thing to her? Maybe they should just ask, “is.. why are you- why don’t you like magic?”

“It’s bad.” That’s it. That’s all the reply she gives them. It’s bad. Magic bad.

Somewhere in their terror, something clicks, “and you don’t.. want people to think you’re bad? or.. treat you any worse than they already do?”

The penny drops when Patches nods. She’s a product of her times. Magic is bad and scary and they need to burn the witch. She’s just as scared of the idea of magic as anyone else would have been from her time, and she’s magic herself.

“okay.. patches, i need you to listen to me.. magic- it’s. it’s just like monsters. it’s only bad if someone chooses to use it to do bad things. it’s not some inherently evil thing on its own.” When it doesn’t look like she believes them, they continue, only fumbling a little, “there is nothing evil about healing magic, for example. healing is in the name! it’s good, it’s healthy. it makes people better! i don’t think it’s even possible to do evil with healing magic”

They know it is possible because Patches uses her magic for evil things all the time. Or at least uses the knowledge that she can rely on it as an excuse to take normally life-threatening risks when it comes to ruining other people’s lives. None of that matters in this moment, talking to a kid scared of.. Apparently herself.

Said kid doesn’t look convinced, but Wick is opening new doors as they try to liken it to the monster conversation, “Then why does everyone say it’s bad? Why does it hurt more?”

What?

“hurt.. more?” Another nod from Patches. Wick is not an expert in magic, they didn’t even think magic was real in their world. Assuming Patches is from their world and didn’t hop over here one day on a whim, it would mean magic was real and secret and probably a lot easier to abuse that way.

“that.. sounds like.. someone really wanted to hurt you. maybe that someone was evil, or thought they were doing good by trying to hurt you. people.. don’t always like things they don’t understand. magic ‘n monsters both. it’s easier for them to call those things bad and be afraid of ‘em than to take the time to learn about them.”

While that doesn’t make Patches look any happier, some of the confusion and worry seems to fade, “Why aren’t you afraid?”

Because they’ve lived most of the past year in constant fear of murder clowns and baby murder clowns are a lot less scary, “i think.. if i’d met you a year ago, i’d probably be pretty freaked out, honestly, but i’ve met a lot of nice monsters recently, learned magic was real and not scary. it’s.. actually incredible. some of it really beautiful to watch.”

Wick can tell at a glance how full of doubt she still is, “why don’t you give it a chance? maybe you’ll be surprised.” They glance at their bandaged hand, “i have an idea.. why don’t i let someone use some healing magic on me? to show you that it’s not so scary and can be good.”

Bold of them to allow someone to use magic on them, she thinks, but better them than her. A short nod before she retreats into the safety of her fort. The red slit peeping out from the darkness is the only indication that she’s waiting for them to follow through.

With a small sigh, Wick pulls out their phone. Time to call in a friend.

[radioiaci]

@ducktastic-dad ⧐ [ scars ] 𝑫𝑰𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑻𝑶 𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑬.

He could not remember how they got here.

The drunken blur of events, further muddied by the sheer amount of what he'd consumed presumably the night before (he did not know what time it was), had apparently guided him to an... unfamiliar bed. It didn't take him a whole lot of time to put two and two together, even though his head was swimming with the lingering buzz. Was he still drunk? It was possible.

Alastor did not know if that was better or worse than being hung over. And he did not know much of anything else in that moment other than the sudden desire to sneak away and stagger back to his own room. But before he could abscond, there were arms enveloping him from behind.

He did not need to look to see who it was.

The difference in their statures was enough of a telltale sign, those darker arms finding their way to wrap around Alastor's gaunt frame in a hold that was almost tender. Though the room was still relatively dark, it felt as though he were being seen in the naked light of day, tension forcing its way through his muscles and up along his spine until the hairs on the back of his neck were standing with the nervous energy coursing through him.

He could not remember what they'd done. He was still dressed from the waist down, at the very least; still able to maintain some dignity, even as he racked his brain for more detail that would not come. The absence of true memory was stressful - Alastor fought the overwhelming urge to get hands up and into his hair to tug until something manifested. Either the memory or the pain. One or the other. To ease the anxiety that was jabbing him in so many ways like a menagerie of needles burying themselves beneath his flesh. His gaze was fixed elsewhere - not on the arms wrapped around him and certainly not making an attempt to get a glimpse of who they belonged to.

He knew. And was this not something akin to what he'd been wanting? For some time now? Was this not the way he could further stow himself inside of that delicate and beautiful ribcage to grasp fervently at beating heart and bathe himself in that golden blood?

That was a loaded question he did not want to answer. Not even to himself. And even if he had, it would make no difference, his sudden white-out of thought stark with the realization that Lucifer was actively beginning to press that soft, yet almost greedy mouth against some of Alastor's more prominent scars that raked their way down his shoulder blades and back. Visible still, even against the reddish fur that mimicked the color of his hair and made its way from head to tail.

The radio demon had no defense against that kind of treatment. Was this how Lucifer had wrangled him here to begin with?; the shiver and shudder leaving him in a slight fervor of exhales he could not control. There were new stings in various areas along his torso, too - not from himself, this time. Or from her. These were freshly made. By the claws at the end of those thin, graceful arms that were keeping such a determined hold on him as if to tell him to stay, lighting his nerves up in an entirely different way.

Enraptured, he thought. By the Devil himself.

The swimming of his head was not so bad, all of a sudden. It gave him enough courage; enough boldness to reach for one of those hands, wrapping red-tipped claws around the king's darker ones. Pausing, briefly, to narrow gaze at the golden ring that lingered upon a finger before he was diverting his attention elsewhere.

Up and to his own mouth, he shut his eyes to save himself from the embarrassment of chasing the desire to press a few languid and warm kisses in turn to that darkened flesh. Beneath his lips; beneath the flesh pulsed that almost-too-sweet, heavenly nectar. The thought made his heart thrum readily in his chest. He wanted to bite - to make Lucifer bleed fresh and coat him and his teeth and tongue in it.

But Alastor was drifting again. The alcohol was still running circles in his bloodstream - coaxing him back down and into the safety, secrecy, and security of those lavish sheets. Tired. Warm. Familiar(?).

No one needed to know. Not that he was actively fighting his instinct to flee, not that he'd opted to not take more than his fair share of a taste, not that he was retreating into the arms that had him wrapped up within them, not that he was turning to bury himself into that messy golden hair and close his eyes to pretend as though the morning were still hours, days, weeks, or months away.

It could be the sanctity of night, in his mind.

At least for a little while longer.

[modestmuses-a]

eli told me to go ham so oldest muse + newest muse here we go

MUSE  AESTHETICS,   TAROT  EDITION

bold  =  applies

italicize  =  sort-of applies

strike  =  antithetical to your muse.

AKALI

MAJOR ARCANA:  a long journey.  a feeling of raw energy.  putting a name to something unknown.  an elaborate patchwork.  unexpected catastrophes.  unexpected blessings.  vivid dreams.  sudden awakenings.  the feeling of shedding your skin.  the echoes in holy places. bright lights.  deep shadows.  feeling the earth move beneath your feet.  wandering in museums.  the strange clarity of moonlight.  thunder and lightning.  an unfamiliar road.  coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

CUPS:  being overwhelmed by emotion.  finding something to celebrate every day.  finding something to mourn every day.  connecting with others.  the scent of ocean air.  making food for your friends when they’re stressed.  the remembrance of something lost.  sublime confusion.  cool colors.  a cozy cafe.  a bustling bar.  calm waters, hidden depths.  getting tipsy in the afternoon.  summer rain.  comfy sweaters.  flowing skirts.  a house by the sea.  deep conversations after midnight.

WANDS:  the scent of spices and dark wood.  making something just for the sake of creation.  dry heat.  crackling fire.  a bolt of inspiration.  refusing to apologize for your passion.  stubborn optimism.  taking on more than you can handle.  hot tea.  warm colors.  getting up early.  staying up late.  bright fire, fast burnout.  tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence.  the thrill of starting a new project.  spring storms.  hotel rooms.  perpetual restlessness.

PENTACLES:  the scent of rich soil after a rain.  hard and diligent work.  solid ground, strong foundations.  the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff.  generosity that comes with a catch.  work boots and heavy jeans.  silk and jewels.  resting on your laurels.  seeing your work through to the end.  harvest time.  fresh bread and rich soup.  earth tones.  jewel tones.  a lush garden.  sunlight through the trees.  dark chocolate.  a home in the farmlands.  a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

SWORDS:  the scent of fresh air.  focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional.  freshly fallen snow.  burying yourself in action.  tending to your own wounds.  a foreseeable disaster.  crisply tailored suits.  starkly elegant dresses.  refusing to admit defeat.  cold air, clear thoughts.  old hurts.  fresh starts.  overthinking your overthinking.  the harsh glow of street lamps.  black coffee.  a cabin in the mountains.  an apartment downtown.  the quiet before the dawn.

TIMMY

MAJOR ARCANA:  a long journey.  a feeling of raw energy.  putting a name to something unknown.  an elaborate patchwork.  unexpected catastrophes.  unexpected blessings.  vivid dreams.  sudden awakenings.  the feeling of shedding your skin.  the echoes in holy places.  bright lights.  deep shadows.  feeling the earth move beneath your feet.  wandering in museums.  the strange clarity of moonlight.  thunder and lightning.  an unfamiliar road. coming back to the place you started as an entirely different person.

CUPS:  being overwhelmed by emotion.  finding something to celebrate every day.  finding something to mourn every day.  connecting with others.  the scent of ocean air.  making food for your friends when they’re stressed.  the remembrance of something lost. sublime confusion.  cool colors.  a cozy cafe.  a bustling bar.  calm waters, hidden depths.  getting tipsy in the afternoon.  summer rain.  comfy sweaters.  flowing skirts.  a house by the sea.  deep conversations after midnight.

WANDS:  the scent of spices and dark wood.  making something just for the sake of creation.  dry heat.  crackling fire.  a bolt of inspiration.  refusing to apologize for your passion.  stubborn optimism.  taking on more than you can handle.  hot tea.  warm colors.  getting up early.  staying up late.  bright fire, fast burnout.  tacky thrift store finds worn with the utmost confidence.  the thrill of starting a new project.  spring storms.  hotel rooms.  perpetual restlessness.

PENTACLES:  the scent of rich soil after a rain.  hard and diligent work.  solid ground, strong foundations.  the satisfaction of a long-awaited payoff.  generosity that comes with a catch.  work boots and heavy jeans.  silk and jewels.  resting on your laurels.  seeing your work through to the end.  harvest time.  fresh bread and rich soup.  earth tones.  jewel tones.  a lush garden.  sunlight through the trees.  dark chocolate.  a home in the farmlands.  a sprawling house in the old part of the city.

SWORDS:  the scent of fresh air.  focusing on the intellectual at the expense of the emotional.  freshly fallen snow.  burying yourself in action.  tending to your own wounds.  a foreseeable disaster.  crisply tailored suits.  starkly elegant dresses.  refusing to admit defeat.  cold air, clear thoughts.  old hurts.  fresh starts.  overthinking your overthinking.  the harsh glow of street lamps.  black coffee.  a cabin in the mountains.  an apartment downtown.  the quiet before the dawn.

tagged by: @bystcrdust

tagging: @slvrictus @storiestotell @famebounded

[blogofsuperfreaks]

Another successful fashion show had passed, and Minako Aino and the friends she had made in her modeling career had gone out to celebrate. As usual, they winded up going to the local buffet, as many of them were planning on taking full advantage over the “all you can eat” deal. Although, the wait had taken longer than usual, especially considering the strange woman in the hooded jacket in front of them had gotten into an argument with the man at the counter.

“Hm, I should have figured you’d back out on our deal now.” The strange lady hissed. “I’ve been promoting this establishment for a year now, the least you could do is offer me a discount.”

“Please, miss. We offer the same price to everybody, and while we appreciate the fact that you’ve been spreading the word for us, we can’t change the rules just for you.” The man stood rigid when he spoke, petrified of his customer’s wrath. 

“What’s this lady’s deal?” A pink haired model asked. “That sounds pretty reasonable to me, what’s she holding up the line for?”

Come to think of it, this woman was pretty suspicious, between the hooded jacket, the dark sunglasses, and acting all high and mighty. Perhaps it would be a good idea for the former Sailor Senshi to keep an eye on her.

Minako walked up to the counter and turned to the woman. “Don’t worry, you can sit with us. I’ll pay for your time here, even.” 

The woman smiled a bit. “You’d do that for me? You’re so kind for a mere…” She stopped herself. “Stranger. You may call me Maeve.” She extended a rather dry hand with sharp nails out for the plus sized model to shake. “And you are, darling?”

Minako hesitantly accepted the handshake. “Minako Aino. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maeve.” One of her friends, on the other hand, huffed loudly. “Mina, you are just too nice for your own good. Next thing we know you’ll be offering her a manicure.”

“Ignore her, Mizuki takes a while warming up to new people.” Minako warned her. Maeve smirked a bit. “Sounds like she and I have quite a bit in common.” 

The group sat down at the table, and Maeve immediately got back up to get some food, coming back with a bunch of meat piled on top of her plate, which she started eating at a furious rate. Mizuki nudged Minako, gesturing to Maeve with her thumb, and snickered.

“She eats more than you do in one sitting, Mina. I’d be careful if I were you. She might unhinge her jaw or something.” She teased. 

“Oh, no worries, Mizuki.” Minako assured. “Two can play at this game.” With that, she went straight for the buffet, coming back with a pile about the same size as Maeve’s. While there was also a good amount of meat, she also came back with a lot of rolls and even some cream puffs.

Maeve just grinned. “Don’t your kind usually save dessert for last?” She asked. “A shame, with a woman steadily approaching my size, I’d think you were going for at least five plates, here.”

Minako stuffed the rolls in her face, looking at her with a confident grin the whole time. She then moved onto the rest of the food on her plate.

“Mizuki, keep track of how many plates each of us eats before one of us stops. I won’t go down without a fight.”

The irritable model sighed, pulling out a notebook. “Alright, but don’t be surprised if the restaurant charges you more for the two of you eating so much.”

A few hours later, Minako sets her fork down. “Alright, Maeve. You’ve got me.” Mizuki looked up from her notebook, putting the final tally on her friend’s score.

“Actually, you ate more plates than her, Mina! Congratulations!”

Maeve scowled, and left the buffet. Strangely, after paying each of their checks, none of the models could figure out where she went.

“Man, she’s a snake, using you for a free meal.” Mizuki whined. “A sore loser, too. Come on, Mina, let’s check into the hotel. You must be stuffed.”

--

“I can’t believe I lost to a human.” The snake-haired goddess of darkness growled, now back in her castle in the Underworld. “That goes to show what happens when I try to present myself as one of their kind.”

“Uh-oh, Lady Medusa’s mad.” Said one of her floating eyeball minions to another. “We should probably leave her be.” And so they floated off in a panic. 

Medusa then decided to go into her throne room, where she could watch the mortal realm from a distance.

“Something’s up with this ‘Minako’ girl.” She observed, pinpointing her location. “Perhaps I should keep an eye out on her…”

[thinkaboutmeff7au]

flash time 103

1984.

“Let me take you home tonight…”

I wake up the same way I dozed off—in a weird haze. At first, I don’t even know I’m awake. I try to remember what I was dreaming about…but I don’t really remember that either. It’s like smoke in the wind. I could be sobering up…but I’m only going to really know if I open my mouth.

“Uurgh,” I grumble. I’m really warm. Angeal’s beside me, snoring lightly.

My eyes snap open.

Okay, okay. I’m at his house, I’m in his room with the shitty gray-brown carpet and the dark wood paneling. That Boston record’s almost over. I’ve been nestled in the crook of his arm while we napped together after school. I sit up and feel dizzy. Fuck, fuck, fuck…I look down at him. He looks so peaceful. My heart aches. I wish I hadn’t woken up right yet.

I gotta go. I’ve gotta get out of here, before he wakes up.

Luckily, he’s beat enough to stay undisturbed as I stumble out of bed. I’m still a little high, but a cigarette will fix that up, or some coffee. I weave over to the record player and turn it down slowly before plucking the needle up. It scratches a little, but it’s still not enough to wake him up. He just rolls over and hugs the blankets where I was laying. I stare at him a little longer…

He’s so good to me. He’s so fucking good. I dunno if he feels obligated to keep an eye on my sorry ass after we met and I was a mess. I’m still a mess. And I dunno if I fell in love with him because he was the one God damned person who gave a shit about me, who actually wanted to be friends with me. Not just because I traded weed for blowjobs.

Oh shit, how long have I been standing here, watching him sleep? Fucking queer ass idiot. Okay. I’m gonna leave. Have to. Chest hurts.

Angeal’s mom Gillian Hewley has the TV on in the living room, but is sitting having a cigarette at the kitchen table. Smells like smoke and…pot roast? Some pot is simmering on the gas stove and she’s been keeping an eye on it. Only now, she eyes me as I shut the bedroom door behind me. “Headed home?” she asks.

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah.” Sober enough to talk without words feeling funny in my mouth. That’s fine. Takes me a minute to pick up my backpack. “Gotta…gotta head out.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? I’ve got a nice stew going,” she offers.

“No, ’s’okay. I’ll go home,” I say, then add, “Thank….thanks, though.”

She is still studying me, and I don’t like it. If I were sober, I would’ve already bolted—see ya fuckin’ later! But no, no, I can still see him peacefully sleeping in the back of my head, and it makes me feel like I’m dreaming still. I offer her a thin-lipped smile, but she doesn’t buy it.

“Is he still asleep?” she asks.

I nod. I wonder if she checked up on us…the door was open before I left…

She gestures to the seat across from her. “Sit a minute,” she says.

Oh, no. No, no, no. I shuffle towards my exit, my hand gripping the thin, metal handle of the screen door. “A-ah, I gotta…Mrs. H, I gotta run—“

“I don’t think you do.” She smirks with a raised eyebrow.

My shoulders slump. Fuckin’ hell. I trudge back to the seat and slam my ass down in it, dropping my backpack beside me. I fold my arms and shrug. “Okay, okay. What is it?”

I sniffle and flip my hair back with my head.

She sighs a little and studies me even further. Christ, woman, what are you trying to fuckin’ see? “I’m not a fool, you know,” she says.

My eyes widen briefly and my heart stops. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me she knows I’m desperately in love with her son, she hates homosexuals, and she’s gonna throw me out of the house, never to see him again. She’s gonna send him to private school. No, send me to private school, again, even though I failed out the first time. The whole scenario plays out in the space of time that my heart stops. But, she says something else.

“I know you go off and smoke that marijuana,” she finishes, wrinkling her nose. “Smells like a damn skunk every time you’re in here.”

I relax instantly. This I can deal with. My lip curls and I shrug a little again, but don’t say anything.

“Do your parents know?”

I look down and recross my arms. “I dunno,” I mumble. “Don’t really matter.”

I can feel the cascade of thoughts threatening to burst from my mouth. They don’t care. I barely ever see them. They gave up on me. I was a cute little red-headed kid they used to do the apple juice commercials back in the day, that’s all. Then I got rude, I hit puberty, I stopped studying, stockholders hated me, I got passed over. I started smoking…’cause it didn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

“Gen.”

When I look at her next, there’s…sympathy in her face. “Wh-what?” I say. I briefly wonder if I said any of that shit I was thinking out loud. “I won’t smoke in here, okay—“

“I know, hon, but…” She pauses. “I know I’ve said this before, but if you need anything, you can come here, okay?” Gillian smiles. It’s warm and wrinkly and…genuine. “Angeal talks about you all the time. I mean, you two are practically inseparable as it is.”

It’s true…I smirk to myself. “You don’t think I’m a bad influence, do you?” I say, half to the floor.

She chuckles. “He’s not that type. Never has been. He’s just like his father that way.” She takes a drag off her cigarette and blows the smoke to the side. “Oh, there are some things. I know he smokes, though I wish he didn’t. But every boy has some things he doesn’t tell his mother…”

Yeah, she’s got a point. Angeal is always telling me shit—“don’t smoke in the house”, “don’t smoke weed in the house ever”, “stop that, we’ll get in trouble”, “you should be more careful”, “are you some kind of idiot?”, and so on. Even if I were an axe murderer, or if I showed up here looking like Ziggy Stardust…actually, I take those back. Did both of those for Halloween some years ago…

But he wouldn’t be influenced. He’s got his morals, and his honor. If he hasn’t turned into a deadbeat stoner like me by now, I don’t think he ever will.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more the opposite is true. In a few months, we’ll both be training for SOLDIER. I couldn’t let him go alone. I rub my eyes fiercely.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” she asks again.

I nod, afraid that the next words out of my mouth are going to be a choke. I stand up, chair scraping against the linoleum, and wave to her. I bolt out the door in a light jog to make my escape. The thin screen clatters, followed by the steady chunk of the trailer door behind it.

“Fuck, fuck,” I hiss to myself. It’s cold out and I forgot my jacket…and it’s getting dark. I glance back. Warm light peers through the windows, and I can still smell that stew. Angeal’s probably waking up soon.

I picture him, sleepily rolling over. “How long was I out?” he’ll ask me, eyes barely open. I’ll touch his face. I’ll run my hands through his thick, dark hair. I’ll…

I can’t. Fuckin’ can’t. I start walking home.

(G.)

[charmingsecretary]

By Any Other Name [Closed]

...

it’s funny.

susie doesn’t remember.

these teardrops.

dripping down on her leaves.

...

Wait a minute.

Rosemaster’s body rises up with a start.

This doesn’t make sense. The last thing she remembers was piling a stack of books on her desk, opening her laptop, and doing extensive research on a potential defense grid for Spirale.

Did she fall asleep at some point in the process, and this was just an unusual dream?

No. This had to be more than a dream.

She remembers living in this room.

...

If Susie is here, then that means someone else is inhabiting her body.

Someone else is Susanna Patrya Haltmann.

She won’t take this sitting down.

...

Eventually, when she manages to do more in this body than just sit down (turning nine feet tall overnight is like learning how to walk on stilts), Susie uncovers her — Rosemaster’s? — phone, and flips through the citywide list of contacts.

She finds her own name under “Susie.” How exactly should she proceed?

...

Ring. Ring.

Pick up, darn you. Pick up the phone.

@madetodoevil​