#and it could very well cost you your intact bones

[cold-neon-ocean]

While yes I draw Baatar really buff to please my ‘muscular glasses man enjoyer’ brain, I also have genuine plot and character reasons for it. Like I love the idea that he still comes across as unassuming as any sort of genuine threat bc he’s a non bender, so he coasts on that societal presumption meanwhile he’d just... crush your spine instead lol

[verbal--diarrhea]

White Scars

A/N- 😃 i am back guys! Sorry it quite literally took 2 years for me to update this account but why is tumblr so difficult to navigate 😭 anywho, enjoy this next chapter and please be patient with me as I figure this out 🙇‍♀️ 

Chapter 2:

It’s been a week now. A week avoiding Bela Dimitrescu at all costs. You knew the routes she took around the castle, you knew when she left her room and when she went to eat. It’s almost pathetic how you basically memorized her routine when you were together, trying to “bump into her” whenever you were on duty. I mean, how often can someone encounter the exact same person in a hallway? The answer should be no less than one but you and Bela managed to raise it to nine on a good day. You became very very good at sneaking around, especially at avoiding fellow maids and the other two Dimitrescu sisters. Lady Dimitrescu was no problem too, she rarely entered the west wing of the castle and if she ever did, everyone knew as you could hear her loud footsteps from a distance. Safe to say you were pretty proficient in the art of evasion except there was one problem, Bela, the person you were trying to evade, also stayed in the west wing. It wasn’t healthy that you weren’t confronting her about what had occurred a few nights prior but you were still afraid and still hurt so the most logical solution is to never see her. Yes, completely logical.

The cut was healing well, the skin around it was a faint red, but the wound itself became a scab. Give it another week and it may be all healed. Hopefully, it won’t leave a scar...you don’t need a reminder of Bela on your face. You were done crying over it. No one really asked you about your injury, it was common for maids to bear bruises or cuts. Those who stayed in Bela’s side of the castle were lucky compared to those who stayed on Cassandra’s and Daniela’s side, those maids were lucky if they survived with all their limbs intact. 

Right now, you really were wishing you were in Cassandra’s or Daniela’s wing, the dread of meeting Bela was overwhelming at times. Yet in the quiet of the night, you would dream of her; her perfume engulfing your tiny room, her chilly embrace, the soft breaths as she slipped into slumber beside you, and having to drag her off in the morning to rush her back to her bedroom. Sleep didn’t come without nightmares though, images of Bela’s face contorted with anger, that scythe plunging down, you were treading a fine line between fear and love. Love- you scoffed, chances are Bela didn’t even love you, after all you were just some low-class peasant. What Bela probably felt would be the equivalent of a teenage relationship, give it a year before one got bored of the other and it’s over, but in your case, off to the basement to be drained of blood. 

The first few days were nerve-wracking, you didn’t know if Bela would search or confront you, though there was nothing to be confronted about as you believed she knew damn well why you were avoiding her. You had asked (more like begged) the head house maid, Simone, to switch you to the night shift, at least for a few weeks and she agreed. By the third day, you were sweeping the corridors in the late night trying to be as quiet as possible. Sleep hasn’t been good anyways, you weren’t used to sleeping alone again, so cleaning was the best way to clear the mind. 

Sweeping here and there, you were grateful for the dim lighting. Moonlight peeked in through the windows contrasting with the candle’s red hues. Though the floor was visible, you couldn’t distinguish any shapes that were swept up, part of you knew every once in a while a bone would be found in a dust pile, but you were here long enough to be unfazed by such things. Glancing up you noticed the candle melted about half its height, indicating it was around 3 AM. They would be replaced in the morning and lit later in the evening; with the hundreds of candles around the castle, it was a wonder how the Dimitrescu’s obtained that many in the first place. 

Ahead of you laid Bela’s bedroom door, a cursive B carved into the oak wood door. She should be asleep by now, bundled up and dreaming away. Yet instead of soft snoring you hear muffled sniffles through the door, curiosity got the better of you and you edged closer. It dawned on you- she was crying. Your heart clenched at the thought, Bela never cries, and in that moment you wished you could hold her to your chest. No, she hurt you Y/N, just walk away. Forcing your legs to move, you shuffled away from the door, a low ache in your heart at the thought of Bela sad. It wasn’t your place anymore to comfort her.

-

Bela was level-headed and mature, at least that’s what she told herself as she quickly dispersed into flies and zipped to her bedroom, praying to not bump into you. She too has been avoiding you the last week, and she was pretty sure you were too. At first she had a brilliant plan; she would walk right up to your door, knock on it, beg for your forgiveness and hopefully have hot makeup sex after. That failed after she realized she had no courage to face you. Perhaps it was because she did not want to see your heartbroken face, or did not wish too see the painful mark on your face, Bela herself struggled to understand why she was so afraid; she was Lady Bela, goddammit! Staying confined in her room for most of the day seemed to be the best option, it was hard enough to pretend to be perfectly fine in front of her family, that face crumbled whenever she was alone. Sleep wasn’t an escape either as it was plagued with you leaving her crying into her pillow. 

At meals, Bela would eat as quickly as possible, and slip away. Lady Dimitrescu noticed naturally but pushed it aside as she was busy with her experiments for Mother Miranda. Nothing left Cassandra’s and Daniela’s gaze though-- they had been studying their eldest sister for the past week, discussing ways to ask her exactly what happened. 

“Okay, the best way is to corner her and force her to tell us,” Daniela looked to Cassandra’s face for approval as she was the youngest in the family.

They were huddled in one of the many guests rooms of the castle, away from the prying ears of their mother and eldest sister. Bela was starting to annoy them with her grumpy mood, never going out to hunt anymore and always cooped up in her room. They had hoped whatever she was dwelling upon would fade in a day or two, but Bela remained somber. 

Cassandra swatted the back of Daniela’s head, “are you fucking stupid? That’s the worst way to ask her what’s wrong.”

“Well, she won’t tell us if we don’t force her.”

Frowning, Cassandra stroked her chin, “hmm, you make a good point.”

“And we definitely can’t trick her to tell us-” Daniela leaned back against the armchair, watching Cassandra stand from hers and pace, “Bela’s too smart for that.”

“I know! Hm...okay I have an idea.”

“Go on-”

“We have to be gentle, we approach her in her room later tonight,” Cassandra explained, “we will first try to ask her what’s wrong...”

“And if that fails we force her?” 

“Exactly but for we do this all gently-”

“I know, I know,” Daniela rolled her eyes at her sister, “I’ll be gentle.”

“Don’t say anything unnecessary or stupid okay?” An accusatory glance was shot at the younger sister.

Daniela huffed, “I won’t.”

“Oh and also-” Cassandra opened the door of the room, leaving, “don’t say anything to mother.”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

[sentinelptc]

Which Problems can a Chiropractor Georgia treat?

While the popular opinion about chiropractic care is that it is good to alleviate the effects of aging and treat chronic pain, or other factors that can result in the misalignment of the spine. It actually does way more than that. In fact, the issues that a Chiropractor Georgia can treat range from anxiety, joint pain, and sleep disorder to hormonal imbalances, gastrointestinal diseases, and much more! It’s hard to name them in one go!

 A Chiropractor or an Applied Kinesiologist is found in every area of healthcare. Even research proves that it ranks among the safest, most cost-effective, and most practical treatments.

Philip J. Crane from Sentinel Health and Wellness is dedicated to curing any sort of imbalance in your body by using a combination of muscle massages and joint mobilization. As a result, you witness an increase in the functionality of the neuro-musculoskeletal system. He can be your best Chiropractor Georgia.The Issues treated by a Chiropractor Peachtree City: 

1, Helps With Body Posture and Functionality

Since Chiropractor Georgia focuses on treating any misalignment present in your body, it lets out the tension and stiffness in the muscles. That gradually allows the body to naturally get back in shape by itself.As a result, when your body is in proper alignment, you have a better chance of healing yourself. This not only increases the functionality of your body, like smooth movements, no pain, and better speed. But, it also improves body posture, and it appears to be more beautiful.

2. Improves Digestive Health

Immersive and Integrated Chiropractic care is quite beneficial in diagnosing and treating digestive health issues. Major ones like Irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and Celiac disease, and are both very irritating.A Chiropractor Peachtree City can help in identifying the lifestyle choices affecting your digestive system. But, he can also advise you on how to improve them. Moreover, A Chiropractor can align your spine and sacrum correctly to promote better abdominal health. As a result, it will alleviate the stress that could heighten digestive issues.

3. Treats Migraines and Strain Headaches

Since the major cause of Migraines and headaches stems from the neck and the spine, chiropractic care works. By adjusting the muscles and bones in the neck and the spine, a chiropractor can work his magic on you. And, free you from these life-threatening migraines and strain headaches that disrupt your daily life.It also improves your mood and makes you happier and more upbeat. A healthy mind does produce a healthy body after all.

 4. Reduces the Chances of Sacroiliac Pain and Scoliosis Symptoms

 Sacroiliac Pain is when the big joint at the bottom of your spine gets irritated. An individual may feel this in their buttock or the back of the thigh. A chiropractor can effectively treat by chiropractic adjustment of the spine. They can also suggest exercises and movements that prevent it.

The chiropractic adjustment aimed at the spine greatly reduces the chances of Scoliosis. As they keep the spine intact and improve posture.So, go and book your appointment at Sentinel Health and Wellness now!

[darkdevasofdestruction]

My Beloved Cherry Blossom ~ Yamaoka Kazan/The Oni x Fem!Reader

Note: Since Kazan lived in the feudal era, and died there, his S/O would be someone from that time, so, just like him, she'd be dead, so the shock of seeing the dead back alive would be great for him...Who also died in a painful death. Haha.

"My son, you reached the age when you have to marry and ensure the continuation of our bloodline. Since you haven't bothered looking for a potential wife, I took the liberty of finding you a pretty girl. She is the daughter of a respectable samurai who guards the Emperor, and her father ensured she is a very capable, smart and understanding woman, so she will be able to deal with your...Temper." Kazan's father sat down with his son, who scowled, offended at what he heard, but despite all this, he was well aware of this bother he had to deal with. "...Yes, father." he muttered, sharply looking down at the floor. "We will go to meet her tomorrow, at her home, an in less than a month, we will have the marriage. I know you are not the type to care about families and women...But you have to do anything in your power to ensure the honor and survivability of the Yamaoka bloodline." yes, of course, his father just had to sigh in disappointment. "I understand, father. I will make you proud." Kazan answered before leaving the room to train, as a way to let out the pent up rage.

Who needed women and a family? He certainly didn't care about that. They were a nuisance. A weakness, at best. Father is too much of a sentimental, even for a samurai. What a ridiculous charade...

And his displeasure continued even the next day, as he dressed in a rich, official kimono, to show off his heritage, but at the same time, his long hair was put in a disheveled ponytail, rebel strands flying with the wind, and the neck of his outfit was lowered down enough to show his outlaw-ish predisposition. Needless to say, his father was angered by this side of his son - Surely, he taught him better! - But it was far too late, and they had already arrived at the L/N estate.

Just outside the big, beautiful house, a petite young woman, her long dark hair shining like ebony, her skin as white as snow...She looked so frail that she'd almost resemble a snowdrop. And she was delicately playing a soft, yet sorrowful tune on her bamboo flute, while her father put a pink flower in her hair, looking at her with nostalgia and love.

Kazan look at his own father, before glancing back at the girl whom he found out was named Y/N, and realised how big of a difference it was to was a son, compared to having a daughter. The difference in the two men's behaviour was huge.

He once heard a samurai, whose wife had just given birth to his daughter, "Treat your daughter the way you wish her husband would treat her." He didn't care at first, obviously - Kazan's mind was never on marriage - But now he was beginning to understand the meaning of his words, for they were wiser than anticipated.

Her father was tender, and treating her as if she was the soft petal of a cherry blossom, and his voice was low, loving and respectful, not wanting to startle her in any way...He was talking as if he was trying to keep the zen equilibirum intact at all costs.

The love between a man and a woman is supposed to be like Yin and Yang...

But how could Kazan possibly behave in such a way, when all he knew was to be a rageful brute who would destroy everything in his path in the loudest, brashest way possible?

"Ah, Yamaoka-san, you have arrived. And you brought your son with you. It's an honour finally meeting you, Kazan. Here, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, dear, why don't you go prepare some osmanthus tea for our tired travelers, while I guide them to our table in the cherry blossom garden?" her father pat her hair, and in return, she bowed slightly at the guests, offering them a gentle smile, that would put all of Spring's flowers to shame. "Yes, right away, father. I hope you will like our flower garden. Papa had them all planted in honour of my mama. They are all her favourite kinds and colours." ah, yes, of course. Women have a special kind of bond with their mother - That was something he would never be able to fully comprehend, Kazan realised very easily, by the way the girl was close to shining as soon as she talked about her birth-giver.

The son of the Yamaoka family obvious saw women before - He wasn't an idiot - And he had enough experience with them...But there was something different about this one. She was...So...Innocent? She seemed to naive and not from this world, almost as if she had no idea of the terrors of the world outside of her residence.

It was such an endearing thing, almost exciting - But the young samurai wasn't sure if he wanted to protect this innocent ignorance at all costs...Or if he wanted to shatter it into pieces and taint it completely.

But that question was easily answered as soon as she came back and started pouring tea for him. And then later in their marriage, the way she behaved so gently with him, it was so weird, so foreign to him, and yet, it made him feel something else...Something completely different from the bubbling, infernal rage he could feel in his chest all the time.

It was soothing, mending his soul completely, for some reason that he couldn't comprehend at all.

But why should he, anyway? He was content just having her by his side whenever he was home. Only she was able of taming the storm that clouded his mind and soul.

His little cherry blossom.

And only the Gods knew how many men he had to kill to make sure she isn't harmed, or prayed upon. He never realised how many desperate, disgusting, dishonorable and lecherous men could be, but Kazan wasn't going to let her see anything other than the honour of a samurai - Like him, his father, and her own father.

However, not even her gentle soul would be able to contain his rage whenever he'd hear that dreadful, shameful nickname they would call him.

"Oni-Yamaoka"

Why was he an Ogre, all of a sudden? Because he brought justice upon the fakes who made a mockery of the code of the samurai? Because he wanted to protect the sole person he cared for in this life? Even his father was against the aggressiveness he displayed on the battlefield, and in the actions he took...It almost felt like even his father was agreeing with that stupid nickname!

"Here, Kazan, lay your head on my lap and forget about your worries, at least for tonight." Y/N pat her lap with a sweet smile, her eyes gleaming with love and benevolence as she reached out her other hand to reach out to him, and as if possessed, he followed her lead absent-mindedly. "Y/N." Kazan called out after a few minutes of having his eyes closed, feeling himself relaxing as her fingers were soothingly playing with his long, untameable hair. "Why do you always tell me to lay on your lap, whenever I'm angry?" "Do you not like it, darling?" she asked, but the passive smile on her face showed that she knew that wasn't the case at all. "I do. I was just wondering why." he grumbled in a lower voice, which made her muse, her smile shaping into an almost kitten-like one. "My mama always did that to papa. She said that the best place for a man to relax is on a girl's thighs. I don't think she was wrong." oh, what a sweet giggle she had. It sounded crystalline, like a river of diamonds going through the forest. "...I won't comment on that." the man closed his eyes, not wanting to give in to the flushed sensation he felt hearing something so embarrassing. "You do not have to be embarrassed, my dear. We are man and wife. There is nothing we could do or say that would be worth or deemed as embarrassing." she reassured him with an amused tone, as her small hand touched his bare chest, just where his heart would be. "Why are you not afraid of me, like the rest of them? You are nothing more than a frail woman. You have the eyes of a baby fawn, and the frail bones of a rabbit. You are nothing more than a flower in comparison to me. I could snap your neck like a twig if I'm not careful touching you. And yet, you allow yourself to be vulnerable around me, and while at it, you encourage me to be the same as well. I will never understand the complexity of women and their thinking." the samurai sighed, grumbling in faux annoyance. "My, my, was that what was on your mind? How lovely of you to be concerned about me. Well, I will tell you a little secret, since you are so curious, but make sure it stays between the two of us, alright?" she giggle softly, almost like a little child kissing her crush on the cheek, and it made Kazan's heart flutter. Was she truly trusting him with a secret? What did he do so worthy to her that she deemed him the perfect candidate as a secret-keeper? "I would not dare tell your secret even to the Emperor himself, or my father." came the samurai's vow with such seriousness, that made the girl grin. "You see, women aren't physically strong like men are, but what we lack physical prowess, we make up for our incredible emotional strength. So, I believe that, at least in these times of war and bloodshed, a man's role is to protect the physical body of the woman, while the woman's role is to protect her man's heart and soul. Without balance, there is no future and no happiness, wouldn't you agree? If we don't make the best out of this life, and look at the beauty of the world...Then have we even lived at all?" there was wisdom in the words that Kazan deemed rather naive, and yet...What she said wasn't wrong, per se. In fact, it was true. He was well aware that, with his body, the best he could do was protect her, but he would never be able to sooth her broken heart the same way she does to him...And likewise, he remembered the mirthful laugh he let out when she tried lifting his weapon from the ground.

However, he wasn't going to say anything out loud, and decided that, instead of voicing his opinions, he'd rather grunt and close his eyes, letting sleep take over him, his head still resting on her soft thighs.

Maybe having a wife wasn't as bad as he once thought...

But times change fast - Years pass, lives pass, the river passes...And yet, only one thing doesn't pass, and that is Yamaoka Kazan's rage, which only grew stronger and stronger with each day, and each time he heard himself getting called "The Oni".

He was desperately angry, and not even Y/N's loving touch or sweet voice could save his soul, so much, that in fear of accidentally hurting her, he decided to stay out and train or go on and kill more and more samurai impersonators, hoping to somehow release all his anger and be able to return home.

He knew Y/N would be worrying for him, but she needn't do such a thing, it would only hurt her heart, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was strong, and feared - Who would dare go against Yamaoka Kazan, anyway?

The days away from home multiplied, and he was away for a stupefying month...Y/N must be crying, worried sick. He wasn't afraid of anything physical in this world, yet the thought of her doe eyes shedding tears...It was something he was terrified of, especially if he was the cause of that.

But on the way home, he found a pink lotus flower, and he thought she would love it, so he gently took it with him back home. It was raining, and an ominous feeling crept into Kazan's heart, and he realised there seemed to be an almost dark aura around his home.

It wasn't yet sleeping time, so why were there no candles lit? There was no sign of any living being there? Where were the servants? Where was his beloved Y/N, waiting for him on the porch, playing the flute the way she always did?

Something was not right...

The man rushed inside the house, and as soon as he slammed open the sliding door, he was met with nothing that he expected - Pools of blood on the floor, while the otherwise neutral-coloured walls were splattered with the red liquid, and the corpses of the servants were brutally mangled and thrown around as if they were defect ragdolls.

It wasn't the horrifying sight that scared him, but the fate of his wife - So he made haste and ran to their shared room...And there she was.

In more pieces than she should be in.

Her hair was a mess, her kimono was a mess, her make up was a mess...And she had been tortured, from the way her wounds, slashes and cuts looked on her body.

Who...? Who could do something so...So...Disgusting...To a defenseless woman who had no means of fighting back? Where was the honour in defeating a weak civilian, such as her? What was the purpose of this massacre?! Was it to anger him? To bring out the Ogre from him? Is it what they all wanted? To see The Oni they feared and hated so much? They got revenge on a small woman, just to get to him?!

"Ah, Kazan, finally. Took you quite a while to return home...I thought her body would rot away and get swarmed with maggots by the time you'd return. And what's that in your hand? A flower? Did you want to apologise to her with a stupid flower? You have caused my daughter immense distress, and yet, she loved you to the very end. You should have seen her cry out your name, praying for you to come back home and save her...But, alas, the Ogre is never home! He is so busy killing, that he didn't realise he killed his own wife! Hahaha! Yamaoka Kazan, you are a pathetic excuse of a man, you could never come close to her strength! I tried everything to get her to tell me your secrets...But she didn't say a word. She ignored me. In the end, she came to hate me, her own father, who cared and loved her since she was born...And she loved you, some spineless monster who knows nothing but carnage!" what...? What was this man saying...? Is he truly implying that he tortured his own daughter to death, for...Information...On him...? "What...Did you do...?!" red was the only thing he could see, as he couldn't help but stare deep into her dead eyes that still held the fright and agony they last felt when she was still alive. "I KILLED HER! I KILLED MY OWN DAUGHTER, Y/N! This whole marriage was meant to bring down your stupid family of brutes and uncontrollable monsters! It was meant to kill YOU! But she was stupid! Nothing more than a sentimental woman! She LOVED you, a monster who knows only bloodlust! It's YOUR fault that she is dead, Kazan! YOU killed her! YOU!" her father yelled at him only meaningless gibberish.

In fact, Kazan couldn't comprehend words anymore. Instead, he could only hear whispers - They were soft and feminine...They sounded like Y/N...Could her ghost be talking to him? Was she trying to calm him down one more time, from beyond this world?

Yes, you were a saint, truly...It was a pity you had to meet him...If you hadn't, you'd have still been alive...And your beautiful flute song would still resound around the forest, along with the thrill of the birds.

"I am sorry, Y/N" was the last thing Kazan thought...

As The Oni took over completely, and went on the greatest blood shed known to mankind at that time...

------

What am I doing here...? What is this strange place...? It looks nothing like the beautiful flower garden Kazan made for me...So where am I?

The girl looked around like a confused meerkat, asking herself a limitless amount of questions, only to look down and realise her beautiful pink kimono was dirty with mud, and she gasped in shock. How could she let that happen! She can't let Kazan see her like this, what would he think?!

Ah, yes, that's it, just look around for Kazan, he'll surely know what's going on!

However, instead of finding her strong samurai, she saw three other people, all looking of a different race than her, and wearing such strange clothes...

Was she behind fashion, and she had no idea? She was sure she was buying only the best kimonos there were...!

"What are you just standing around for?! Run! We have to repair the generators!" a girl with unnatural coloured hair yelled at her before she sprinted the hell out of there.

Generators...? What are...Generators...? And why is this place so creepy...?

Hold up...This paper wall maze...This was from her home! Yes, that means she was close to home!

She ran through the little maze with a smile on her face, only to see one of the man working very focused on some kind of contraption, and he urged her to help him out. She sheepishly crouched opposite of him, frightened, but she carefully tried to do something, but instead, a loud noise and sparks came out, and she shrieked in fear, shielding her face as she fell on her back.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!" she cried out, her eyes watering. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you want to die that badly?! Get a grip and do something useful for once!" the man screamed in her face, before running the hell out of there.

Why were they all so rude to her...?

She was so used to her family, her servants, friends and Kazan to be nice with her, that she didn't realise people like these existed too.

A bit shaky, Y/N got up, trying to pat away the dust from her dirty kimono, and continued to look the estate...Only to find her home...But why was it in such a deplorable state...? Surely, she wouldn't allow her beloved home to end up like this...!

As Y/N made her way inside the home, she noticed the scary amount of blood splattered all over the place...Almost as if there was more red than colours of walls an the floor. It was so frightening...And confusing.

Who died here? And how in the world...I mean...She was sleeping, and then...

Oh.

Oh.

No.

She wasn't sleeping...

As soon as she stepped into her room, she didn't notice the blood on the floor, but the discarded pink lotus that laid on her pillow. As she crouched to take the flower in her room, she got a sudden flashback of her memories from the night she died...

She waited for Kazan, and the elderly servant woman was comforting her, pouring her tea and patting her back, as she played the same flute song she did when she first met beloved.

But then, her father paid her a visit...And a true hell was unleashed...

Her own father did something so atrocious...Such a betrayal was nothing she could ever phantom in her own life, and yet, her life was ended not by a stranger, but by her own kin.

As silent tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her delicate cheeks, a loud roar shook the whole estate, and the brusque blurting in the room of a huge man was enough to fright her to fall on the ground with a startled yelp.

And yet...

The raised weapon, the samurai garments he wore...And that Oni mask... There was only one person in the world who could look like this.

"Kazan...?" her voice came out weaker than a whisper, and she wasn't sure if he even heard her calling out his name. For a split second, she was terrified of the thought of that horribly enormous weapon striking her down where she stood, in her own bed, for the second time...And yet...

The monstrously big man dropped his weapon and slowly crouched in front of her, picking up the flower and putting it in her hair, pinning it away from her gorgeous face.

"Y/N...It really is you..." his voice came out as a dark grunt, in fact, in very much sounded like a demon, and yet, his moves and actions seemed more delicate than even this lotus flower.

The girl started laughing from happiness, allowing more tears to escape her eyes, being reunited with the love of her life, and she threw herself in her arms, feeling safer than she ever did in her life.

"I missed you so much, my dear Kazan...I missed you so...I can't believe such things happened to us...And yet, here we are, together again, even in death, even in hell." as she said that, she slowly took away his mask, and revealing his rugged face, obviously one of a man seasoned in war and tortured to death - She put her hand on his cheek, just as he used to do with her, and caressing him, she leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead.

It was meant not only as a lucky charm, but as a 'home sweet home' as well, for there was no home without Kazan's arms wrapped around her protectively...

And there was no home without the petite body of his beloved S/O in his strong embrace, watching her fall asleep.

"I promise you never leave you again, my beloved cherry blossom." he said so, and yet, having been in this Hell longer than her, he knew of the atrocities she, as a Survivor, would have to endure, and the hell the Entity would put on the both of them.

And yet...

If anyone even dares to look at her the wrong way, The Oni would make sure that, no matter how immortal the Killer might be, he would bring an end to them.

He already lost her once, and he's not going to let a tragedy befall her ever again.

[a-is-for-abel]

“It’s a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave.” prompt from @givethispromptatry

Crows barked, throaty and dry, from their perch high in the gnarled branches of the tree at the head of the cemetery. The letters etched into the granite before him shined and the heavy mist settled over his shoulders, oppressive and thick.

He counted the crows in the tree, a rhyme coming to mind as the black winged birds called into the fog. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral… Four-- Four for..."

A funeral… His brow furrowed. The name on the gravestone drew him back in and he eyed the letters. Bells from the steeple of a church coughed in the distance.

"It's a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave." He turned to see a man leaned against a tall gravestone, a lit cigarette in his fingers. "But you seem to be taking it rather well."

The man flicked a lick of hellish embers off the end and took a long drag. Smoke trailed from his lips and curled over his salt-flat empty eyes. "Say, you haven't died before have you? That'd make this a bit awkward-- See, I don't really do the whole doing someone else's do-over. Those contracts tend to get a little messy, if you know what I mean."

Dressed sharply in a suit jacket and trousers to match, the man didn't stand out quite that oddly against the backdrop of a graveyard. However, with no procession, he was out of place without the rest of the mourners to stand shoulder to shoulder with.

It was even harder not to notice the way he stood a little too tall, a little too pale, and a little too thin...

And the eyes--

He couldn't remember having ever seen eyes like that. Though, he also really couldn't remember how he had gotten here either.

The man frowned, cigarette dangled from his lips. "You're not very talkative are you. That's gonna make this a little hard if you don't at least start asking some questions."

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Ah, there it is-- Everyone always starts with that one. Never a 'where am I, how'd I get here', it's always the who are you?" The man shrugged. "I got a lot of names, kid. Just make one up, it'll probably be better that way."

Paul. It was the first name that came to mind, risen like the valleys of weathered hands and deep-set wrinkles the name brought with it.

"Paul?" The man hissed, eyes scrunching as he flicked the cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with the toe of his dress shoe. "Wow, you're real bad at this. Look, I'll settle for something like, uh-- How's Paal sound? Good? Great."

Even as Paal dismissed it, he tried to latch onto the name Paul and the hands that came with it. Somehow, he knew those hands had shown him how to hold a chisel and carve with the grain and not against it. That they had smoothed down his hair and lain flat against the crown of his skull as the other drew a new line against the door jamb, and he had childishly smiled at the inch gap that had grown between it and the old one below.

"Well, now that we got names out of the way--" Paal reached into his coat and pulled free a scroll. "Let's get down to business."

The parchment unfurled with a dry cough, ink dripped over the page and rearranged itself into letters that shimmered, ruddy and wet.

"So, for starters, my contracts are pretty straightforward. I don't do all that funny business the others do." Paal pointed to the second line. "The overall payment is going to be your eternal soul, of course. The only exception I'll make here is if you can name something of equal value and I also deem said thing of equal value. Now, don't get all excited. Not a lot of things add up to a human soul. Unless you'll be trading someone's else's soul as your payment. Simple math and all of that."

His eternal soul? He looked at the cross atop the gravestone and wine-dipped stained glass and the pulpit of a church flitted to the forefront along with it.

"We on the same page here? You look a little lost?" Paal asked, tilting his head.

"Sorry, I just--" He furrowed his brow. "Am I dead?"

Paal pointed to the grave. "Is that your body in there?"

"I--" He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius myself, but I think we can both put two and two together here."

He grit his teeth. "Right…"

"Fantastic-- Now, onto the good stuff." Paal pointed further down the parchment. "So, in exchange for said eternal soul, I grant you a few things. First off, you get to get up on your own two feet and walk out of that grave. A pretty good deal, right?"

"Deals go two ways."

"See, now you're catching on--" Paal pointed at him and then tapped the next line on the scroll. "Alright, so it's pretty damn expensive to bring a soul back to life. Maker's got an idea in mind and tampering with that's always gonna cost you a little extra."

"Do you mean money? I don't exactly..." He held his hands out, the empty state of his pockets hopefully obvious.

Paal laughed. "Money? What the hell am I going to do with money? No, no, no-- I need a favor."

"A favor?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! A favor. something pretty simple, actually. But to get that body back and with all your precious little memories intact, you gotta do something to pay for that. More than just signing off your soul, that is."

"And who exactly am I paying back?"

Paal grimaced. "You're asking questions you really don't want the answers to, kid."

"Fine." He rubbed at his jaw. "What's the favor then?"

"Bounty hunting. Or collecting, I guess?" Paal gestured vaguely. "Whatever-- Basically, a few folks deferred on their contracts and I need to collect on their souls a little early."

"How early is early?" he asked, squinting.

"Well, I'd say I'm a pretty generous dealer. I give you about how much worldly time you should've had-- Had things not gone absolutely shit for you." Paal held up a finger. "So, in this case, I'd be collecting these souls well before they croak from becoming all ripe and old like they normally would've."

"So, I get my life back..." He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the cross on the gravestone. "Is that it?"

"Is that it?'" Paal mocked and then grinned. "Look at you, already driving a hard bargain."

"You wouldn't have come to me if my soul wasn't worth something."

"Did you come to that astonishing conclusion all by yourself?" Paal said flatly.

He glanced over the demon.

Or devil... Or whatever hellish equivalent he was supposed to be. The lack of the classic horns or even a tail made it hard to pin any kind of fiendish charm to him. Besides the eyes and the pallor of someone who's never seen the light of day, he looked rather ordinary...

And his memories, few and far between-- muddled even-- like he was reliving them from underwater-- As unreliable as those memories were, he still remembered sitting upon a pew in a sun-washed room, a pastor at the head of the church, attesting how the devil would always wager in ways that would seem fair and just, but never were.

"What else do I get?"

"Greedy, aren't you? Fine." Paal rolled up the scroll part way and pointed at a line halfway down. "You can't die. At least while you're contracted under me to collect souls. If you call on me and I deem the request reasonable enough I can and will help you. Think of it like, uh-- Praying to a guardian angel. Except I'm absolutely nothing like that and I'll actually show up."

"And collecting on these contracts? What does that entail?"

"Killing them, for starters." Paal said simply. "I can't exactly grab their souls when they're still kicking around like that. And a lot of them have found ways to sort of, eh-- protect themselves from me. But you're just a bag of bones, maybe a little bit juiced up when I'm done with you, but you'll be human enough."

He didn't feel like picking that last aside apart too much. "So, you want me to kill for you?"

"Yes."

"How exactly?"

Paal flicked his hand and the scroll snapped out of sight with a thwick. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled free a revolver. Six-shot, shined, scarred with engravings up and down the muzzle and wrapped around the barrel. Handle a bone-white ivory, pale and unblemished.

Paal held it out to him. "With this."

Dropped into his palms with little fanfare, he cradled it, as if a newborn lamb. He glanced up from the gunmetal shine after a beat. "I can't shoot."

"Oh, you won't have to. You just have to aim." Paal formed his fingers into a mock-gun and pointed it at his forehead before mouthing ‘pow'. "It does all the hard work for you. Unless you're into that kind of thing, then by all means I'll take the training wheels off of it and let you do the trigger pulling."

"No…" he swallowed, careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself. "Training wheels is fine."

"Fantastic. Do we have a deal then? All of this--" Paal gestured to the whole of him. "--for the meager, one time price of doing a simple chore for me."

He stared flatly.

"And your eternal soul after you've lived a long and happy life, but that's just semantics," Paal laughed, waving him off.

He tilted the gun in his palms and glanced down at his pockets. It wouldn't exactly fit very well… "Is there a holster?"

"Oh, right--" Paal patted his chest and fished around in his suit jacket before drawing out a belt. "Here. It's a bit used, but at least it's already worn in, right?"

Mottled stains scattered the edges of the leather belt and where intricate markings had been stamped and tooled into the holster itself.

"Thanks…" he said, pinching it between two fingers while trying to find a good way to hold the pistol with his other hand.

"Woah, don't sound too grateful there, champ," Paal said. "You'd think I wasn't about to do you the biggest favor of your life."

He paused in his inspection of the holster and gave Paal the flattest look he could muster.

"Get it?" Paal's grin dropped. "Not a funny guy then… Noted."

Finally, managing to holster the gun he slipped the belt around his waist and fumbled with the buckle before fastening it. "How exactly do we seal the deal?"

"Eager, are we?" Paal held out his hand. "Just shake my hand and that's it. None of that writ in blood nonsense."

He wrinkled his nose.

Paal flexed his fingers and held his hand out further. "Look, if you really need me to draw up a traditional contract and give you a copy, I can do that too, but it's dreadfully boring and I do enough paperwork as it is. I mean, what do you have to lose, honestly? You're already dead. I'm just offering you a second chance… and a little bit of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"No one ends up dead in a ditch with a pack of dogs eating their face without being fucked over somewhere along the road."

"I don't…" He knitted his brow. "It's hard to remember."

"Oh, it'll be like that for a bit. It gets better once we get everything settled. Trust me though, you've got quite the bone to pick with someone back up there. And I for one would love to see how it all pans out."

"This is a form of entertainment for you," he said flatly, eyeing the still outstretched hand.

"What's the harm in mixing business and pleasure?" Paal smirked. "Plus it'll be fun to see what you do."

"Can you not bring back the memories now?"

Paal tutted. "That's quite expensive, and we haven't made a deal yet."

"How do I know I even want to go back then?"

"Does it even matter who you were before if you get a re-do?"

He looked at the name on the gravestone. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Oh, no-- Uh, see, you're not going back into your original body." Paal grimaced. "I can only repair so much and those dogs really did a number on you."

"Great…"

"Don't worry though, I got a good one picked out for you. Close enough to be uncanny even. Just some little differences, barely noticeable."

He grimaced.

"Don't you humans love taking leaps of faith? What's with all the hemming and hawing? What happened to all that stupid recklessness?"

"Not all of us are stupid."

Paal groaned. "I would get stuck with the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi."

'Look, it's lil' yellow-bellied Bern!'

'Just take it from him. He's not gonna do shit-- He'd flinch at a fly if it looked at him wrong.'

'Pa said he's soft. That his own daddy made him like that.'

He blinked, flinching and scrunching up his eyes at the sudden, sharp jab that needled at his skull. "I'm not a coward."

"Then take my hand."

His head pounded, and if he really was dead he wondered why he could still feel that out of everything. If the sweat pricked along the back of his neck was more memory than actual sensation, or if the way his tongue had grown heavy in his jaw was all made up too. He eyed Paal's hand and the discolored fingernails, the sheet white skin, the odd scarring along the knuckles and on the palms.

'Leave and don't you ever come back here. And if I ever see you again, you'll be begging the devil to take your soul from me first.'

He grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists.

The voice bit across his cheek like knuckles, like blood on his tongue and smattered across his hands. It curled like snake oil and melted wax, like the dust settled over the rafters of an ever empty church and like floorboards stained with drying flecks of rust.

He reached for Paal's hand and Paal grabbed his wrist instead, wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed, hard enough he twisted with the motion. Paal didn't budge, no matter how he pried at him, and the hand burned-- Burned the way laying your palm across a sheet of ice stung and wormed its way deeper and deeper the longer you left it there.

He stumbled as Paal released him, clutching at his wrist and hissing. "What the hell?"

"Part of the contract. It'll fade in a second."

The burning stopped and when he let go of his wrist, a coiling band of white took its place. Sat snugly, flat and lined with black, was an ivory snake wrapped three times about his wrist. The head of the serpent rested along the heel of his thumb, eyes a nearly translucent blue. It faded, still standing out against his skin, more like an impossibly pale tattoo and less like the actual snake it was a moment ago. His arm ached dully with it, like he had come in from a long frigid day, and his fingers cramped as the feeling returned to the very tips of him.

"Oh, right-- You'll be needing bullets." Paal grabbed his hand and dropped a freezing piece of metal into it.

More followed as Paal fished around in his suit jacket for them. At the fourth one Paal paused. "What was that little rhyme you were doing before I arrived? I rather enjoy that one. The ending is always my favorite."

He watched where the bullets settled in his palm. The casings a blood-red ebony and the bullet itself the shade of bone.

"And four for birth…" Paal dropped another bullet. "Five for heaven..." Another. "And six for hell," Paal said with a smirk, manually curling his hand around the bullets and patting it. "Now keep track of those, they're not exactly easy to make."

He didn't tell Paal that he didn't finish the poem, that there was still one more line that needed to be said to complete it. Instead, he pocketed the bullets.

"Walk with me a sec--" Paal grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

They meandered along the lines of graves, passing headstones that varied in shape and size, some cared for, with flowers and candles and even worn sepia photos left at their feet. Others were less fortunate. Grown over, dulled, and abandoned.

They stopped before one with a less modest headstone. A large stone cross jutted up from the top and an angel carved above the name of the soul that was laid to rest below their feet.

"You know, I really do think this is the start of a great partnership..."

He raised a brow.

"Marcus J. Bern--" He flinched at the name, not expecting it to fall from Paal's mouth so casually. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He hesitated, shoulders drawing up, hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip. "Uh, you too…?"

Paal smiled, like he found that amusing. And he hadn't noticed how sharp his teeth looked until he was staring the oversized canines dead in the face.

"Now--" Paal said, placing his hands on his shoulders, dusting them off before squeezing lightly. "This might hurt a bit."

"What--"

Paal shoved him.

He fell and fell and the earth swallowed him whole.

Dirt and silt and death surrounded him. Impossibly endless and vast, the grave didn't catch him as it should have. And the chill that bit at his limbs gnawed feverishly, right down to the core of him until he felt a yell clog up with the hallowed ground packed against his tongue. Further and further he descended, gut flipping and twisting with him, until he thought this would be his new forever. That Paal had lied to him, and he would simply be doomed to free fall for the rest of eternity, until all returned to dust as it had once emerged and longer still.

Light broke up the darkness overhead and he reached for it, arm outstretched. The white snake coiled around his wrist writhed and burned at the first touch of it and dripping with pale ichor, his veins stood out a ghastly silver against him. A venom coursed through him as it wound further and further down, closer and closer to where his heart had thrummed to life and kicked against his ribs in a fevered fit. He clutched at his chest as the ground-- as something-- hurtled towards him.

Breath slammed into him with a rattling gasp and his eyes shot open.

Blinded, he blinked and squinted against the grace of a new day, trembling and shaking where he had woken upon the dirt. The cross of the gravestone cast a merciful shadow over him and he could see the tangled fingers of the tree beyond it.

Raucous caws chorused above him. A murder of crows dotted the grey sky overhead, having flighted from their perches high in the dead limbed oak.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

"And seven for the devil, his own self..." he muttered, hand falling to his hip and the gun now holstered there.

[yandere-sins]

The Fox Wedding - RUN [Bad End]

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke, Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for this chapter: Major Character Death, Blood mention, Death mention, Animal attack, Gore, Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationships

What makes a human life worthwhile?

Was it the prospect of forming a family? The continual circle of birth, life, and death? Was it the growing as a person that gave each individual worth? Learning how to laugh and love? Long, thoughtful nights and the achievement of creating something? Relationships, conversations, experiences, are those the things that made it worth to live? 

Or was it pain, fear, and fight? Would your worth rise if you had to clench your teeth and run until your lungs threatened you to give up if you didn’t stop and rest? Could your life only gain worth from being so scared that your body trembled, but your senses heightened in an attempt to be warier of your surroundings? Every inch of your body was feelable, every muscle straining to get your attention. The perfect coordination of orders to follow was only achieved by panic and fear of falling into the hands of the people you had to get away from.

Or their paws.

Or their teeth.

These and so many other unimportant questions plagued your mind as you stumbled over roots and against trees as if you were in a haze. Was the brain capable of enduring as much fear as you were feeling, or was the reason for your questions that it was unable to continue feeling this way? Going numb would have been a preferable action, as well as a deadly one. As such, it kept you occupied, one way or another.

A loud bang resounded from behind you. It was still far away but too close at the same time. The loud crashing of a tree in the distance was only spurring you on, spreading panic as you questioned what kind of creature could break down a whole tree. You weren’t clever. You didn’t actually know an answer to that. 

You didn’t want to know.

Thicket scratched at your skin, broke it, and drew blood as if it were a hundred deadly arms reaching for you, their nails scratching as they tried to grab you. Nothing in this forest wanted to let you go. Not the trees, not the bushes, not him. 

Of course, you had regrets now that you chose to run. You regretted being an idiot and doing this to yourself even though there had been so many warnings. Not one of the fox people had advised you to run - at least at your own. But you couldn’t wait for a prince in shining armor. Or fur. You could wait for nobody to save you from this fate. Breaking out when you found some loose stones around the window of your cell, without proper clothing or a sense of direction, is nothing anyone would suggest you do, but then again: what else could you do?

However, most of all, you deeply regretted that you weren’t running faster.

It was almost as if it was taunting you, the heavy footsteps galloping after you. They weren’t created by feet, but you could recognize them as something very different. Perhaps watching these nature documentaries had been a waste of time, but at least they made you remember the sound of bears running through forests, their big bodies producing a hollow, echoing sound. 

Not one inch of your brain wanted to acknowledge what was after you, but you were sure it wasn’t a bear. 

Somehow, you wished it was. A creature that wasn’t sentient like a human would be just as deadly, but you imagined that it would be less awful than what awaited you. Even if your body still ran and ran some more, way beyond the point of exhaustion, inside of you, you were slowly losing hope. 

Maybe hope is what makes life worthwhile, you thought quietly as you kept pushing forward. Only the sounds of your breathing and gasps left your mouth as you tripped over roots on the ground, but never words. Hope could create inspirations and aspirations. It ‘made mountains move’ and saved people from their worst selves if they could stay hopeful. So when had you given up the hope to escape?

Was it when Kita locked you into that cell? When he mentioned the contract? When these two fox brothers visited you but got sent away? Somewhere along the line, you must have lost it, though perhaps, only just recently, when you realized you had been found out. If this hadn’t felt like a hunt rather than a chase, maybe you could have stayed hopeful. But no matter how hard it was to look truth in the eye, you knew you were the prey of a creature you shouldn’t have messed with. All you wanted was to get out. Out of the forest, out of the vicinity of the monster chasing you. 

Out of this seemingly endless nightmare. 

If you were to die here, could you say your life had been worth something? Did you always do the things you wanted to do or was breaking out from the prison of the foxes your only glorious achievement? Would you leave earth with regrets or regret leaving? 

These questions were the last you could think about before the hellish pain of long, sharp fangs puncturing your torso tore you out of it. How nice would it have been to die instantly on impact, unable to feel how the jaw clenched down, your lungs pierced, and your shoulder entirely crushed by force? Hear the bones cracking in the back of your mind and your arms and legs going limb? 

You had imagined death differently. Even if you were unsure how you imagined it, you didn’t think it would be this way. There was so much pain that it stopped hurting. Briefly, the feeling of blood pouring out of you and dripping down your body was noticeable before it disappeared, too, as your ability to feel stopped. You realized in your mind that you shouldn’t have been able to turn your head, but pressed by adrenaline and the last, untorn nerves, you did, looking into the gleaming eyes of your monster. With a head as big as your whole body, you could only recognize the shimmering, white fur. The beautiful blue shine was mesmerizing, captivating you in these last moments of your life. Long tails waved in the far corner of your vision, and blue light illuminated this creature, making you wish it wasn’t so darn beautiful to look at, so you could have felt anything but astonishment.

The next thing you knew, the jaw around you loosened, making you drop to the ground, the last parts of your body that still twitched and jerked starting to cease their movements. In awe, you got to see how the beast turned back into the form of a human, your eyesight growing weaker by the second the more blood you lost, but you were still able to recognize the face that stepped closer, crouching down beside you. 

In your head, you formed the thoughts to taunt Kita, rub it into his face how you escaped. Had you been able to, you’d have told him you’d never marry him and that he should stop crying like a child. But you were unable to. Gripping the only hand still intact tightly, Kita brought it to his face, nuzzling it. Blood - your blood - was smeared all over his face, and he kept taking deep, pained breaths of anguish. Even now, he seemed dignified, mourning the death of his beloved, and even now, you despised him for it, thinking he had no right. 

“No… no…” he lamented, and you thought that it was unfair he got to cry small blue tears about you while you weren’t able to control what was going on with your body. 

“I’m so sorry, [Name]! I’m so sorry… I… I couldn’t control it… I was so angry and hurt… I couldn’t…”

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of other creatures approached, and Kita took a deep breath. As if he could hide these emotions he was feeling by simply pushing them deeper inside of him, he bit his lips to keep them locked inside before deciding he’d rather kiss the back of your hand with his mouth. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Please… forgive me.”

What kind of man or creature could sit by the side of the person they claimed they loved, mauled, and then ask for forgiveness? His hand brushed over your head as if to comfort you, and you heard more voices approaching, though they turned quiet as they understood what was going on. Someone said something you didn’t understand, and Kita only muttered, “Not yet,” in return. His eyes never left you, and finally, you realized that this was how you were going to die.

By Kita’s side.

Ah, if only you could have said something to him. Something that would have haunted him for the rest of his life if he truly cared for you as much as he assured you before. Finally, you understood these novels where people sought revenge against others. Though it was probably your body torn apart, but it was as if something was eating you from the inside, this intense desire to at least have an impact on your murderer’s life. Take some of the worth from him just like he had taken from you. 

“Do you remember--”

His sentences started to become incomplete. Kita’s mouth moved, but you didn’t hear what he was saying. It was hard to see now, your vision was not blurry, but you couldn’t focus anymore. 

“--- fox --- gave me --- we --- never ---”

Then, your name. Again. Your shoulders shaking, but all you could focus on was how hard it was becoming to breathe. 

“--- don’t leave --- I love ---”

Taking your last breath felt almost like taking a big gulp of water and breathing out afterwards. 

And then it was dark. 

It should have been different. Your whole life should have been different. Moving to Japan should have been a new start to an entirely new chapter, but it led to the worst decision you had ever made. Perhaps you shouldn’t have run away. Maybe you should have stayed and embraced the marriage. Or you could have waited just a little bit longer for someone who’d keep you safe after all. Even if you had accepted the marriage, something good could have come out of it, and you should have just taken what you could. 

But you didn’t. You died in the arms of the creature you wanted to get away from. The person you despised the most for putting you into this situation and killing you. Are you sure this is the path you wanted to take?

Was it worth it to risk your life?

Or will you try again?

➤   Go back to the prologue to change your fate

➤   Stay dead

[edwardelricsrightarm]

"A lesson without pain is meaningless. For you cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once you have overcome it and made it your own...you will gain an irreplaceable fullmetal heart." - Edward Elric

In honor of disability month and the FMA 20 year anniversary I wanted to address some Thoughts™️ about the series.

It's not often you see a disabled protagonist in media where their disability is integral to the story without taking up their entire character, even more so with anime. Yet, Fullmetal Alchemist has not just one disabled Protagonist, but two. The Elric Brothers are an exemplary representation of disability in media that I find myself reflecting on often as a disabled person myself. If you haven't completed the manga or Brotherhood, skip this as it will be brimming with spoilers.

(Mangahood will be my point of reference because while 03 is good on its own merits it's not as fresh within my immediate memory, and I am far less familiar with it. Keep this in mind, I've watched FMAB 10 and a half times whereas I've finished 03 only once years ago.)

The story highlights their disabilities immediately, Edward being a double amputee and Alphonse being without his ENTIRE body, only having the senses of proprioception, sight, and hearing left. Yet, despite this being key to the story and an integral part of their characterization, it is only one facet of their motivations and doesn't take center in the narrative, which is refreshing. It's not inherently negative to make a narrative centered on the characters' disabilities, but often this model of a story goes very wrong very fast and starts to feel hollow (no pun intended). FMA avoids this by making their disabilities a clear part of the plot and their motivations without allowing it to consume the entire story, so the Elric Brothers don't suffer the "my disability is all of my character" problem that many disabled characters are relegated to in a vast portion of media, all while being strong and competent.

Recap:

The brothers wished to revive their mother, but their good intentions cannot change the atrocity of their mistake, Truth makes this abundantly clear from the start. Edward loses his leg first, a punishment for "stepping" into God's shoes and transgressing the place of humans in their world. Alphonse loses his entire body, unable to feel any warmth or simple comforts like food and rest, when all he wanted was to feel the warmth and comfort of his mother's embrace again. At first, Alphonse's entire being is consumed by the gate, but Edward acts immediately, refusing to lose his little brother and refusing to allow his arrogance in this plan to cause his brother's death for only following his lead. Edward gives his right arm to have the gate give back Alphonse's soul, and stated clearly in his panic that he'd give his entire self to save Alphonse if that's what it would take, but Truth took his dominant arm only, showing something akin to mercy, although the character of Truth is capriciously strict and hard to describe as "merciful".

Through giving up his right arm, Edward regains his Right Hand Man, his little brother and best friend. His only remaining family, who he feels responsible for protecting in the absence of their parents. He felt immediately that he'd made a grave mistake, instantly full of regret as he realized the gate had taken his brother. In that moment he was willing to give anything to take it back and undo the suffering his arrogance caused his brother, yet Alphonse was still to suffer more to come. Ed tied Alphonse's disembodied soul to one of Hohenheim's collected suits of armor, managing to at least keep his brother alive in some way. One could say that Alphonse's punishment functioned as a secondary punishment for Edward, showing him how easily his hubris could have cost him what he has left in his obsession with regaining what they'd lost, their mother. A very clear symbolic reminder of the weight of his actions and how he'd misled his brother in his own naive ignorance. Even in giving another limb away to drag his brother's soul back out of the gate, he couldn't offer enough to bring him back intact. Thus is the law of equivalent exchange.

Now that we've reviewed some of that basic symbolism and the motifs the story draws upon with limbs and body parts in relation to characters, let's move on to each individual brother and break it down, shall we?

Edward Elric is a very realistic protagonist, this is one thing a majority of us familiar with this series can agree upon. He feels like a believable teen boy, with layers of complexity to his character while also showing arrogance and immaturity that is unsurprising at his age. He expresses unwillingness to kill and avoidance of unjust violence from the beginning, and has a strong moral code after the ordeal of committing the taboo.

In some characters his cocky personality would typically become grating, yet the story explains in itself why he is this way, then builds upon this to develop him into an incredibly mature character who is willing to admit when he's absolutely wrong and adapts to new information and context for the crisis unfolding around him as it comes, even if he remains crass. This arrogance is shown from the start to be a manifestation of insecurity, self loathing, and repressed guilt. Edward is a logic driven person, he has a very unique thought process, which is where my interpretation of him as autistic comes in. Edward's awkward social demeanor, somewhat abrasive and cold approach to some, and his trouble coping with nonsensical societal structures all stand out in this way. Furthermore he clearly shows hyperfixation, hyperactivity, special interest, and infodumping behaviors that are all too familiar. He's picky with food (*cough* the milk thing), has very little filter and speaks his mind bluntly even if this can warrant conflicting responses, yet at the same time struggles with vulnerable emotions, and he is frustrated when his own routine or itinerary are interrupted by forces beyond his control. All of these things Scream autism with comorbid ADHD. Many traits are shared between the brothers, and I'm quite certain they're both on the autism spectrum based on behavioral patterns. Neurodivergence aside, Edward's physical disabilities are undeniable.

Despite his bratty persona, Edward is fundamentally kind and uncharacteristically gentle and soft around the edges for a shonen protagonist in many ways. He cries openly on many occasions even if he struggles talking about his trauma and burdens in words at times, he feels pain, grief, and compassion so intensely it throws him into action on a regular basis in the narrative. In this way he's also a fantastic example of non-toxic masculinity (though in other ways he has displayed more toxic traits, he's just a kid). He acts on his heart, even if he's led by his mind and logic in most things. His humanity, value for life, and care for others will always win over his logic, and he shows a sense of personal responsibility for doing the right thing even if it harms him in the process. Ed is clearly shown having ghost pains in his lost limbs which is honestly an interesting detail to include, I don't think I've ever seen that aspect of amputation shown in media aside from FMA. It's also shown that when Ed's automail arm breaks this is a HUGE problem for him, but he's also shown to be very good at working around this in difficult circumstances. He doesn't become completely helpless, even if majorly weakened.

Alphonse is an extremely lovable and compassionate boy, brimming with altruism and care for others. Even in his noncorporeal state he pursues a better future and he's not helpless by any stretch. Edward clearly states Alphonse is the superior fighter for example, and it's not just because of his armor body being so large. He's *talented*, that's a fact. Al is every bit as clever and capable as Ed, moreso in some ways, and I love that about his character *because* he's so clearly disabled. He has no sense of pain, he is completely incapable of sleeping, he can't eat, can't relax or find comfort, he can only exist and think. This causes him to overthink in all his time alone, this is debilitating. He clearly is absolutely sick of the loneliness this causes, and he often feels helpless though he's not. He has doubts and fears that consume him in relation to his armor body, he questions his own personhood, even. Yet, Edward is stubborn and staunch in affirming that no matter what he's dealing with, he is fundamentally still a human being that is loved and irreplaceable. Alphonse is powerful and his body gives him some advantages, but it also sets him back, and the brothers know this even when others claim Alphonse's state is somehow a good thing. I have hEDS, a disability that comes with advantages as well as the major downsides, so I can understand and relate to Alphonse here. I too am told my disability is a boon because of flexibility and because I'm less likely to fracture bones, but I'm twice as likely to injure my ligaments and joints, which people ignore.

The brothers are both disabled, both flawed, both show weaknesses, but they are competent, determined, and strong in their own right. They are rounded characters that exist for more than to be pitied or condescended to by able bodied characters around them. They put their entire being in everything that they do no matter what that is, and they don't know the meaning of giving up. These traits that they're made of truly make them a shining example of disability in protagonists for others to look to for reference when writing their own disabled characters.

Even though by the end Edward has regained one limb and Al has regained his body, this also doesn't just deus ex machina reverse their disability or make it go away. It's clear that Alphonse's body is weak and has to be rehabilitated upon recovery, and Edward is still missing his leg and bears the scars and pieces of the port from his automail arm. They weren't suddenly made able bodied upon recovering these things, they reclaimed what was lost through struggle and grit, but the narrative didn't give the impression that their disability in itself was something to be fixed, which is important. They wanted to recover their bodies, but this doesn't erase the effects of their disability.

It was about Edward atoning for leading Alphonse into their mistake and saving his brother from suffering further, it was about them proving they can keep moving forward no matter what, not about getting rid of their disability in itself or putting themselves down because of the disabilities. This, to me, as a mentally and physically disabled viewer, is so important. They achieve their goal, but this doesn't in any way erase or undo the effects of their initial losses, they find ways to adapt and move on but they're still affected and still disabled. They always will be. That can be so important to see in comfort characters, and as a disabled individual who's had both brothers as comfort characters since I was a child, their impact on my own journey is surprisingly tangible for fiction.

[five-rivers]

Breaking my ‘only posting when I get an ask about it’ streak for Pep Talks.  Is this a good thing or a bad thing?  You decide.  :P

.

He almost didn’t hear it.  

Even small fights could be noisy.  Battles at this scale were deafening, even when the quirks involved weren’t.  Between Hizashi, Bakugo, Kaminari, Jiro, various giants, Endeavor, the nomu, and whatever had happened to Shigaraki, there were plenty of loud, flashy quirks.

But Shouta wasn’t sure a noise level existed that would keep him from hearing that name.  Not while leaving his eardrums intact.

“Shirakumo Oboro, you’re one of mine!”

That wasn’t Hizashi, or Nemuri.  Who else could-?

His distraction nearly cost him a leg, and he was barely able to dodge back at the last second.  He clenched his teeth.  Getting distracted was illogical, as much as he hated to admit it.  

One noumu had nearly killed him.  He might have backup this time around that wasn’t untrained children, but...

He threw himself back into the fight.  When he caught sight of Hizashi and Nemuri, they looked similarly conflicted.  Similarly furious.  

Then black cracked like lightning through the battlefield, depositing Kurogiri (Oboro) and Midoriya’s time traveler, because of course this situation wasn’t complicated enough as it was.  

Fenton landed on his feet, but forwent any advantage this gave him by looking around at the nomu and loudly complaining, “There’s more of them?  Who did this?”

“Pest...” growled Kurogiri, strain evident in his voice.  “You will find your doom with-”

“Oh, come on.  I know about the USJ and your big dramatic speech there.  You haven’t killed anyone in your unlife.”

One of the nomu decided to avoid Shouta, who was trying to move his fight closer to Kurogiri and Fenton, and lunge straight at the boy.  Shouta could see the moment Fenton saw it, and time slowed down as Shouta watched, because no matter how many quirks the kid had, he wasn’t moving.

There was a flash of light.  

Bits of burnt flesh pelted Shouta, and he hated the fact that he knew what that felt like.  

“I could do that to you, too,” Fenton announced as Shouta tried to clear his vision enough to use his quirk again.  “But I don’t want to, if I don’t have to.  I can tell, you were awake before, Shirakumo Oboro, and you can be again.”

At first, Shouta thought that something must be badly wrong with his eyes, because the time traveler had changed.  His hair was white, his eyes were toxic green, and he was wearing something that almost looked like a hero costume.  His attention was yanked away by the largest of the remaining nomu coming after him again.  It was smart-  used tactics, struck for weak spots, kept coming after him when he blinked, or when he was distracted.  

“The rest of these, they’re not meant to have stayed, and what happened to them, it’s terrible.  But you’re different.”

Shouta caught glimpses of the fight out of the corner of his eye.  The time traveler could, in addition to manipulating time like Eri, apparently fly.  And shoot lasers from his hands.  And turn invisible.  And throw punches through solid concrete.  And make ice.  All of which he used whenever a nomu made the mistake of interrupting his conversation.  It was like he was an amalgam of all the most frustrating students in his classes, and he wished the kid’s mysterious mentor all the luck in controlling a student like that.  

“It must be terrible-  There’s six of you in there, at least, and only one who should be anything even close to this.  Like the only one who can swim, and all the drowning clinging to him-  I’m so sorry.”  

Fenton was purposefully speaking clearly, pitching his voice to carry to his opponent.  Kurogiri was not.  Whatever response he had was lost. 

“This place is so strange, with everyone’s ghost tied to their body-  I haven’t been hanging around deaths, but they cling, don’t they?  How would these be made, otherwise?” the questions were breathless.  “You were still- But you stayed on purpose, and you were awake.  I can see that.  Why?  Why are you here?”

“I exist,” Kurogiri said, his mist moving erratically, “I was created, to serve-”

“That’s a lie.  What happened when you died?  What was so important for you to do, that you woke up, still in your own corpse?”

Against his will, Shouta’s mind flashed back to that night, and-

The nomu clipped his shoulder and sent him flying.  He felt his bones cave under the pressure, and his backwards flight was suddenly arrested by the nomu grabbing his capture weapon.  He drew his emergency knife with his still working hand, and sliced through the fabric.  

His radio crackled to life.  

“Shouta!  Duck!”

He obeyed without thinking, and narrowly avoided having his head knocked off by a piece of rubble thrown by the nomu.  That voice.  That voice on a radio, coming through when it had no right to.  

“You know each other?” asked Fenton, tilting his head.  “Oh.  I think I understand.”

The nomu moved again.  Shouta was slower, down a limb and half his capture weapon.

“Are you going to let this happen without doing anything?  Are you going to stay asleep?  Bound to the will of someone who would destroy what you exist for?”  Behind the nomu, he saw Kurogiri go down under Fenton’s hand, pinned to the ground.  “Shirakumo Oboro, why are you here?”

Shouta practically felt Kurogiri’s inhale from all the way over here.  The nomu stepped forward

Static from the radio.  “Shouta!  You... can do it!”

He shuffled the knife in his grip and surveyed the scene.  Getting distracted like that...  He’d told himself it was going to get him hurt.  

His partners, his friends, his students, all the civilians...  Getting beaten down by just one enemy when everyone was relying on him and his quirk was the very height of irrationality.  

“You can protect... everyone, Shota.  You’ve got what it takes!”

At first glance, the nomu had no weaknesses, the massive body making up for Shouta’s ability to cancel its quirk, but in reality... 

The nomu charged.  Shouta kept his eyes on it, until it was only inches away- Then he blinked.  The sudden return of its quirks made it overcompensate, and Shouta was inside its guard, his knife angling up.  

He knew this wouldn’t be enough.  

“I know... for a fact!  You’re strong!  You won’t lose!  You can do it, Shouta!”

Capture weapon, eyes open again, had to be fast, had to be-  There.  A loop around the nomu’s ankle, and a piece of rebar in his hand-  It couldn’t regenerate like this, but Shouta had to kill it in one go.  

Up.  Down.  

Fenton laughed.  “That’ll do it!” 

Shouta turned in time to see Fenton plunge his hand into Kurogiri’s- Oboro’s- chest.  Kurogiri disintegrated.  

“No!” shouted Hizashi, just as far from Fenton, but on the other side.  

But something else was happening.  A form coalesced from the remaining mist.  Dress shirt and suit vest, but that hair-

“Shirakumo,” he said.  

The battle was still going.  Once again, he made the choice to turn away.  He’d said to protect everyone, after all.  He’d- He’d understand.  

There were still nomu to fight.  Still civilians trying to evacuate.  

He spread his gaze out again, canceling the quirks of all the nomu and villains he could see.  His head and eyes throbbed with the strain.  He saw the moment another group of nomu realized what he was doing, and broke off from the larger battle to hunt him down.  

Well.  He still had half a capture weapon.  

The first of the nomu bore down on him, only to be intercepted by a neon green bo staff that sent it flying.  

“Right,” said Fenton, stepping up alongside Shirakumo, “there’s sure a lot of these guys, huh?”  

Shirakumo blinked down at his weapon, looking as dazed as Shouta felt.  

“Well, I’m pretty sure they fall under my jurisdiction, so to speak, so...  we’ll just take care of these, and then I can, um, explain things better.  Okay?”

“Shirakumo,” said Shouta, reaching out, even though he was too far away to touch.  

He looked back, meeting Shouta’s gaze with bright yellow eyes.  His brows pinched together, and his lips moved without making a sound.  Then he shook his head and looked back at the nomu.  

The message was clear.  

First things first.  

[mahalidael]

Those Familiar Spirits

(*sprints up to the podium* FIRST FLYNN FANFIC. sort of. if you don’t count the phantomrose96 one, but flynn doesn’t actually appear in that one so make of it what you will)

Danny was two years old when the police came to their house. He must have thought the flashing lights were fireworks; he ran outside alone to look.

He saw uniforms, a funny black and white car, and a great deal of shouting between the grown-ups. It was July, and very muggy. Flies buzzed around the police cars’ lights as Mom and Dad talked very quietly, and Aunt Alicia yelled, and the police said ma’am, please, we’re trying to help, could you just, ma’am. Ma’am.

Danny ran up to get a better look but was promptly swept up by a police officer and carried back inside as he craned his neck to hear what they were saying.

Mom went inside for a minute and made him and Jazz sit on the couch. She told them gravely, “We’re just going to talk to the nice policemen, okay? Don’t go out there.”

Danny huffed. Jazz noticed his irritation and spoke up. “Can we watch TV if we stay inside?”

“Mm-hm,” said Mom, looking out the window at the lights again, already standing up and gravitating towards them.

Jazz reached for the TV remote and hit the power button with an ease that a four year old will only exhibit when provided with sufficiently busy parents. Danny started chewing on his shirt sleeve as images flashed on the screen; they were big kid cartoons that he had no interest in.

“Mom?” said Jazz, peeking up over the back of the couch.

Mom paused in the doorway and addressed one of the policemen before turning back to Jazz. “Just a second — yeah?”

“Where’s Flynn? He likes this show.”

“Um,” said Mom.

She cleared her throat.

“That’s what the policemen are going to help us with. I’m sure he’ll be back before it’s over.”

Their cousin was not back before it was over. He wasn’t back at all, but this, like most everything else from when he was two years old, fell through Danny’s memory like it was water.

...

Jack had been wary of his sister-in-law coming over for a week. He’d also been wary when Maddie described her sister’s marriage as “getting better” and said that she was “calling off the divorce.”

Anyway, within two days of the visit Danny had gotten it into his head that his uncle’s name was Damn-It-Bob.

But the most disconcerting thing was that Jack couldn’t do much about the situation. Alicia was a notoriously private person, and considered the matter of her marriage between herself, Maddie, and Damn-It-Bob. Trying to get close enough to be allowed into that inner circle was an exercise in self-endangerment. He had tried exactly once in college, and the dislocated wrist he’d gotten out of that arm wrestling match nearly cost him his scholarship.

Getting through to Damn-It-Bob was even more frustrating. Alicia, at least, cared about Maddie’s studies. She didn’t understand them, but looked on with interest as Maddie expertly extracted a sample from the latest ghost specimen and held it up to the light for her sister to see.

Damn-It-Bob was worse than an outsider. He was a snob.

Damn-It-Bob looked like if Alicia didn’t already have a pickup truck, he’d drive a Prius, and if he ever tried tikka masala he’d brag about it. Jack had to assume that if Alicia married him, they had to have some kind of common ground, but damn if he couldn’t figure out what it was. And apparently neither could they.

He had a degree in aerospace engineering, which he constantly emphasized was a really useful science. Alicia didn’t even have to work at the logging company if she didn’t want to keep up the family business.

He tried to charm the kids with pictures of the rockets he’d designed. It worked on Danny, which, yeah, okay, he was two years old, but Jazz seemed to pick up his intentions and tried to steer Danny away. Jeez. If Jack left her alone for five minutes, she might be doing calculus when he came back.

And then there was the kid.

He didn’t even notice that he was there until the Walkers were standing in the living room. Jack had walked behind Alicia to hang up their coats and suddenly saw him standing right behind her.

The kid hadn’t said a word in the entire thirty-minute production of his family coming inside — or if he had, he hadn’t been listened to. He had this sort of rust-colored hair that stuck out in all directions, like they tied up a big ponytail on the top of his head and chopped it off instead of giving him a real haircut.

Getting closer,  Jack finally saw why the kid wasn’t talking. He had his nose buried in some book. Oh, so he was one of those, Jack thought. He hadn’t personally been a child who devoured books like a woodchipper, but Vlad had.

In any case, silent reading hour was over. “Hey, bucko!” said Jack. The kid nearly jumped out of his skin, one hand snapping the book shut like a cell phone at the end of a tense call. “Thirsty for knowledge, I see? We’ve got more down in the lab.”

He shrunk away. Alicia noticed and put a hand on his shoulder as she turned her attention away from Maddie. “—so that’s how the union settled. And you two remember Flynn, right?” she said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “We brought him to Danny’s baby shower. He was so shy back then you thought the table was set by a ghost for a solid thirty minutes.”

Maddie’s eyes landed on Flynn and lit up in recognition. “Oh, yeah! I remember. You were at least a head shorter last time we saw you.”

Flynn nodded, staring at his shoes. He hugged the book to his chest like it was a stuffed animal.

Alicia and her husband chuckled politely. “Well, you might have seen him earlier if you didn’t pull out your toys to try and find that ghost,” said her husband, less politely.

“Bob, could you please be civil?” Alicia said under her breath.

“The event was delayed by an hour and we missed our flight over a bunch of—”

“Damn it, Bob—”

“It was a poltergeist, technically,” Maddie laughed nervously, stepping between them, a note of oh lord not this again in her voice.

“Hey, kids, how about we go down to the basement and check out some cool gadgets?” Jack was itching to take Flynn and the children downstairs. He had to ditch the conversation before it went south. “Wanna see what ghost bones look like?”

Flynn actually looked like he was going to respond to that, but Damn-It-Bob cut in. “Flynn probably wouldn’t be interested in theoretical science. He likes studying useful things.”

Yeah, ectoscience was theoretical. You could tell it was bad because it was italicized.

Jack resisted the urge to get passive-aggressive right back. Not in front of the children. “There’s plenty of physical things in the lab that I’m sure Flynn’s gonna love. Every kid loves lasers. Right, Danny?” he queried his son, who was chewing on the leg of the coffee table.

Danny blew a raspberry, which he assumed was a yes. Jack managed to whisk them away before the Walkers started swearing at each other.

He put Jazz and Danny down in the little area of the lab that they’d sectioned off with a foldable plastic dog gate, where Jazz made herself busy putting all the crayons in a straight line before Danny picked them up and started scribbling on the rubber tiled floor.

“So, Flynn! We’ve got some whosits and whatsits to check out. That catches ghosts,” Jack said, pointing at the gadgets skewed across the counter like exploded, “this blasts ghosts, that catches and blasts ghosts, and this is a hot dog maker. What do you wanna see first?”

Flynn shrugged and shuffled an inch backwards.

Okay, this wasn’t going anywhere. Which was odd — they’d opened up the ops center to tourists in the past for alternate revenue, and kids always seemed to be the most excited about the gadgets.

Plan B, he guessed. “What’s that book about, anyway?” he said.

Flynn hesitantly held out the book. Jack took it. It was a big, heavy book, with a hard cover titled The Collected Jack London. Jack went to open it to a random page, but was interrupted when his leafing caused something to fall out from between the pages.

It was a flower. Flynn quickly snatched it off the floor and took his book back, scowling. “It’s sabatia geu — sabatia geutianoides,” he muttered. “It’s one of the rarest flowers in Arkansas, so I can’t pick another one.” He then very carefully flipped to another page in the book, counting the page numbers in whispers until he found the one he was looking for and slipped the flower back inside.

Ah. He could work with that. “Really? Is it the rarest one you’ve got?” he said, posing a challenge.

“Uh, I have Stern’s medlar, but just a leaf I got off the ground. They’re cruh — crit — crit-i-cal-ly endangered.”

“We’ve got some samples of a pretty rare plant ourselves.”

Flynn’s eyes lit up. “Can I see them?”

Jack took Flynn off into a side room. This room was mostly like the last, though being closed to visitors, it was far less organized. He picked Flynn up and lifted him over a heap of spare parts on the floor. “Watch your step.”

A cacophony of containers were heaped on a table in the center of the room. Only a few of them were planter pots that they’d already owned; the rest were old shoeboxes and burned-out pots and pans. They were all filled with soil. Their occupants stretched their purple-black stems towards the overhead sun lamp.

“Rosa sanguinea, also known as the Massachusetts blood blossom,” said Jack. “They were grown in the 1600s — apparently they release an anti-ghost vapor. Unfortunately, we can’t prove whether it works, since we don’t have any intact ghosts to test it on, but they’re delicious.”

“That’s so weird.” Flynn rubbed a black leaf between his fingers, as if he expected the color to come off. “Roses aren’t normally hardy enough to grow inside. And the leaves are naturally black?”

“Yep. Well, maybe. We think they were mutated by long-term exposure to ecto-energy. The biggest patch of them is around Salem, and that place is a hotspot for the natural portals to the dimension ghosts live in,” he said, pointing at the pictures of such that they’d pinned to the corkboard across the room. Jack himself couldn’t believe some of the places that they’d found natural portals in. One of the pictures on the corkboard was of a portal they’d found in a public toilet. “They’re stubborn little buggers, but only in ecto-energized soil — we had to cart the dirt in these pots all the way back from Massachusetts.”

Jack snapped his fingers.

“I’ve got an idea.” He picked up a blood blossom growing in a mason jar and handed it to Flynn. “That’s yours now. Take it back to Arkansas, and it’ll protect you from ghosts.”

“Really?” said Flynn, seemingly more awestruck by the plant itself than any properties it might’ve had. “I can have it?”

“All yours! After all, who knows when you might need it?”

...

Flynn hadn’t wanted to leave Arkansas. He hadn’t wanted to sit in Mom’s funny-smelling truck for ten-odd hours while listening to them argue about money, and ghosts, and damn it Bob, would it kill you to put the toilet paper in the holder the right way just once?

At some of the rest stops, Flynn had stood in the bathroom and stared in the mirror. The door was right behind him and Dad hadn’t left the stall yet. He could just turn around and run into the woods, so Mom and Dad would talk about something other than their horrible marriage.

Because Flynn was ten years old, and the problem that he saw was nothing as complex as an incompatibility of personality, or people growing apart. The problem he saw was that they needed to shut up about the divorce.

That was all he wanted. Something to come in and make them shut up, and make the divorce go away, and put things back where they were supposed to be.

But obviously that’s not how things work. Flynn went outside and picked dandelions that were growing at the edge of the parking lot, and he held them outside the window while they were driving so the seeds would scatter all along the road, and he still ended up visiting Uncle Jack and Aunt Maddie in New York, and Mom and Dad were still fighting over stupid stuff.

Flynn kept trying to put off the tour. He knew that Dad would hate the lab. He stuck with real things, metal and chalk numbers — never mind that one of the major points of contention was the slew of Young Living boxes sitting in their garage. A better statement was that Dad rejected any science he didn’t think he could exploit. Like, son, wildflowers are nice and all, but you know that the real money’s in saffron, right? It sells for twenty-five hundred a pop and it’s not getting any cheaper. Just think about it, son.

“ —converts ectoplasm into a power source.” Aunt Maddie was showing them something embedded in the lab wall. Flynn didn’t really like ectoscience either, but that was mostly because the topic freaked him out. He didn’t like when his friends played that pencil game that let you talk to ghosts, much less when his uncle talked about ripping them apart mmmolecule by mmmolecule.

It just felt kind of rude. They were people, at some point. Everyone knew a dead person.

“Quaint,” said Dad, turning over the hot dog maker he had found on the counter. “Very quaint.” It was his usual word of condemnation. “What’s that hole in the wall?”

It was barely a hole. Not so much because of size, but because it was so badly occupied by a tangle of wire that actually entering it would be impossible. Aunt Maddie said: “Our prototype for a stable portal into the ghost zone.” Dad scoffed, but she smiled tightly and ignored it. “With a reliable and stationary portal, we can collect data faster.”

“And it took you ten years to think of that?”

“Bob, if you don’t want to see it, you can just wait in the guest room,” said Mom, rubbing her temples.

“No, it’s fine, Alicia.” Aunt Maddie sighed. “We’ve been thinking of it. It just took this long to make sure building a portal large enough for a human to enter would be safe. A few years ago, a friend of ours was injured by one that wasn’t any bigger than a car tire — precautions needed to be taken—”

Dad put up his hand in a ‘halt’ gesture. “So, wait. You know that those things can hurt people, and yet you build a big one in your basement, and let your kids in here ?”

“They’re at a safe distance — they’re not even on the same side of the lab,” said Aunt Maddie, eyes narrow.

“Oh, thank goodness you let your toddlers play some paces away from a potential biohazard! ” Dad threw up his hands in fake relief. “I guess that makes it okay, then!”

Aunt Maddie looked like she was gearing up to shout. But she glanced at her kids in their little corner hutch, and seemed to think better of it. “Look, Bob, I — help me understand. Five minutes ago you were calling ghosts ‘fairy tales,’ and now you’re getting on about potentially endangering my children with something that, by your own logic, shouldn’t do anything. What’s your real problem?”

“My ‘real problem’ is that, ghosts or not — and there are certainly not — the fact that someone got hurt at all tells me that you’re tampering with something that you don’t understand—”

“Bob, that’s enough —”

Seed dispersion was one of the fundamental adaptations of the plant world. A seed that dropped straight down from its parent plant was a dead seed. It wouldn’t be able to access sufficient nutrition, water, or light so close.

Mom exiled him and Dad from the lab so she could have a good talk with Aunt Maddie. Uncle Jack awkwardly let them sit on the couch and watch NCIS with him.

“I just think that pseudoscience has no place in being the primary income for a family,” said Dad.

Uncle Jack nodded with a poorly disguised grimace.

“Anyway, have you heard that lavender has anti-autism properties?”

Uncle Jack suddenly excused himself to go to the bathroom. Luckily, Dad seemed to think that the distant laughter was coming from the TV.

Dandelions had a nasty taxonomy. They were wind-dispersed, able to fly up to sixty miles away from their parent plant, where they isolated and readily speciated. This was a large part of the reason why Flynn couldn’t appreciate them without every adult in an eighty-mile radius screaming it’s a weed!

By Sunday, Mom and Dad couldn’t be in the same room together without shouting.

By Wednesday, they wouldn’t speak to each other at all.

By Saturday, they started calling the divorce lawyer again.

That night before they went back to Arkansas, Flynn slept on his aunt and uncle’s couch. He could hear Mom and Dad talking in the guest room above. At indoor voice levels. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

The potted blood blossom sat on the end table atop Jack London.

He was woken up at two in the morning when something spritzed him in the face like he was a cat. Flynn squinted in the darkness for what it could be and was immediately spritzed again. He wiped the spray off his face and jolted at the sight of a red smear on his wrist.

A faint hiss was coming from the end table. Flynn watched as the blood blossom emitted a quiet red steam into the air.

He looked around the room nervously. Then he looked out the front window.

At the very end of the street, between the buildings, there was a faint green glow that looked very much like Uncle Jack’s pictures.

Well, of course dandelions were weeds. When something survived too well, humans inevitably got all up in their business, trying to trammel them in. It was a weed because it didn’t cooperate with that.

Flynn didn’t need to pack his bag; he had already loaded everything from the trip back in, but he added some more anyway. He got a knife, a frying pan, and a BIC lighter out of the kitchen. And of course, he took his book and the blood blossom.

Then he walked out the front door for the last time.

It was a muggy July night, and all the lights in the windows were out. The streetlamps pooled in the road. The green light creeped into the alleyway on tiptoe.

Flynn stood before a hole in the world and found himself alone. The hole didn’t appear to properly occupy the alley. It looked like a bad photoshop in person. Just standing a foot away from it, he could feel the static electricity. It felt like it was ruffling his hair in a gesture of approval.

There was a deep hum that might have been the portal, or the flies buzzing around it, or Flynn’s heart getting ready to tear itself from his chest in excitement or fear. He did not know which.

The blood blossom was beginning to overflow its mason jar with red condensation. Flynn poured it out onto the ground. It mixed with the dank puddles in the mundane depressions of the concrete that, absurdly, continued to exist in the presence of something so otherworldly.

Flynn reached through the portal. It felt like cold water — strange, but not icy enough to be unpleasant.

This was what he needed. Something he didn’t know, somewhere his parents couldn’t find him. He could find shelter with those familiar spirits for a little while, and his blood blossom would protect him as his parents looked for him, and then he would come back and they would be so happy and angry to see him that they wouldn’t talk about the divorce again for another year at least, and it would be nice, and it would just be so nice, it would just be so nice when he got back.

And then the light consumed his vision.

...

Twelve years later.

“Jazz? Did you just come through the portal?” Danny squinted at the readout on the specter speeder — the constant green light of the ghost zone made it hard to read at times.

“No?” she said over the speeder’s radio. “I’m still in the lab, why?”

“Because the radar’s picking up signs of life.”

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Blue Lions: S/O doesn’t want kids

{Hi! Someone submitted this as a request, but sent it to the wrong ask box. I keep trying to tag them yet Tumblr seems insistent that the account doesn’t exist? @angel6776 if you’re out there, this one’s for you love} 

Dimitri: 

He is slightly disappointed, yet relieved at the same time

We all know that Dimitri doesn’t bode well when dealing with fragile things. A child is such a large responsibility and this is a conversation he has feared for so long 

He won’t deny that the dream of a family hasn’t crossed his mind 

After all, there are pressures. He needs to produce an heir...but maybe this is where the Blaiddyd line should come to a close. His family has endured for so long despite their own sins. Perhaps relinquishing the crown may be what’s best for his people 

Naturally, he keeps this thought from you. He doesn’t plan to resign from his position anytime soon, but later on it may be time to choose a new line of government for Fargeus to follow 

One step at a time, things will fall into place. They always do with you by his side

Dedue: 

He is...well, he’s sad. It’s very rare Dedue shows such emotions and I won’t lie about it 

Dedue wants a family. He likes children and gets along with them well despite his intimidating appearance. Hearing that you don’t want to have any does make his heart ache 

It was only up until a short while ago that he deemed the idea impossible. His life was his highness’, but recently he began to have little dreams. Ones where there’d be a mini you in his life. Someone he could pass his traditions from home onto...

He wants to ask if you’ve thought it out completely, but knows better. This is a heavy topic and you’ve always been thorough 

He accepts the fact as it is and doesn’t push the topic for your sake. He may not get to have a child, but he does have you. That’s more than he ever bargained for in a long time 

Felix: 

He’s never been much of a family man. Not to say that he hates kids, but they’re not the easiest for him to deal with. He lacks patience and they are also very demanding 

He’s definitely the quickest to let the subject go. What’s the point when he never cared that much in the first place? 

If you wanted kids he would definitely agree, and he would try to be a good father. Though Felix is pretty certain that in the early years he’d be no good...it’s hard. Anyways, you don’t so that’s one less thing to worry about 

Now he can go adventuring and not have to think about someone hurting his kid. It’s bad enough that people already target you not that they ever succeed

You can’t miss what you never had in the first place, right? 

Ashe: 

Like Dedue, Ashe does want a family. The difference between the two is that he’s always dreamed of it 

Ashe thought for the longest time that he did not deserve happiness. He thought that his life should be used to help other people no matter the cost. There were already two lovable kids waiting for him back home, and he knew better than to ask for more 

The man does not have a greedy bone in his body...yet? The thought of having you has his (husband/wife) made his heart soar. To become a knight, marry, help his siblings, and eventually create a place to call home 

He dreamt all that up without thinking of your own feelings. He feels conflicted between your wants and these newfound dreams he’s become to internalize 

His friends showed him that does have the right to be happy and to move on from the past, but you are his happiness 

It may be greatly disheartening. He may need some time alone; yet, he can’t imagine that ‘family’ dream without you in it. He loves you, so it’ll be okay. The orphanage always can use volunteers too  

Sylvain: 

The runner-up in terms of not caring 

Does he like kids? Yeah, but they’re not a life necessity. Times are different and the Gautier legacy isn’t his biggest concern 

He’s pretty sure that he can just leave the house to Felix’s or Ingrid’s descendants. It may be a burden on them but they’ll definitely do better with it compared to how his family has

He may jokingly behave as if it bugs him, but he’ll shut up quickly if you appear to be upset

Kind of thinks that they’re overrated? Firm believer of the “if you don’t want them, then don’t have them,”  policy because they need proper love and attention. He has no doubt in his mind that he’d love them with all his heart, but doesn’t want to make you go through with it simply because he wants them. This isn’t like when he convinced you to hang a napping hammock on your shared balcony 

Ingrid: 

Well...she’s sort of grateful. She’s heard some “fun,” things about the birthing process from her mother’s midwives at a young age 

Ingrid also doesn’t want to take time off from her work for maternity leave. She’s very busy and sometimes finding time for her spouse is hard enough, so a child? It’s almost unimaginable 

She’s lived her entire life worrying about her family. They needed her to marry and in turn have children. Note the past tense in that sentence 

“needed,” thanks to her position in the war and Dimitri’s assistance, things have improved back home. That urgency is not as prominent as before

So, you don’t want kids? That’s quite alright. The population won’t risk dwindling anytime soon and a few less noble kids won’t harm anyone 

Annette: 

Annette would have liked to be a mother. She doesn’t know if she’d be good at it, but raising a child is something most people seem to do 

If Sir Jeralt was able to raise the professor into such a wonderful person while still being a mercenary, then maybe Annette wasn’t so hopeless? She could teach the little one magic, sing them silly songs, make cakes, and do lots of fun things with them 

It was fun for her to think about, but maybe it isn’t meant to be? She also wanted to work in academia which would be very demanding 

In addition to caring for her students there would also be a child under her wing. She didn’t want to risk neglecting them; so, if you want it to be only be just you guys then that’s fine 

She’s already happier than ever before. Not to mention that she can do all those things with you! Maybe her students would like to have cake? Or she can be the “cool,” auntie to her friends’ children 

Mercedes: 

Mercedes feels similar to Annette. She cares for children and has a deep protective instinct towards them. All the orphans at the church are treated like they’re her own, and because of this she is very accepting of your decision 

She simply decides to give her in place of the parents that cannot be there for the orphans. She cannot be their mother, but that doesn’t mean she cannot help raise them. This way her personal life with you will remain unaffected, and she can still make a difference 

Would it be different to have a child of her own? Certainly. However, that life is not for everyone. She loves you immensely and doesn’t want this to be an issue. All will be well 

There’s much to do in life that doesn’t revolve around the formal picture of a family. Many people out there need you just as much as she’s needed at the church. You both can easily live your separate lives while still having your relationship remain intact and achieving your individual life goals 

[notapaladin]

and thank the lord i don’t have my way (1/3)

HELLO FRIENDS IT IS THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF ME POSTING THE FIRST OBSBLOOD FIC EVER. So you get not one, not two, but three fics today! Blame @arahir

Acatl has let the boundaries stay open for far too long. Tonight, he closes them. Tizoc attempts to object.

Also on AO3.

-

The Revered Speaker’s chambers are very dark and very cold. Never mind that it’s the rainy season and that the air at sunset was filled with steam rising off the puddles of the day’s deluge; the sun set long ago, and Metztli the moon illuminates nothing away from the path of the windows. The walls are splashed with murals of war and conquest that must surely be blood-bright in the light of day; they are muted and faded now, shadows on shadows.

They aren’t as faded as the man on the Revered Speaker’s sleeping mats. True, Tizoc-tzin, emperor of Tenochtitlan, is approaching his middle age, but his hair is still black and his limbs are still straight. When he smiles—cold and cruel as that smile is—he has all his teeth. He dresses in the finest quetzal feathers, turquoise, jade; even here, alone on his mat covered with jaguar skins, his loincloth is finely embroidered cotton. An emerald rod pierces his nasal septum. He is covered in the riches of his Empire. He should be magnificent, a true symbol of the power of the Mexica.

He should have died six years ago.

Acatl knows this. His bare feet are silent on the tiled stone floor, and his god is silent in his head. Mictlantecuhtli evidently has not deigned to share whatever opinion He has on this with His most faithful servant. Good. Acatl’s long since made up his mind regardless.

Tearing open the boundaries had taken all three High Priests. Closing them, but leaving them that tiny bit ajar, had taken two High Priests, the Guardian of the Duality, and the Revered Speaker of Texcoco. But to slam them shut...well. Acatl is High Priest for the Dead, High Priest of the Lord of the Place of Death, and he can do that with his bare hands.

He stops at the foot of the dais upon which Tizoc’s mat rests. For a long moment, he simply looks at the snoring, twitching man currently rumpling the blankets. He inhales. He holds for a count of three.

He could do it with his bare hands. It would be easy. He’s no trained warrior but he’s strong enough for this, strong enough to put his hands around Tizoc’s neck and squeeze until he turns purple, until his eyes bulge, until he rolls back limp. It’s what Tizoc would have done to him. (What he would have done, and what he probably—gods, he probably would have made Teomitl watch.) Or there’s his knives, lethally sharp, whose wounds always fester and never heal. It would take only the smallest scratch to have Tizoc rotting from his blackened heart outwards, to have him die slow and incoherent as pus oozes forth from every pore, whimpering like an animal, like the clergy of Tlaloc in their pens—

He exhales.

No. He will do this properly. At least this, too, is easy; he dares not chant out loud, but his lips move in the words of a prayer as his magic builds low in his gut. It won’t take much. Tizoc’s life hangs by a thread as it is, and he holds it tightly in his hand.

Tizoc stirs. Snorts. Rolls over.

He nicks his forearm, dabbing a single fingerprint of blood on the dais. And he keeps praying. The edges of the boundaries yawn wide as a mouth, ready to swallow Tizoc whole. The completion of this slow weaving will close them. My Lord, he thinks, I deliver this soul unto Your keeping.

Tizoc wakes, sees him—and screams.

Acatl smiles. He knows what Tizoc must be seeing. A man-shaped figure, his eyes voids, his bones shining like moonlight through the black glass of his skin. It’s a terrifying visage; even Teomitl, who is used to it (Teomitl, who is in awe of it, and that still knocks him flat when he thinks about it too long) flinches when he spots it out of the corner of his eye. Tizoc has always been craven, and now he looks so horrified that for a moment Acatl thinks he might not even get to finish the spell.

As the magic begins to pool together—a feeling like muscles tensing to spring, a beast of shadows preparing to leap—Tizoc finds the breath to yell, “Guards! Guards!”

He takes a breath and lets it out. His skin is an ordinary brown again, bones no longer visible through shadowed muscles, but Mictlan still leaves him feeling like a hollow shell. His voice is the voice of a corpse. “They won’t come.”

Now he supposes he has to give Tizoc credit, because the man tries to lunge for his eyes. Tries and predictably fails; already the spell Acatl’s cast is leaching through his veins, and his limbs will not obey him. Sadly, the same can’t be said for his shrill voice. “What have you done to them?! Traitor!”

He remembers sunlight on the water, and a smile that was even brighter than that. Remembers a murmur of, “Thank you, Acatl.” He lifts his chin, letting pride leak into his voice. “They are following orders tonight.”

Tizoc’s eyes move like rats in a trap, but he’s not a complete idiot. There’s only one man the army would fall into line behind so easily. When he speaks next, he sounds almost resigned. “...My brother,” he spits. “So you have corrupted him.”

Acatl grits his teeth, but there’s no need for him to lose his temper here. “Teomitl is a far better man than you could ever dream of being. You ought to thank me for your years of life; he would have put you down like the dog you are ages ago.” And I should have let him.

“I will have you flayed. I will loop the flower garland around your neck myself, I’ll make those traitorous siblings of yours watch, and then I’ll put them to the sword—”

There’s more, but Acatl isn’t paying attention. He’d once thought that no mortal justice could compete with the need to keep the Fifth World intact; he still thinks that, but by now he’s learned that sometimes pursuing justice and doing his duty are one and the same. It’s taken him long enough. Oh, he’d wavered at first—that first time Teomitl had shared his plans for the future, not even him following it up with a declaration that he was going to wait was enough to stop his heart from sinking. But then Tizoc had come back—no, had slunk back into the city, like a coyote with its ears flat and its belly pressed to the ground—and he’d been nearly stunned with the wrongness of it. That Tizoc could lead an army to its death and then let an entire priesthood to be slaughtered like beasts—it’s not an affront that can be borne. His incompetence will tear the Empire apart if the Tlaxcallans and Tarascans don’t get to them first; each campaign leaves Teomitl a little more tired, a little more snappish and run-down. Soon he won’t be able to carry the army on his back anymore.

The man he loves has new scars. He blames Tizoc for that, but first and worse he blames himself. It was his hand that put Tizoc on the throne, and it will be his hand that removes him from it. There’s only as much justice as he can make, after all.

Mictlan gnaws at his guts again, and he lets it scour him clean. In and out and in again, he breathes. The spell pulses like a living heart. Tizoc must feel it, because he bleats, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He whispers the rest of his prayer, ignoring Tizoc for the moment. This spell is rarely used, not because of the cost—a few paltry drops of blood—but because of its very specific conditions. It only works on dead souls, not dead bodies, avoiding the attention of the Wind of Knives. It would not do to cheat a comrade of His captive. Rare is the soul that can die without harming the body; how helpful it is, then, that Quenami crafted Tizoc a new one. He must remember to thank him. “Sending your soul to Mictlan where it belongs. None will see any hand in your death but the gods’ wills.”

Tizoc’s breath rattles in his lungs. “Blasphemy. I can’t imagine your precious sister—”

“My sister? The Guardian of the Duality? That sister?” Acatl feels himself smiling. “I am restoring the order of the world. She would hold my cloak for me.” After all, she hates Tizoc too. Not as much as he does—she’s a good woman, she doesn’t nurture her grudges the way her menfolk do—but quite enough to look the other way should his soul be severed from his body by what looks to all the world like a common attack of the heart. Such a tragedy, she’ll say, and meet his eyes, and smile. He kneels to wipe away his bloody fingerprint, the only sign of his presence here tonight.

Tizoc is still trying to defend himself. The fool. “You—you can’t,” he splutters. “What about...” Eyes roll wildly as he casts about for an excuse, and finally alights on one he thinks must work. “Your patron! Surely, surely Lord Death can’t approve—”

“My lord,” Acatl says, with a gentleness he doesn’t feel. “I brought you back into this world after your death, breaking all natural laws in the vain hopes that you could do the one single task you were crowned to do. Lord Death will rejoice that I have now taken you out of it.”

“You’ll never get away with this!” he snaps. “Quenami...Quenami will...”

Ah, yes. Quenami. Acatl snorts. “You imagine he will still be alive to avenge you?”

Tizoc goes, if possible, paler. “You wouldn’t.”

He remembers, with a slow uncoiling of rage, the blade at his throat. The way Quenami had smiled. He’d wanted to carve it off his face. “I might,” he growls, but even as he says it he knows he’ll be lucky if Teomitl doesn’t get there first. “You should be happy. You’ll have company on your journey.”

He’s breathing harder now. Hyperventilating. It’s panic, not magic; he can’t even face death like a warrior. “No—no, you can’t—”

Acatl’s spine stiffens. “Only the gods and Teomitl tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“...Heh,” Tizoc spits. “Is he fucking you?”

He considers this. They’ve been discreet—possibly not discreet enough if Tizoc is asking that question, but then the man has always been paranoid of any influence on his brother, even before he was his Master of the House of Darts. He can certainly imagine Tizoc suspicious of what else Teomitl might have been learning from him, and if he’d only known then what he knew now...well. He is a man, and not a statue. Tizoc might have been right about something for once. But he isn’t, and for a moment Acatl weighs whether he deserves the truth. It’s not something he’s ever had to say out loud; Mihmatini is the only one who knows, and she doesn’t want to hear details. Finally, a bit of uncommon smugness curls his lip. “Actually,” he says coolly, “most of the time I’m fucking him.”

Disappointingly, this does not cause Tizoc to expire immediately. Teomitl will be quite displeased to have lost that bet. “You—you vile—you foul—”

Then he starts coughing, wet and disgusting, and blood gathers at his lips. Acatl lets Mictlan’s power fall away from him like an old cloak. “Rant all you like, my lord. Your time is ending. Teomitl will erase all you’ve done as though it’s never been, and the foundations of our Empire—of our world—will grow stronger for your absence.”

“I’ll kill you,” Tizoc hisses. “I’ll haunt you from beyond death, like those ghosts you’ve been slaying throughout my reign. You’ll never sleep soundly again.”

Interesting. He hadn’t thought Tizoc had been paying attention. He hums noncommittally, shaking his head. There will be no more such hauntings now that the boundaries are properly closed.

Tizoc is panting harshly now, beyond speech. Good. The guards are still nowhere to be seen, which is a further relief; as loyal as they are to Teomitl, he still doesn’t want to put them in a position to lie about whatever they might see.

Not that there is anything to see. Over the next few hours, Tizoc’s soul will unravel from its moorings so slowly, so carefully, that no magic his fellow High Priests could muster will be able to tell it’s anything other than a natural death. (He knows Acamapichtli won’t even look. He still mourns his clergy, and now they’ve been avenged.)

Acatl turns away. He’s done here. By the time the sun rises, Tizoc will be dead.

He has things to do before then.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Warmth - Nik

CW: noncon touching, “It” as a pronoun, resuscitation, whumper POV, brief collar.

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next 

Sorcerer's POV. Set during last piece and bleeding into a bit farther.  

“Oh now,” he cooed. He lifted the boy’s head and pulled out his handkerchief to dry the tears spilling onto its face. 

Waste not, want not, he thought as he tucked the cloth carefully back into his pocket. He wasn’t sure what he would use the tears for, but he knew that he would have them; just in case.

A squeak. He almost laughed. He had prepared for the worst. A fight brimming with curses and blood. A fight between a primordial being and the re-born human who dared to challenge it. 

Instead, he got self-sacrificing, well-spoken boy that couldn’t even lift a finger against him. 

Well, it used to be well spoken, he thought as the pathetic squeak re-played in his mind. He closed the boy’s mouth and moved on.

These cuffs had cost him a fortune. He had used them once or twice before, but the subject never had quite enough magic to justify the cost. But then again, they were never made for some run-of-the-mill mage or some King’s court magician. They were made for real, raw power. Animalistic power that a human would never possess. 

They were made for this, he mused as he closed them around a wrist. He pulled the collar from the bag and moved to put it on.

Another sound; a whimper. This time he did laugh.

“Oh, come now. It’s not that bad.” Even if the boy didn’t want it, there was nothing that it could do to stop it. Just like the cuffs, the clasp disappeared as soon as it was closed. He let the boy go limp again and moved to finish setting up. When done, he took its chin once more.

He looked into the boy’s golden eyes. Yes, they were wide with fear, but that’s not what he was looking for. He focused on the shine; the inhuman light behind the iris. The magic. 

Finally, after all his searching, all his hunting, he had one. He would have preferred a few, just in case, but one would work. He collected more tears before he put the cloth away again.

“Keep your eyes open,” he ordered. He pulled the last item from the bag, a matching thinner cuff. He slipped it around his own wrist and soaked in the moment. He wanted to remember how he felt right now. The moments before he became the most powerful Sorcerer that ever walked the earth. While cities already fell before him, now Kingdoms would tremble in his presence.

With just a simple thought, the rush began.

He assumed that the feeling would be intense, but nothing would have prepared him for this. This, this was intoxicating. This was power. He sneered at his own memories. The people who had told him that he was nothing, that he would never have more power than nature itself. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t killed them all those years ago just to rub it in their faces. Now, he controlled the power of nature just as he controlled his own power.

The rush filled him with inhuman energy. Warmth flowed through his very veins, pulsing and strengthening him. His senses opened. Colors grew in vibrancy, sounds grew clearer and more precise, textures became exaggerated.

He summoned his willpower and focused his attention back on the boy. He reached down and pulled up its chin to look back into those golden eyes. A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. 

God, they’ve barely dulled, he thought as he marveled at the sight. Yes, they were a bit more like honey than gold, but they still swirled and sparkled. Still more magic could be gleaned from them. 

Go slow, go slow, he reprimanded himself. But he couldn’t resist. With another thought, the intensity ramped up.

Then a cry broke through the air. He looked down at the boy, back arched and face twisted in pain. Placing a hand on its head, he tried to remember the times he used the cuffs before. The pain that radiated off it was palpable. 

Probably drawing too much from its brain¸ he thought as he reached down to unclasp the collar. Before, it never mattered if the subject had lived. Now, he would gladly slow the process down slightly if it meant he got to keep his power source intact.

“I guess the collar was a bit too much for you, eh?” he asked himself mostly as he laid his hand back on its head. He let some of the magic flow through his hand and back into the boy’s head. That seemed to calm it, considering its head dropped again.

He flexed the muscles in his arms and the power began to build. Humans were not meant to hold this much magic, and he wouldn’t let his hubris be his downfall. He had a few items laid out for this exact purpose. He needed to see which would hold the magic the best.

After a bit of trial and error, he discovered that crystals seemed to hold the magic best. A bit lost in the transfer, he thought before he smirked. No problem, I’ll just collect more. He turned back to the boy. He reached down to check the eyes once again.

The eyes were closed now, and he gave it a few rough touches to get awake again. A spark of annoyance was in the eyes, as if it was a child awoken from a nap too early. The eyes were much duller now, far from honey and much closer to a dark amber. However, there was still sparkle in them. Still more to go. He let it fall and turned back to his work.

A bit later, he looked over his shoulder. A lack of movement caught more of his attention. 

The boy was limp and still; its chest not rising and falling with its breath. 

He walked swiftly over and felt its chest. Cold. He pulled open its eyes and searched. They were almost entirely brown; only tiny specks shone back at him.

He cursed himself under his breath as he stopped the spell silently. He cut the ropes and guided the boy’s back onto the floor. He laid his hands on its chest and let the magic flow back in. He pushed down slightly on its chest, trying to mimic the movement of breath. 

Thankfully, the boy sputtered back to life.

Nik’s eyes flew open as air rushed back into his lungs. He could barely move, but he could roll his head to the side. He sensed a presence above him and looked up to see the Sorcerer. 

For a second, the figure looked relieved. 

Whatever herb was in the tea must have worn off, as he could feel the pounding of his heart in his chest. He was thankful that his fear was no longer trapped in his mind, hopeful that the spread could mask the intensity.

Then, he felt it. Or, the lack. His entire body was numb and cold. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. But worse than that was the deep aching in his bones.

The feeling that some part of himself was missing. The light that had been inside him from the day he was born. The light that he felt coursing through his veins, that his saw in his friends’ eyes. The light that flowered out of him and connected him to the rest of the living world. The light that was so integral to his very being he had never questioned it.

 It was gone. Ripped away from him. He was an empty shell; useless and void. The only warmth he felt was the hot tears and sprang to his eyes. He turned to the monster, the vampire, that loomed above him.

“Wha-What did you do to me?” his voice was broken and hoarse. Nik had never thought of his voice as particularly smooth, but now it was grating and damaged. The Sorcerer didn’t answer him, didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken. Instead, he ran his fingers through Nik’s hair and lightly pet the side of his face.

“Is this what you wanted? Some empty shell? A broken husk? Why not just kill me then? Don’t leave me like this. Like some human,” Nik spat through coughs. The Sorcerer laughed softly.

“Oh, don’t worry. You may feel like a powerless human, but you are far from it. I didn’t take it all, just most. Slowly, you’ll create more. And I’ll be right there,” he mused as he continued to pet Nik’s hair.

“I’ll be right there to take it again. And again. And again.”

Nik’s body shuddered.

[wr1t3-my-wr0ngs]

Totally unprompted ask, but in a Clone wars College AU, what are the majors for uh...everyone in your current fic?

Uhhh I'm gonna go with the characters that have speaking parts and not just a passing mention, so that would be Ahsoka, Rex, Jesse, Hardcase, Fives, Tup, Dogma, and Krell (with a bonus Obi-Wan and Anakin for the hell of it)

Krell: History Professor. He has tenure and is drunk on the power that it gives him. If you fail the class, it's not his fault that you are incompetent. Will never give an extension for any reason, ever, and there are negative opportunities for extra credit. Everyone hates him. Everyone. Has the worst rate my professor score of the entire college. There is an underground movement to get him fired that consists of an alarming number of petitions being passes around in the halls, both paper and electronic. People that don't even have his classes sign the things.

Tup: Undeclared. It's his first year and has no idea what he wants to do, but his goal is to survive with most of his mental sanity intact. Jury's still out on how well that's going, but he's not dead yet.

Fives: Law student. People that know him in passing are somewhat confused as to how he got accepted for a Masters Program since he comes across as a wild disaster child. But those who do know him aren't surprised at all. He's somewhat of an idealist, and dreams of defending the innocent from an unjust system.

Dogma: Also a Law student. Most people assume he's in accounting, but when they find out it's law just sort of shrug like "yeah, that makes sense". Where Fives is in law to defend the innocent, Dogma is in it to uphold the law. His and Fives Parliamentary Debates are the stuff of legends. Especially the unprompted ones that happen in the quad over lunch.

Hardcase: In with a Football scholarship. His goal is to go pro at some point, and while most assume he's a slacker, he actually works very hard to maintain a good GPA so that he doesn't lose his spot on the team. Picked an art history degree for the hell of it, and found that he really likes it. Especially when he gets to have debates over stuff like Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain" and René Magritte's The Treachery of Images". He likes to see what the general consensus is before arguing the exact opposite.

Jesse: Has changed his Major six times and is no closer to knowing what he wants to do. Can usually be found loitering around the Theatre dept, mostly in the prop and scenery shop. He likes the power tools and is more then happy to help if asked, but insists he a shitty actor whenever people ask if he wants to audition. Director Skywalker has been trying to get him into a production for years after overhearing Jesse recite a monologue.

Ahsoka: Criminology Major, with a minor in Cultural Anth. Does she sleep? Probably. Can anyone prove it? No. Is that person who arranges a study group and can actually get the group to study. For the first half-hour, at least. After that, it might devolve into an impromptu d&d session. Works her nose to the bone in order to keep up with the course load. Fortunately, she got her GE out of the way before picking a Major so she doesn't have to deal with that. She is also on the fencing team. May or may not be Professor Skywalkers little sister, and when asked gives vague answers that leave people more confused than before.

Rex: Also a Criminology Major. Works two part-time jobs to help cover the cost of school. Could use a nap, but thankfully only has one year left before he's done. He is the only person who knows for a fact that Ahsoka and Anakin are siblings. He found out after walking in in the two of them curled up on a couch after Ahsoka had a panic attack, and the two fell over themselves to explain that there was no funny business happening. Has been sworn to secrecy so that he doesn't "ruin the fun" of keeping people guessing.

Obi-Wan: Art history professor. Strict but also very chill and forgiving, as long as you have a valid reason and not a made-up excuse. Has an uncanny ability to tell when people are lying, so just don't try it with him. He both loves and hates having Hardcase as a student because he always gets the class off track, but at the same time prompts the most stimulating of discussions. There is a rumor going around that he used to be an assassin for MI6, and a different rumor that he's actually royalty that escaped in order to live a regular life. A good chunk of the student population point out that the two stories are not mutually exclusive. Either way, he has one of the highest ratings on Rate My Professor.

Anakin: Head of the Theater department. The most chill professor at the school, just don't make him mad. Yes, his arm is fake, no, don't ask about it. Watch your words around him, because if you ask for a "hand" or anything similar, he will just take the prosthetic off and give it to you. Is a surprisingly harsh grader, but will accept late work at any time provided its not the last day of class. Once let a student perform their midterm monologue over Skype at midnight because they were in another country for a family funeral. Can be bribed with Starbucks.

[ask-de-writer]

KURIN’S FOLLY : World of Sea : Part 1 of 15

KURIN’S FOLLY

Part 1

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

23,699 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

writing begun  2006

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Kurin looked bleakly out over the yellow gray rail of the Longin.  The water was as gray as the iron of legend.  The wind caught her white hair and blew it into fluttering wisps.  She wished that there really was something so tough and hard that it would cut anything known to man.  It would be so nice to be able to hack through all of her problems and let the pieces sink to the Dragons in the depths.

It was not to be.  Iron and all the other ‘metals’ (whatever they might have actually been) were only found in stories of ancient times, told for children.   Shell, bone, tooth, Strong Skin, glue and mussel fiber were the things of reality.  A Wide Wing soared overhead and, folding its wings, plunged down toward her.

Kurin did not even need to look up to know that High Cloud was coming.  She had felt the young Sea Hawk in the back of her mind from the day of his hatching. Unconsciously she braced herself.  Needlessly.  High Cloud flared his wings wide open, catching the air and settled to her shoulder gently, razor sharp claws adding a few more small rips to the padding that she always wore, strapped securely in place.

It was almost comic, the way that he balanced on Kurin’s shoulder and preened gently in the hair about her ear with a beak sharp enough to have sheared it off.  They were both upset by the change of ship, but the bird was trying to comfort her.  Kurin, with an effort, put aside the tears of her thirteen Gatherings old self and reached up to scratch High Cloud under a wing.  As she did, she felt the comfort flow between them along the invisible bond that joined girl and Hawk.

The bird had followed her from the Grandalor, the only home and rookery that it had ever known. That despised ship had been full of surprises for Kurin.

The Grandalor’s reputation had been a well earned.  It was an unsavory one of meanness, slovenly ship keeping and worse.  That ship had been the place of last resort for the scupper sweepings of the Naral Fleet.  What Kurin had found was entirely at odds with the vile repute.

Kurin had found a ship bound together by a unity and loyalty beyond anything else that she had ever known in the Naral Fleet.

True, they had needed Kurin’s help when they had taken her in.  There was, after all, a warrant for the death of the Grandalor’s officers and for the seizure of the ship itself.  

The warrant was illegal but nobody had paid attention to that detail until Kurin had heeded the Grandalor’s request for help.  Helping them had not been an easy decision.  The actual legal case been a difficult one.  In the end, defending the Grandalor had cost Kurin more than she had ever dreamed that it could.  She had been forced to give up her home ship, the Longin.

Now, as a result of the trial, she was the sole owner of the ship and a welcome member of the Grandalor’s crew.  Kurin was legally an adult, physically and, in many ways emotionally, still a child.  Captain Tanlin and her notorious husband Barad (once the Captain, himself) had allowed Kurin something precious.  They had given Kurin the space and support to do whatever she wanted with her brilliant and inventive mind.  They were also there to hug and care when that was her need.  Kurin had been included in the Grandalor’s unique loyalty, honest affection and surprising honor.  The Grandalor, against all expectation, had become the home that she had not really known since she was seven and her father died.

The Grandalor was barely hull down on the horizon and Kurin already missed them terribly.  The big three hundred foot square rigger’s sails could still be easily seen.  Going away.  Like so much else in her life.

The Great Sea Dragon, Blind Mecat, had taught Kurin an important truth.  Some things that went away, never stopped caring and would come back when they could.  The Grandalor would return for her.  But it still hurt to see them go. They were not like her father, who had died when she was seven, or her mother who had gone mad when he had died so young.  Her mother still never spoke to anyone and avoided Kurin absolutely.

The familiar, lateen rigged sails of the Longin caught the wind and filled with a rattle of tackle pulling taught and the gentle, solid thump of canvas being blown to shape but no other sound.  The tocsin drums relaying the Captain’s orders went almost unnoticed, so familiar were they.  They formed a background to Kurin’s unhappy brooding.

Coming aboard the Longin should have felt like coming home, after all, Kurin had spent almost all of her young life on this ship.  Instead, she was lost and utterly alone.

Kurin felt like just oozing out a scupper.  Regardless of her feelings, Kurin knew that she had not been abandoned.  She simply had a duty to fulfill to her very good best.  Captain Tanlin, Barad and most of the rest of the Grandalor’s crew cared.  High Cloud had followed her from the Grandalor without being asked.  She had not been abandoned.  She knew that the big bird cared. She could feel him in the back of her mind.

Kurin felt a dark sky overhead, even though the sun was shining.  It was a bird’s way of saying, “I worry.”  She could also feel a small fish flopping down her throat. That was High Cloud’s way of saying, “Will a fish help?”  Food was his favorite way of trying to help.  At least he had learned how to ask first.

Kurin, used to speaking her own thoughts aloud, said, “No, High Cloud, a fish won’t help.  Not this time.”  She scratched the big bird under its wing again.  She could feel his acceptance.  If he could not help her, he would take the scratching that she offered. He raised six feet of a complicated, folded wing to help her reach his favorite “itchy spot.”  If he had looked comic preening her ear, he now looked completely ridiculous.  Kurin laughed at his antics.  High Cloud had found a way to help, after all.

Sighing, Kurin looked about the deck to see if anybody was going to greet her.  Bron, the cabin boy, who had been one of her best pupils in the days before she was cast from the Longin, was approaching.  So too was Master Juris.  Kurin did not want to have another confrontation with her old Master of Boat Building.  It looked inevitable, though.  She reached for the waterproof leather document wallet in her shirt and got out two notes.

Big and solid, Master Juris stomped across the deck, a sneer on his face.  “Well, you finally deign to show your face.  It’s a wonder that you’re here at all, promises or no.”  Scorn wrinkled his brow right up onto his bald pate.

TO BE CONTINUED

NEXT==>

[greaseseat48]

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If you recognize, the sarms manage act made it's means through congress beginning as early as 2018. Sarms resemble steroids in several ways, so they share a lot of the same adverse effects. Nevertheless, it's the dose of each careful androgen receptor modulator that matters most, in addition to the particular chemicals used to develop it. Sarms resemble steroids, yet they are not one and the very same.

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In the past, anabolic androgenic steroids and prohormones were made use of to rule the globe of muscle building. These were simply some of the reasons that bodybuilders and powerlifters proceeded to SARMs-- the much safer options to anabolic steroids and prohormones.

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The typical muscle gains for this pile are around 7 to 10 lbs over an 8-week duration. Twp 4way represents the utmost done in one sarm stack in a single product. Unlike anabolic steroids, which bind to androgen receptors in many cells throughout the body, private sarms selectively bind androgen receptors in particular tissues, but not in others. Selective androgen receptor modulators-- or sarms for brief-- are a rather new category of medications that have the capacity to offer every one of the benefits of anabolic steroids without a lot of the side effects.

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In addition to body building, the medications are likewise utilized in the therapy of various disorders. People have actually been clamoring for a magic tablet that could enhance their strength considering that time long past. These drugs are known to substantially raise muscle mass as well as improve strength. The change does not happen over night but in an issue of weeks which is still fairly remarkable. Bodybuilders are amongst the most avoid customers as these increase their physical advancement. None of these medicines, called careful androgen receptor modulators have been accepted by the FDA. SARMs are not anabolic steroids; they are a course of medications that are meant to generate the same effects as anabolic steroids.

You could have attempted various sort of supplements with little or no outcomes to reveal. Contrasting all the benefits and drawbacks of SARMs, steroids, supplements, and prohormones, it can be quickly constructed that Selective androgen receptor modulators are well-ahead as well as far better options than others. Are sarms anabolic steroids, economical cost order anabolic steroids on-line worldwide shipping. To achieve substantial gains, stack it with Anadrol, Deca Durabolin, Sustanon, and Trenbolone, are sarms anabolic steroids. The anabolic steroid Dianabol functions by boosting the muscular tissue cells. Steroid side effects medicine, steroid adverse effects voice The most effective Natural Steroids, are sarms anabolic steroids.

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In other words, both these substances bind to your androgen receptors as well as activate muscle growth. Nevertheless, while steroids can affect various other body organs as well as parts of your body as well as bring about some substantial brief and long-term effects, SARMs are able to affect your muscle mass directly and decrease the threat of side effects. They are additionally much easier to take-- all you obtain is a tablet rather than an injection. In the 1940s, testosterone's capacity to develop muscle mass was strongly researched by the USSR, East Germany, and also others in this bloc. They made use of the steroids( example Deca, read more about this steroid on this page-- get Deca Durabolin) to boost the sports performance of their professional athletes in the Olympics games. The United States reacted by establishing their own anabolic steroid that can match the outcomes of their competitors while reducing androgenic adverse effects. The result of this is methandrostenolone, even more commonly referred to as Dianabol which is still extensively used today.

pharma lab global Purchase Pt141 ='display: block;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;' src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" width="300px" alt="Peptides Types"/>

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Useful 'fake' peptides - EurekAlert

Useful 'fake' peptides.

Posted: Mon, 07 Dec 2020 08:00:00 GMT [source]

Yet, they show a solid affinity for androgen receptors in bone and muscle cells just. This is not the very first time the usa has been pressed closer to outlawing sarms.

what's new in pharma lab global's Shop Melanotan 2 Online , peptides as well as pct from ausroids welcome to ausroids, your finest online resource for buying anabolic steroids, peptides, as well as post-cycle therapy supplements in australia. Sarms are careful androgen receptor modulators which is currently taken into consideration much safer and also much less toxic than anabolic steroids. Type smart, sarms come under 2 major classifications, one that is steroidal as well as the second one is non-steroidals. Steroidal sarms were discovered regarding 70 years ago without any use for human conditions other than those with alarming needs. The attraction for sarms stems from the theory that they can generate outcomes similar to anabolic steroids without the negative effects. Well, as unlikely as it appears, a minimum of, component of that is true.

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Both job by binding to your androgen receptors, setting off changes in your dna which boost your muscular tissues' ability to expand. While sarms do possess anabolic homes, these substances are ruled out anabolic steroids. Actually, the numerous benefits of sarms are due to that that sarms are not really anabolic steroids. To begin, careful androgen receptor modulators are a new kind of androgenic medication asserting to have more uses than your standard steroids. The concern with many individuals is that this is still new and also controlled like traditional steroids. Sarms or careful androgen receptor modulators are anabolic steroids options. Sarms are amongst the best option for those who intend to benefit from an alternative but without damaging their health and wellness.

Nonetheless, each SARM can target a different cells; some may target bones and muscles, others may target the prostate. Testolone (RAD-140), an effective Selective androgen receptor modulator, is a fantastic alternative to substitute treatment than Testosterone. By utilizing this substance, individuals can anticipate considerable improvements in the levels of muscular tissue mass, muscle size, body stamina, muscle mass healing, and also satisfying performances in the bed room.

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Coolsculpting Fat Removal Surgical Treatment.

Cryolipolysis, Fat Freezing, Ice Lipo, Laser Lipo In Witney, Oxfordshire

Content

Exactly How Will The Cured Location Look After The Cristal Treatment?

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How Will The Treated Area Take Care Of The Cristal Treatment?

It is a treatment created to deal with stubborn down payments of fat in details areas, whether this is the abdomen, thighs, chin or various other part of the body. Shockwave Therapy is used in the clinical market to deal with injuries and advertise the recovery of cells, cells and also bones. In the cosmetic industry, Shockwave Therapy is a secure as well as efficient treatment which boosts lymphatic drainage, motivates the break down of fat cells, and also induces skin firm. This therapy can be made use of to treat stubborn fat in areas such as the abdominal area, limbs. Fat freezing, or cryolipolysis as the treatment is understood, is possibly one of the most powerful, secure and also reliable solution for non-invasive fat reduction.

Forget the Spa. These Non-Invasive ‘Tweakments’ Use Lasers and Injections to Keep You Looking Young - Robb Report

Forget the Spa. These Non-Invasive ‘Tweakments’ Use Lasers and Injections to Keep You Looking Young.

Posted: Sun, 26 Jul 2020 07:00:00 GMT [source]

We are delighted to be the first place in the UK to work in collaboration ICE AESTHETIC and also provide their incredible brand-new medical cryolipolysis therapy - Cristal - to target stubborn fat. The Clatuu Alpha functions by targeting fat cells while leaving the surrounding cells unharmed. The gadget targets these fat cells at a temperature of -9 °, the optimal temperature for fat cell fatality, these cells are after that soaked up right into the body as well as expelled with all-natural metabolic procedures. There are a wealth of fat freezing devices on the marketplace, varying from the ineffective, to the well marketed, to the most advanced innovation with clinical CE marking, after that whatever else in between. Not remarkably it is very complex for patients and specialists alike on what gadget is best for them. As every customer's body, skin and also called for goals are special, a detailed assessment with among our specialist aestheticians is necessary prior to undertaking any innovative non-surgical therapy. During the consultation your aesthetician will certainly go over any kind of issue locations, wanted enhancements, choices available and predicted end results.

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CoolSculpting ® procedures can treat noticeable fat bulges under the chin. With CoolSculpting ® treatment for a dual chin, patients can see outcomes after just 2 sees. Skin treatments include the full series of anti-ageing, cosmetic as well as medical skin treatments, to take on everything from sun damage and also wrinkles to hyperpigmentation, string blood vessels or too much sweating.

It is this subcutaneous fat which decreases with Coolsculpting, as revealed listed below. lipo sculpt offers a Coolsculpt Surrey is a center based in Altrincham supplying non-surgical cosmetic treatments for both males and females. BrightNewMe provides anti-wrinkle treatment for clients from Hale, Altrincham, Timperley, Sale, Bowdon, Cheshire, Manchester, Knutsford, Alderley Edge as well as Wilmslow. Fat Freezing, which is often referred to as trademark name CoolSculpting is a clinically tried and tested therapy which lowers treated locations of fat by up to 25%.

CoolSculpting likewise makes use of Freeze Spot ™ technology, which spots any kind of skin modification throughout the therapy session as well as stops it instantly if essential, stopping freeze burns or any skin damage. Our Aestheticians are highly educated, and also will make use of a combination of different applicators relying on the area of the body being dealt with, to guarantee your comfort and also the best feasible outcomes. When you slim down, fat cells all over your body shrink in size. Many people do not produce even more fat cells after the age of puberty, but if you place on a great deal of weight it is feasible for your body to create new fat cells.

Qualified specialists with a riches of experience supply our LipoGlaze ® fat freezing therapies. CoolSculpting ® uses controlled air conditioning, an innovation that specifically targets fat cells to the precise factor they crystallise and also pass away. No damages occurs to the bordering skin and also tissue, and sensors remain in place that immediately stop treatment if the skin gets also cool, which aids to avoid freeze burns. in 2015 researchers from the Plastic and also Reconstructive Surgery publication reported that there were no significant health dangers connected with the treatment. In this specific research study they noted that individuals lost between 14.67 and 28.5% of the fact in the areas treated.

CoolSculpting will certainly not help you reduce weight-- it can not deal with main visceral fat. Nevertheless, the reverse is additionally true that diet plan and also workout does not target subcutaneous (under the skin or 'pinchable' fat).

Does fat come back after liposuction?

Fat will not return (and ideal results will remain intact) if the patient maintains their "post-lipo weight." For example, if a patient weighed 130 pounds prior liposuction and had a total of 6 pounds removed through the procedure, fat will stay away if the patient maintains their weight at or below 124 pounds.

I'm very completely satisfied with all my therapies that I have actually had from the clinic Inexpensive costs. Paperwork from the Harvard Medical School showcased the impact throughout 1,000 clients, and also an ordinary fat reduction of 25% was found in the locations under treatment. Coolsculpting is not a treatment for general weight reduction or excessive weight, an individual can not have several fat freeze therapies as a means to drop weight. 3d lipo Kent is that these are not targeted, we could work out for hrs daily and eat an excellent diet regimen and yet the stubborn pockets of fat could remain. Usually, the very area from which we intend to reduce fat is the one location the body appears to resolutely ignore in regards to fat cutting. The fat freezing procedure exterminates the cells so they can not return-- this is different to fat decrease using workout or diet where the cells generally remain however in lowered look. When looking at the effectiveness of fat freezing it ought to be kept in mind that not all therapies are from another location equivalent.

After your treatment, it's typical that customers go back to their typical tasks quickly. that removes stubborn areas of fat that are immune to diet regimen or exercise, without the requirement for surgical treatment or downtime.