#big time rush misc

[mermaidinthecity]

— Windows Down by Big Time Rush

[myloveforhergoeson]

let's go for it, just for tonight

Fandom: Big Time Rush

Pairing: Lucy Stone/Mercedes Griffin

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Years after settling down in Los Angeles, Lucy Stone meets someone who doesn't make her feel like she's second choice.

ao3

--

This is so stupid. Lucy thought, or tried to, finding it hard to hear the little voice in her head with the pounding and pulsing of the music blasting from the speakers at The Nomad as she took a sip of her Jack and Coke.

For all the years she’d known the guys in Big Time Rush - which was quite a few by now - she should have expected a party of this volume to celebrate the release of their fifth album; should have turned down the invitation the minute Carlos showed up on her doorstep with the bright pink wristband for the club they would be helping open the same night as their release party.

Lucy hated nightclubs, even back when she played a few as an opening act to help launch her career all those years ago. 

They were always far too crowded, leaving strangers rubbing up on her in any number of places, from the dance floor, to the bar, even the line to the bathroom. That was part of the reason she’d chosen clothing with more metal spikes on them than usual for tonight - accessories doubling as weapons kept her safe from anyone invading her immediate bubble, even if the pink wristband looked ridiculous next to all the other silver studded bracelets she wore.

 She couldn’t even begin to describe the stench of clubs either, which was part of the reason she’d barely set her drink down since she’d ordered it a few minutes ago. Her nose in a cold glass filled to the brim with the sweet, spicy smell of Coke masked the nodes of alcohol that otherwise would have made her eyes water. The bartender even winked when she’d set it down in front of the rocker, making Lucy’s cheeks flush slightly under the flashing lights, as she nodded to the band around her wrist reading V. I. P. 

Going to clubs in a group always meant getting separated from your friends as well - A fact she was all too familiar with as she now sat alone at the bar, elbows on the table as she leaned over when a different bartender had his back turned to swipe a bowl of mixed nuts and scan her eyes over the sea of people familiarizing themselves with the dancefloor. 

At the very least, Kendall and Jo were still sitting in the half-circle booth The Nomad had roped off in the corner, sipping something that made their noses wrinkle as they giggled into each other. “Mom” and “Dad” were reliable as ever, but after the whole love triangle fiasco they’d been in when they were teenagers, those two certainly weren’t on the top of Lucy’s list of people to make small talk with. 

James and Roxy appeared to be tearing up the middle of the dancefloor, which worked perfectly for James since he loved to dance and perfectly for Roxy because she was just drunk enough to be treating the DJ’s set like her own personal karaoke show… So, check them off the list too. 

The end of the bar she sat on boasted Carlos, hitting on all three of the Jennifers as dutifully as ever, which caused Lucy to roll her eyes so far back into her head it hurt. One day, he’d learn they were just using him as a form of entertainment, but that day certainly wasn’t today as he passed each one of them an electric green shot from a small tray he’d been holding, before they all clinked them together and choked the biohazardous looking material down. 

Logan and Camille were the only two Lucy didn’t have eyes on, though, as the edges of her vision began to fog from the stiff, heavy pour of Tennessee whiskey the bartender had given her, she suspected they were either halfway to the handicap stall in the bathroom or the backseat of his BMW parked out front, leaving her utterly alone at one of the biggest parties of their lives.

…But they were her friends, whether she liked it or not. Unlikely allies in an industry that usually chewed up teen stars like a stick of gum before spitting them out for the next big thing. They’d gotten through the good and the bad together, simply by being there for one another; Showing up in times of great need and in times of celebration. 

So, screwed over by social convention, Lucy took a handful of nuts and shoved them into her mouth, lazily chewing as she determined she’d stay for one more hour before heading back to her home in the hills. 

-

Two drinks later, Lucy was sure she’d practically lost her hearing. Every inch of the place was covered with speakers, even the bathrooms and hallway to the terrace overlooking Los Angeles, making what the rocker thought might be a small escape from the incessant pop drivel they’d put on after Big Time Rush’s new album impossible. 

At least now, she had a gorgeous view of the L.A. skyline in front of her, though the small patio was almost as packed with people as the bar inside had been. Holding her ground on the railing was easy, she’d had lots of practice holding down spots on the barricade from going to as many shows as she possibly could, even as other patrons pushed into her occasionally. 

What had to be a billion lights danced, swirling through Lucy’s vision as she scanned the view, until someone placed their hands on her shoulders, whirling her around, and suddenly the flashes were reflected in the biggest brown eyes and shiniest, pink glossed lips the singer had ever seen. 

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend,” the lips said, light, yet powerful, and Lucy was sure she’d misheard them over the ringing in her ears. 

She was able to tear her eyes away from the plumpness and pinkness to scan the beautiful features of the woman in front of her; her preppy outfit looked to be straight off the cover of a fashion magazine, perfectly styled from her tight blonde ringlets framing her face, to the glittery fuchsia pumps on her feet. A little dog’s face was even poking out of her equally as pink handbag, a sight which made a snort leave Lucy’s nose on the exhale because, “Who brings a dog to the club?”

Which was not Lucy’s best line, but in her defense, the whisky would be doing most of the talking for the rest of the evening. 

To her surprise, the other woman laughed, grabbing Lucy’s free hand and pulling it around her waist. She had the singer backed up into the railing now, the chill of the metal zapping the patch of exposed skin on the small of her back. 

“Woah,” was all Lucy could expertly get out, because this was now going beyond just brushing up on someone else in close proximity. “Hang on.”

Her other hand forwent the empty plastic cup she’d been sipping from, letting it fall from her palm to the floor as she brought it up to the woman’s waist in an attempt to try and peel her off. 

The chill of Lucy’s fingers must have shocked the blonde; A surprised gasp left her lips and lodged itself straight into the singer’s chest. 

And the sensation from that alone was so new to Lucy that it must have been evident on her face. She could feel her brows shooting up her forehead, eyes widening against the light spring breeze. 

She was Lucy Stone, punk rock’s foremost leader in all things against the grain; There was no way some preppy stranger would elicit such a reaction from her on any other day… Right? 

“My ex is over by the door,” Mystery Woman explained, using the opening to trail an almond-shaped nail up Lucy’s exposed arm, ghosting the side of her neck, palm sliding around her cheek to cup her face. She had a bright pink V. I. P. bracelet on as well, meaning she must have some connection to the guys. “He’s a real piece of work, and you look like just the kind of gal who could keep me safe here tonight.”

Lucy’s eyes flickered behind the blonde’s voluminous hair to the entrance to the balcony where a group of five frat brother-esque guys stood around, drinking from the tall boys in their hands. Any one of them could have been the guy Mystery Woman was referring to, and the rocker figured if push came to shove, she liked her chances in a fight against all of them equally.

Wait… Why does that matter? I don’t even know her…

“I know a thing or two about shitty exes…” Lucy caught herself sharing, shaking her head slightly as she tried to figure out just why her lips were suddenly so loose, why her heart was beginning to race so fast as the blonde’s thumb stroked her cheek. 

Was the thought of being a safe space for this woman she just met riling her up that much? 

Jesus. 

Lucy had been in two relationships her entire life - one with a heartbreaking-lying-cheating bitch who caused her to pack up all she’d known and leave her hometown for the city of angels and the other lasting all of five minutes after a kiss in the Palm Woods elevator - and both times it had taken quite some time for her to even feel the spark of attraction for the other person. 

She and Beau had spent the beginning of their lives growing up next door to each other in North Carolina, childhood best friends to lovers in their late teenage years once Lucy had caught on that the girl she’d been friends with all her life had been itching to be something more… Until she deemed her coworker at her family’s fishing pro shop more interesting than her best friend.  

And she and Kendall had been friends for ages too, especially after she’d met him while he was on the cusp of his first heartbreak. It had been their connection through music that had made her fall for him, leading down a twisting turning road of games that had been fun to play but devastating to lose once Jo had unexpectedly come back from New Zealand wishing to rekindle their old relationship. 

After those two miserable failures, Lucy’d all but given up when it came to love… But at least she’d gotten some killer songs out of it. She had the platinum album certification for her second album, Two Birds, One Stone, hanging on the wall of her in-home studio as a reminder of the truly important things in life.

Always second choice, the rocker thought to herself, until right now. 

The two women were forehead to forehead now; Lucy’s buzzing skin making her acutely aware of every single place their bodies were beginning to touch as she drew the other woman closer. 

It would be wrong of me to turn down a woman in need…

And boy, did it feel good to be needed.

“While we’re here, wanna give him a show?” Lucy asked, having no idea where the words came from but managed to impress even herself at how effortless they’d come out. 

Mystery Woman ran her thumb across the singer’s cheek in a way that sent a shock of electricity straight up her back, perfect pink lips parting for a split second before they were on Lucy’s, and the bitterness of her whisky slowly melted away at the bubblegum-sweet gloss.

The music from the speakers finally stopped, or maybe Lucy’s blood was rushing through her ears too fast to tell, as her fingers dug into her pretend girlfriend’s hips, drawing her in in an attempt to get her as close as humanly possible. 

An action that elicited a small moan from the stranger, one Lucy was eager to swallow as she felt her kisser respond in earnest, shoving her back into the railing as their kiss deepened. 

Lucy could feel her heaving chest rise and fall, the silver studs on her tank top getting caught on Mystery Woman’s piggy pink sweater vest, which only brought them closer together. 

“‘M, sorry,” Lucy mumbled against the stranger’s lips, accidentally clacking their teeth together in a manner that had her stomach flip-flopping. 

It took the other woman a few moments to respond, too busy tangling her fingers in Lucy’s long, black and red dyed hair as she switched her focus to the column of her neck. “I’ll just… buy… a new one…”

In an instant, Lucy was throwing her head back, vision blurring as she caught a glimpse of the gigantic red and blue neon sign for The Nomad blinking above their heads. Eagerly, her fingertips searched for the hem of the stranger's shirt, nearly forgetting they were in one of the most public and crowded areas in Los Angeles as she let her perpetually frozen hands trail up the waist of her Mystery Woman’s body. 

“God!” The blonde gasped, shocking Lucy back to reality. “Is he still by the door?”

The rocker’s heart sank in an instant. Too swept up in the moment to remember why they were even kissing in the first place.

Good one, Luce. Played like always…

Mystery Woman’s bright brown eyes bore holes into her own; The two were about eye level, so Lucy bet she was far shorter than her once those irresistibly shiny heels came off. 

Her voice came again, “Well?” 

Lucy blinked, physically shaking herself out of her head as she glanced behind the blonde one more time. 

Where the group of men had been before stood a bachelorette party passing around ocean-blue shots to each member dressed in campy wigs and knock-off Disney princess dresses.

Lucy gagged, tone going flat as she shared, “They’re gone.”

The blonde snuck one more quick kiss before sliding her fingers from Lucy’s hair, reaching down to grab her hand instead. “Great! Because I need to take you home right now or I might die.”

“I…” Digging her heels into the ground, Lucy pulled back on Mystery Woman’s hand. Taking a look around the patio was just an excuse to hide the heat licking up her face. “Look I- I don’t even know your name-”

“Mercedes Griffin.” She was kissing Lucy’s hand now, looking expectedly at the singer over the ridge of her knuckles. “And I never say this but… Please? Pretty please?”

With every brush of her lips, Lucy’s hand tickled and she inadvertently pressed her thighs together trying to deal with the arousing sensation. 

This certainly wasn’t how she expected her night to go… but when was the last time she’d felt so wanted? So needed?

Going home to an empty, cold bed sounded like the worst thing in the world at this very moment. She’d been doing that for years now…

It’s time, her brain told her. You need this.

With her free hand, Lucy pushed a stray hand of hair behind her ear, finally allowing herself to take a good, long look at the girl in front of her.

Mercedes was beautiful, in every sense of the word; With golden hair Lucy wanted so badly to mess up, lipstick she desperately wanted to smudge even more, clothing she was determined to get her out of… 

“Mercedes Griffin…” She trailed off, testing the sound in her mouth, squeezing her hand before taking a step forward and falling in line with the gorgeous woman looking up at her. “I’m Lucy Stone.” She leaned in again, pressing one more slow, tender kiss to Mercedes’ lips, “And there’s nothing I’d love more than to get out of here with you tonight.”

[antennaed-kenzy]

Red Rose

❀ Mikage Reo x gn!reader

❀ Warnings: fluff, established relationship, everyone is of age, not proofread

❀ Misc: Word count: 2.2k+ Stronger than ever. Series

❀ Red Roses are the flower of love and passion.

Red roses are gifted to loved ones, they symbolize passion and love, well that’s the broad meaning at least. Mikage Reo was standing and your door, an arrangement of red roses in his hand. Looking at his watch over and over checking the time for reassurance. He didn’t want to be too early but didn’t want to be late. Each had their own means for his reason that swarmed his brain.  

In the house he was looking at, you were ready– well almost all ready to leave. You were trying on jewelry that went with your floor-length red dress. You rummaged through your jewelry box till you found the piece you were looking for, a necklace with a real dried rose petal trapped in resin.

Outside still, Reo was at her door. He mustered up the courage to knock on her door. You put on your heels, rushing to your door as you struggled. Opening with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.  

“Here,” Reo held the bouquet between them, “I heard you liked red roses.” He tilted his head to the side so you could see, flashing a smile. 

“Oh, I don’t like red roses.” When Reo heard you say those words, his heart dropped to the floor, did he hear the person wrong then? “I love red roses!” You beamed, grabbing the flowers from his hand. His heart bounced back in place, and a sigh of relief left his mouth. “I love them so much. The symbolize behind them, is how they make you feel when they are gifted to a loved one.”

Taking the flowers in the house, leaving Reo at the wide open door. “Let me put these in a vase.” You looked through the kitchen cabinets, finding a vase to divide the flowers in. You found a few perfect vases, matching the color. You put some water in them, with the flowers next. Laying them on the counter to place elsewhere when you get back. 

Reo watched you walk back to him, a smile on your face. He saw the flowers on the kitchen counter, seeing how you took care of them. You taking care of the flowers, just as he wants to take care of you. 

“Ready to go?” Reo extended his arm out to you.

“Ready as ever,” With a big smile, you linked her arms around your dates. You let him guide you to his car. He let go of you, opening the door. Grabbing your hand he helped you in the passenger seat. 

He walked around, your eyes watching him as he took a seat on the driver's side of his expensive Rolls Royce. You had no clue where he was taking you, but you didn’t question him. If he wanted to keep it a secret, then you respected his wishes. As he said, “a special date with his special lady.”

Reo kept his hand on the steering wheel, though his eyes traveled to you. Seeing you look out the window, your eyes following the trees that pass by. The two of you did love each other, having been dating for a month today, but it still felt new. Reo had difficulties showing how much he did love you, not wanting to go overboard and you leave him.

They came to a spot in a parking lot with a bunch of cars that cost just as much as Reo’s. Getting out of the driver's seat, he walked to your side opening the door for you, his hand out to grab. You fixed your floor-length red dress, Reo holding your hand when you were done. Looking up at the name of the building, [e/c] eyes widened in shock seeing where they went. One of the best places to eat in Tokyo, along with it being on the expensive side as well. 

“You look a lot better than anyone else here,” Reo whispered to you, a smile from ear to ear as he looked you up and down. Hand in hand the two of you walked to the entrance of the restaurant. 

The hostess greeted them, making the two of you follow her to your seats. Reo pulled your chair before he sat in his own in front of you. Looking around at the interior design, you were amazed having seen nothing of the sort. Sure you had seen the outside plenty of time, always wondering if you could walk inside, and now here you were, with the man of your dreams. Where you were treated like a princess. 

Reo and {Y/n} were looking through the menus they were given when they sat at the table. Neither said a word as they looked for what they wanted to eat. The only words they spoke since they got their menus were the orders they put in when the waiter came around. 

It’s not like it was awkward– well it was a little awkward. The two just didn’t know what to say to each other. They didn’t go to the same college so they couldn’t talk about what they shared there, they both grew up very different so nothing to bond over in that aspect. Yet, people say opposites attract and they both have yet for that to click. 

One thing was for sure, even if they didn’t say it was much, the two of you did really love one another. After a while of waiting in silence, the waiter arrived with their drinks in hand. You ordered red wine while Reo got orange juice. 

“I didn’t know you drank?” Reo says, seeing you take a sip of the red wine. 

“Well, when you are surrounded by wine in your childhood, you want to try some in your adult years,” You responded, the wine glass leaving your lips as you set it down on the table one more. 

“Your mom drinks wine?” He asks, raising a brow. From the times he had met your mother, he had never once seen her as the person to drink wine. 

You nodded your head, Reo questioning the reality of how he sees your mother. “Yup, she is a wine taster. That’s a side job of hers.”

Reo interlocked his fingers, placing his chin on top of his hand. “Really, that seems like a cool job,” You had seemed to pique his interest.

“It’s ok. She comes home with wine something though, which isn’t bad. I’ve tried a few, and they aren’t bad.” You smile, taking another sip of the red wine. 

This simple conversation was the leeway for them to open up and talk about more things. Conversation from left to right, random topics they each shared an interest in, or about the colleges they attended, more about their childhood and how people from two different lives can come together. Bring up their interest, such as Reo wanting to win a world cup with his best friend Nagi who you meet a few times. Your interest in wanting to open up a bakery one day. 

Their college life was different, everyone loved Reo at his college, he had great grades and excelled above the rest. He was good at what he did, at any sport. You, on the other hand, weren’t the prettiest girl at your school, but everyone loved who you were. Your personality outstretched anything, you weren’t in the top five but a lot of people knew your name.

Two people on opposite ends of the stick, one as the rose, the other as the thorns.

The two ended up talking the rest of the night. Reo paid the bill and they sat for a few more minutes before they left, still talking as they walked out of the restaurant. Reo took you around the streets of Tokyo, the two of you talking. Now never running out of topics to spew on about. From their first time meeting at the park to even moments they went through as of now. 

The two lovebirds didn’t realize how far they had walked from the restaurant parking lot. The only reason they stopped walking was because of the heels you wore for the night, you had no idea you were going to walk with him this long, yet here you are being carried in his arms. 

Reo laid you in the passenger seat of his Rolls Royce. He made sure you were completing in his car before shutting the door. You didn’t have to move a muscle, just like the Roses sitting in their vases at your house. 

He dropped you off at your house, giving you one last kiss for the night as he won’t be able to see you tomorrow. You stared at the door for a while, Reo looking at you oblivious– oh. 

Your date got out of his driver's seat walking in front of the car to your side. Reo opened the door for you, his hand out to grab for leverage. Not letting go of your hand when you place it in his, he walks you to your apartment door. Opening the door for you. 

“I had a wonderful time with you, my love.”

You stand at the door, looking at your boyfriend. A smile on his cherry lips and his purple eyes spoke to your soul– to your heart that was calling out toward him. He was the sun, you were his red rose. You leaned toward the sun, and the sun welcomed you. You were the only flower in the plenty that needed the sun more than the rest, and he was there to lend you the light to grow. 

“Night, Reo,” You gave him a kiss on the top of his head. Closing the door behind you, a giddy smile stretched from ear to ear. 

He was yours, no one else. Mikage Reo, the richest man in Japan was in love with you. He is your sun, and you are the rose he wishes to keep safe. 

You slide down your door, taking off your heels, though you don’t get up yet. You think about today and everything the two of you talked about, how he carried you back to the car, how he walked you to the door even now. 

Looking up to the kitchen counter were the red roses in their respective vases. You were able to fit about 3 to 4 flowers in the vase from the 20 that was in the bouquet. You strip off your dress, changing into comfy pajamas that you threw on the couch for this specific moment. 

———

Reo was texting you at practice, he couldn’t– or he didn’t want to put his phone down. All his friends were teasing him about you. Asking how yesterday went, he couldn’t keep you a secret from anyone. His friends knew about you, his classmates knew about you, to make matters worse everyone wanted to see you in person and not through photos on his phone. 

You were at home, giggling at your phone when you saw a text from your boyfriend pop up. You legs up in the air kicking back and forth, twirling your hair in your fingers. You were a love-sick teenager and you never wanted this feeling to stop. 

Ring!

Your doorbell?

Getting up from the couch you walk to your door. You peeped through the peephole you didn’t see anyone outside. You crack open the door, looking from left to right no one was there. Facing down on your doorstep, there is was. 

‘Red roses?’ You bend down to grab the scatter of roses. They weren’t wrapped paper to keep them together, no they were scattered on the ground as if someone threw them. You see a message attached to one of the roses. 

“I plucked every thorn for you. I took off every imperfect petal for you. I would do it over and over again though. I don’t care if it hurt my hand or if it hurt my heart. For you, I would do it over and over again. For you to be happy, for you to display them and not be hurt by the thrones, to see the petals you don’t want to rip off. I did it all for you, my treasure.” – You’re boyfriend till the end, Reo <3

You didn’t know what to feel. Reo did this for you. He cherished you so much he took the hard task out of the way. Your eyes well, water dripping on the paper. You simply couldn't help but cry, though it wasn’t the sadness, but rather out of pure bliss for him.

Reo the man in your wildest dreams had given you your favorite flowers in the world. You felt blessed to have someone like him in your life, let alone him only wanting you in his life. Red Roses, the reason you loved red roses was cause you never thought someone could match the aspect of how they make you feel, yet here Reo is making you feel even better than the sight of the flower. 

He was the flower and you were his sun, looking down on him as he followed– or I guess you could be the flower, the sun looking down on what has grown. 

a/n: not going to live, I procrastinated the hell out of this one. It took so long. But I did it Yohoo!! No, but like seriously why did it take me so long

[metal-mouse]

Kinktober Week Two

Pair: Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader (M/F Pairing)

Themes: Smut. Kinktober Week Two: dacryphilia + rough sex.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Diet angst? Toji is a toxic man + makes you cry on purpose. Rough sex. Choking. Unprotected p in v. Light brat taming. Spitting in mouth. Degradation. Idk, he's rough with you.

Summary: 2.2k. Toji knows it's kind of an asshole move to make you cry, but damn it, your tears just get him going. Of course he apologizes every time in the only way he cares to - by railing you into the mattress! Or the wall, maybe the couch... the kitchen counter?

Note: okay being so fr right now, if a man treats you like this outside of a consensual kink space the dick ain't worth it even if he's hot. I had so much fun writing this one, and I hope y'all enjoy it. I'm making a separate AO3 for anime fics and misc fics, soooo this won't be up on AO3 until I get the invite link :). Anyways, hope you enjoy. Very little proof reading. Week Three: Choso Kamo x f!Reader.

Toji knew he should stop antagonizing you. Doing things he knew you’d get upset about. Flirting with women in front of you, disappearing for days on end without a word, showing up wasted at impolite hours of the day... There was just something so sweet about the way your cheeks would flush as you yelled at him. It was just so captivating when he intentionally wound you up - playing off your words, disregarding you, often telling you that it was all your imagination or you needed to lighten up. The tip of your nose would go pink and your eyes always welled up with tears. God, those tears. They got him every time, watching them stream down your cheeks.

Today had been one of those days, where he stood in front of you while you cried. His eyes were trained on your face, watching as it scrunched up as you tried so hard to hide how upset you were. Toji had taken you out for once, it was a big deal really. And yet, he’d spent the entire night flirting with the bartender. ‘It’s just for the free drinks, baby. Don’t worry.’ He’d said over and over with a smug little smile. The waterworks and yelling had started the moment you walked through the door of his apartment. He’d barely listened to your emotional ranting, it was hard to pay attention when you looked so fucking pretty  while you cried, and while his cock was rock fucking hard in his pants. 

It was always the best part of the night, the ‘apology.’ Toji never quite managed to say he was sorry, and tonight was sure as hell no different. He’d brushed your tears away with a gentle touch, licking the salty aftertaste from his thumb as he held your gaze. You knew what was coming just as much as he did, and he knew you were already soaked. This fucked up form of foreplay was an addiction. A vicious cycle. One that Toji was in no rush to break.

“Fuck you, Toji.” You spat venomously, trying to shove him away as his massive frame crowded you against the wall. 

“Fuck me? I know you wanna.” He said, that lazy and arrogant grin spreading on his lips. He could see that temper flickering in your eyes, a few stray tears running down your cheeks. He roughly yanked you against him and leaned in so you were trapped between him and the wall. His head dipped to kiss you, but your hand came up and pushed his face away to block him. 

Toji’s response was to simply grab that hand and pin it to the wall above your head. He loomed over you, his lips nice and close to yours, “Don’t be like that, baby. Why do you act like you don’t want this?” His free hand roamed from your hip to your ass, giving you a squeeze before he lowered his hand to your thigh to lift your leg and hook it around his waist. 

“Piss. Off.” You hissed, and Toji had to stop himself from laughing. He found it so cute when you tried to tell him off. Had he gone a little far tonight in his flirting with that bartender? Maybe. But he knew you’d melt into his arms with a bit of button pushing. 

“Oh, we’re playing like that huh?” His hips rolled forward, the prominent bulge in his pants pressing up against the apex of your thighs. “See what you do to me?” He knew just the words to say, just the moves to make. His nose bumped against yours as he crowded your face, his lips lingering dangerously close to yours. You’d fold. He was sure you would, especially when your breath caught ever so slightly every time he ground into you. 

“Go jerk off then if you’re so horny, you fucking prick.” Toji had to hand it to you, you were more fiery than usual. Jerk off? Nah. Not his style, at least not when you were pinned there in your little dress and glaring at him with your pretty red-rimmed eyes. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” Your eyelids fluttered as his tongue ran along your bottom lip and his grip on your wrist tightened. He didn’t miss the way your head tilted back ever so slightly, your posture starting to open up to him. Toji had you exactly where he wanted you. He rocked his hips against you, grinding against your clothed cunt. When you let out the tiniest little sound, your eyes closing and your free hand coming up to his chest, he knew he’d won. 

With this little crack in your composure, he crushed his lips against yours. It was a sloppy, heated kiss that left no room to breathe. He pulled up on your wrist, making you rise up onto your tippy-toes before dropping his hand to grab your thigh and lift you up so both your legs were wrapped around him. God damn, he was going to enjoy this. His kiss was rough, as was his bruising grip on your thighs - and you met him every step of the way. It wasn’t long before your dress was on the floor, rapidly followed by Toji’s shirt. With one arm holding you up, and the other smoothly unclasping your bra and discarding it, he walked you across the hall into the bedroom of his modest apartment. He tossed you onto the bed, and he was between your legs with his hands on your hips pulling you against him before you even had a chance to recover. 

“Are you going to keep having an attitude, or are you going to be a good girl and spread your legs for me?” Toji rested on top of you, letting you take the brunt of his weight as he pressed you against the mattress. His hand snaked down between your bodies, his fingers experimentally pressing up against your pussy. He lightly caressed along your clothed slit, feeling how you’d already drenched your panties. That was answer enough, but he wanted to hear it from you.

A shuddering breath caught in your throat as you tried to squirm out of his grip. Toji’s broad hand roamed over your belly, before palming your breast. He pinched one of your pebbled nipples between his fingers, gently rolling it and prompting a little squeak from you. Those were the sounds he was looking for. 

You let out a sound of pure frustration, “Please, Toji.” You pleaded. He loved the anger and resignation in your tone. The cherry on top was the way you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. There was a neediness in your kiss, which he accepted as his hands slid down your sides to your hips. You kissed him like you were trying to prove you were the only one he needed - that you were better than anyone he flirted with or looked at. 

He ripped your panties, the thin lace not standing a chance against him, and tossed them to the side. He sat up, looming over you as he removed his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. He watched as your eyes roamed up and down his toned form without discrimination. He had no patience for this shit. Toji’s pants and boxers hit the ground, and he was on you in an instant. 

His broad hands gripped your inner thighs, wrenching your legs open as he bent over you and bit down on the curve of your neck hard. You cried out, your back arching. His hips rolled forward as he rubbed the length of his cock through your folds. His eyes closed from how wet you were, and all for him. 

Toji guided one of your legs over his shoulder, and he held the other against the mattress as he plunged his thick cock right into you. No need for preamble, not when you clearly needed the main event. He leaned his weight into you, his free hand coming up and gripping your neck. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He promised, squeezing your neck giving you that light-headed sensation that made your mind tingle. That was it, your only warning before he started to drill his hips into you. Your eyes widened, a loud cry spilling from your lips from his merciless thrusting. Toji grunted, his grip on your neck and your thigh tightening as he was overcome with white hot pleasure from the way you were wrapped around him.

In his peripherals he could see the way your toes curled. You writhed against his hold on you, so he leaned into you more to keep you still. Your hands wrapped around the wrist of his hand at your throat. You were incoherent in your whines and moans, your entire body bouncing with every thrust of Toji’s hips. If he didn’t have such a tight grip on you, he was sure you would’ve been fucked right off the bed. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Toji watched your face as he fucked you, the way your mouth had fallen open and your brows were scrunched up. He leered at you, grabbing your jaw to tilt your head to look up at him. You obliged, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. His grip on your jaw was tight, and he forced you to open your mouth wider. He leaned in, spitting into your mouth before pushing your mouth shut and holding his hand over your mouth muffling your moans. 

“Swallow.” He ordered you, feeling the way your cunt fluttered around his cock. Dirty, little slut loves it. Your thighs were shaking already. Toji had the stamina, he’d pound into you without hesitation for however long he fucking felt like it. Right, apologizing.

His hand dropped from your mouth, groping at your tits. He loved the way the soft flesh felt under his rough palms. His hands were meant to kill, but he was more than happy to use them to make you mewl like this too. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Oh fuck!” You wailed out when his pace changed. He rolled his hips into you slower now, but harder. The steady pace and punishing depth he set had your head falling back and your nails biting into his skin sure to leave long, red scratches. God damn, he wanted to see you fall apart. To hear you scream.

Toji brought his hand down, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit in tandem with his thrusts. Your loud gasp and the way your eyes squeezed shut told him everything he needed to know. Right there. His balls were tightening, a man could only last so long. Yet, he wouldn’t give into that pressure building at the base of his cock until you’d had your fill. 

“Yes-yes-yes-yes–” You babbled out with every thrust as Toji sped up the pace ever so slightly. Your muscles began to tense up, your nails pausing on his back and digging in hard. “‘M gonna… fuck Toji!” Your sobbing whine almost made him cum then and there. 

“Cum, baby. For me.” He said, his voice low and husky. His thumb circled your clit faster, and he kept up his pace. It started out as a tight little squeal as your jaw clamped shut. Your muscles clenched around him, and he took that as his sign to keep going just as he was. When your mouth fell open in screaming moans, he couldn’t help but grin. You looked so fucking good when you came. That explosion of sensations rocked your whole body, your cunt pulsing and coaxing Toji deeper. 

He obliged your body, his hands dropping to your hips to pull you in closer as he started to drill into you with reckless abandon. Faster, and as deep as he could go. His grunting mixed with your sobbing moans, until his head fell back. That tight pressure in his core was going to snap, his cock twitching and his balls tight anticipating his orgasm. His thrusts faltered ever so slightly as his length grew more and more sensitive, until he couldn’t hold on any longer. He pulled out, his hand flying to his length that he stroked fast and hard with the aid of your slick. He groaned in ecstasy, his hips twitching as his seed covered your belly, painting you like a piece of fucking art. 

Slowly coming down from his high, he stopped stroking himself and looked down at you. You were a fucking mess, shaking, panting, with his cum all over your belly. Toji leaned over you, his hands on either side of your head. He lowered himself down low enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, so gentle compared to the man he’d been only moments before.

“Let me get you a rag and some water, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. Oh yes, he’d be sweet now. He’d take such good care of you. Clean you up, hold you close, and do anything you ask. He’d protect you, and love you. Up until he needed his fix, that is. Then, the game would be back on. There was no chance in hell he was breaking this cycle.

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

Since AVER's announcement is nothing short of a jumpscare, I didn't have time to come up with any theory... name or design wise. Either way, my names theory was the one thing I ended up being wrong about (my "next singers" and design theories were so right!!! I'm still riding that wave.)

So I can only Look and Analyse now that she's here. I will mostly focus on her design, but misc notes to start us off:

"AVER" looks absolutely unpleasant to my French mind. However, hearing it pronounced ("Avaa"), makes me think it was chosen to sound similar to "other". Unfortunately, since "er" in French makes the same sound as the "e" in "Ave" it genuinely looks godawful to me. Like a failed verb.

One can theorise why, but it's ultimately a surprise that she was announced so fast, and all alone. I think it's noteworthy that Ave Mujica is tightly linked to MyGO!!!!! - so far, bands with no such links were paired together. Because of the amount of marketing and storytelling that has been put into this link, I am personally not convinced that Ave Mujica's current popularity is the only reason to exclude Tomori. However, assuming Tomori does get a voicebank, we may never know. I just hope this isn't a rushed announcement that will lead to a release in eight thousand years by the time everyone's forgotten about her. (Although this could, alternatively, justify rushing the announcement - show her off while eyes are on TV Live/Bushiroad. Take care of the rest later.)

This, and Ricochi's mention that she carefully considered the use of AI, puts into question whether all of the Bandori VAs are on board with vsynth.

Well, if you watched Ave Mujica... There's technically two of them.

Maybe Tomori cares more about being human. Anyway...

-> The ref sheet is decently detailed - down to the opacity of the sheer fabric. It also mentions that the round... thingie with the bandmates' colours they all have... has dull colours and references a crescent moon shape. (This feels to me like more thought was put into it than those of PASTEL and HALO, which are cute but nothing more. Not to mention PASTEL (Aya) got the heart shape and not... Kokoro?!)

-> Her face markings are less "cyber" than the other Yumenokessho designs, but still robotic: the Ave Mujica-esque moon shape is clearly made to look like a gear.

(Was this scaled weirdly or what?)

-> We know Uika had a purposefully androgynous design. I never noticed it so much as when she monologued on stage and she was the only moving thing to draw my eye... either way, those shorts keep, to me, her young victorian boy look.

Here is her main stage outfit for reference.

I guess I should be talking about Doloris... not Uika. Especially since, you know.

-> No reference to a mask on the face, I'm noticing. However, those thigh... thingies kinda look referential?

...ish?

-> AVER wears earrings, which is very normal for Uika's stage outfits.

-> By vocal synth AND Yumenokessho AND Uika standards, this design has, in this instance big, cloth covering her neck.

-> The long boots come free with being a Yumenokessho design as well.

-> Doloris typically wears a waist/waspie corset. This design has seemingly not that, but one can infer that she might be wearing one underneath what seems to be a vest.

-> The gold detailing on her cape matches that of her... what, culotte? as Doloris.

-> I'd make fun of her serial killer gloves, but PASTEL and HALO also have gloves... not THOSE gloves, though.

-> The lace at the top of her boots is also present in other parts of Uika's Ave Mujica stage outfits.

And to be completely honest, I don't have anything else very interesting to point out about the design so far. It would fit in near perfectly as a stage outfit for Ave Mujica (with the difference of introducing a cooler red/purple-ish accent colour that isn't part of their established palette), more so than POPY, ROSE, HALO and PASTEL's would fit for their respective bands. (Of course many elements of them would fit, but do we think Kokoro would wear this much grey? Aya wouldn't fall on stage with all those ribbons?)

What's noteworthy, and really valorises how quickly this voicebank was announced, is that Ave Mujica don't really have... many outfits to look at. There's the 10th anniversary designs, but beyond that? Nothing much. When I wrote theories about the other singers, I had a large collection of outfit designs to look at to truly figure out their own and their bands' fashions. At the very least Uika has sumimi, but that's still nowhere near the amount of references I had to work with to pretty much guess perfectly what PASTEL and HALO would wear.

Ave Mujica haven't been around for long enough, and haven't been, in their own narrative, very active as a band.

It can be said that the artist's experience with drawing gender-neutral designs is fitting for Uika - but you know, they're the artist for every Yumenokessho voicebank, so she's not special. Still, looks good with her fullbody render.

I do like the accidental haircut the ref sheet gave her. It suits her more.

The ref sheet even specifies that her gloves and boots are leather, and the amount of holes in the boots' lace. There's no doubt the artist was either given detailed information, or themselves put a lot of care in the consistency of all of the Yumenokessho designs. By the way, I'm clearly not the biggest Uika-head, so I might be missing some details. I haven't really seen alternative outfits for Sasaki Rico's stage performances, but I didn't look for those too deeply either.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Hot as Hades

Misc. Masterlist - Masterlist

Chapter 1

Words: 1939

Summary: the fate of yours and Hades' is bound but the Fates advise caution while Aphrodite is meddling in the Lord of the dead's affairs

Chapter 2 - Prophecy

Hades rushed down the steps, seething with anger towards Pain and Panic for neglecting to inform him of the Fates' arrival. The most important inhabitants of the underworld, aside from himself of course, were waiting for him and his good for nothing imps were too busy with hell knows what to even tell him. They had one task, just one damned task. Hades pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before swinging open the doors.

"Ladies. Hah. I am so sorry that I'm...", he began, attempting to apologise, but the Fates cut him off.

"Late", they finished in unison.

"We knew you would be", Lachesis chuckled.

"We know everything", Clotho proudly stated.

"Past."

"Present."

"And future", Atropos added, nudging Pain, "indoor plumbing. It's gonna be big."

"Right, anyway ladies, I was at this picnic kinda thing and I lost all track and wanted to ask abou-", Hades tried to explain, only to be interrupted once again by the Fates.

"We know!"

His hair momentarily flared up in a deep red before returning to its usual blue flames as he took a series of deep breaths, attempting to regain his composure. He knew that losing his temper in front of the Fates would be counterproductive, despite how frustrating they could be to deal with. However, Aphrodite's words continued to swirl in his mind, leaving him wondering if there was any truth behind her teasing remark.

"I KNOW, you know. Anyway, Aphrodite... Ms. Lovey Dovey, Ms. "Hey I always know when someone's in love", now she has told-"

"About the mortal being in love with you. WE KNOW!", the Fates interrupted him yet again.

Hades couldn't help but slam his hand against his face in exasperation, a painful reminder to himself to maintain his calm and charm.

"I KNOW YOU KNOW! I got it, I got the concept!", he clenched his teeth, forcefully contorting the twitching corners of his mouth into a distorted smile, "so let me just ask. Is Aphrodite telling the truth about that mortal? Will she love me back? What do you think?"

Clotho released a sorrowful sigh, parting her lips, but before any words could escape, Lachesis seized the edge of her robe and swiftly turned her around.

"We're not supposed to reveal the future!", she reminded her sister, fixing a stern gaze upon her, despite the absence of an eyeball.

It didn't go unnoticed by Hades that a disagreement was brewing between the Fates. He found himself in the perfect position to extract information from them, all it would take was a touch of his usual charm and he would attain his answers.

"Ladies ladies", his voice was smooth and alluring, "time out, please. Can I ask you a question by the way? Did you cut your hair or something? You look fabulous, like a fate worse than death."

His slender fingers gently touched a strain of her hair, which popped out and wound its way along his arm like a poisonous snake, ready to strike. Hades' expression briefly contorted into disgust before he regained his composure and tucked the hair back into its rightful place. Clotho couldn't contain her giggles, resembling an infatuated teenager, prompting Lachesis to nudge her in the side, causing their shared eye to pop out and roll towards Hades. He swiftly retrieved it, plucking a hair from it before gently taking hold of Lachesis' hand and placing the eyeball on her palm.

"Ladies, please", he purred with a seductive voice, "my fate is in your lovely hands."

Lachesis and Clotho looked at each other, sighs of awe leaving their lips.

"Alright", Atropos grumbled, taking hold of the eye and letting it hover among the other Fates before transforming it into a radiant dark blue sphere.

"In 18 nights precisely, the hearts will align ever so nicely. The time to act will be at hand, free your aching heart, bodies to bend."

"Mmm-hmm. Good, good", Hades chuckled, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he attempted to push sudden thoughts of your naked form out of his mind.

"The once lonely receives all and her heart be yours to call!"

His heart skipped a beat. After eons of torment from his lonely, aching heart, trapped in the desolation of the demanding underworld, he caught a glimpse of a flickering light—a small flame ignited by a glimmer of hope deep within him.

"But a word of caution to this tale", the Fates' tone darkened.

And there it was, the usual punch in the face, the cruel reality swirling around him, teasing him with the notion that all the beauty and happiness in the world was meant for every god except himself.

"Excuse me?", Hades spoke, his voice cracking with sorrow.

"Should Zeus deny, love will fail.", the Fates cackled before disappearing.

The Lord of the Underworld screamed, his furious roar echoing through the realms of darkness like a wave of scorching flames from the depths of hell, threatening to consume and obliterate everything in its path. His fists pounded against the table in the chamber before he hurled it against the wall, the stone shattering into countless fragments as the sound of his frantic breath filled the room, while Panic and Pain slipped away silently, hoping to avoid being maimed.

You finished work, helping your boss cleaning up before you headed home. Daily life had become more bearable since that night with Hades. With a joyful tune on your lips, you happily skipped through the streets towards your humble abode. As you collapsed onto your bed, a gentle sigh escaped your mouth, your mind filled with thoughts of when it would be fitting to reach out to the god once again. You yearned for his presence and the ache you felt in your belly while laughing at his silly puns.

"Thinking about the Lord of the Gloomy and Grumpy?", someone chuckled.

You jumped up from your bed and turned towards the voice, its origin being the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on.

"Are-are-are you?", you stammered as every muscle on your body tensed.

"Aphrodite, goddess of love and desperately needed in this household", she smiled warmly at you.

"Do you?", your hands waved around, unsure what or how to ask.

"Know about the blooming love between you and the Lord of the dead? Of course my dear and I dare say that I wasn't even involved in all this. He fell for you loooong ago on his own. Whoops!", the goddess threw her hands up and laughed, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "shouldn't have said that."

You blinked in disbelief at the goddess' statement. Could it be that Hades felt the same way? That you actually charmed a god? Capturing his immortal heart even before you met him? It felt surreal, your head was spinning at the speed of light, different thoughts pestering your mind while a thousand questions whirled around demanding answers and all while your heart seemed to beat so fast that it almost felt painful.

"Poor little mortal", with an air of amusement, she paced around you, her voice dripping with curiosity, "but I'm not surprised, Hades is one of kind, thankfully, I think everyone on Olympus would scream if there were more like him."

"What will happen now?", you hesitantly asked.

"You two are linked by fate, my sweet little mortal", the godess whispered in your ear, "but only the Fates can tell what fate was, will be or will become."

A surge of emotions swirled within you - excitement, anticipation and a tinge of fear. Your lips parted to pose more questions but Aphrodite had already vanished, leaving only a faint trace of her delicate fragrance behind. It felt as though you were running in circles, every new piece of information throwing you back to the exact same spot you had started from. Unable to find solace in this confusion, you resolved to seek answers from the only god you felt comfortable talking to, so, the next day after work, you made your way back to the shrine in the forest.

Unbeknownst to you, Hades had been expecting your arrival, his piercing eyes watching you from the underworld. He paced around in the throne room, cursing at Aphrodite's involvement. The revelations from the Fates had deeply unsettled him, he now also had the goddess of love meddling in his affairs, as if his situation wouldn't have been bad enough. He didn't know of what exactly and how he had to convince his brother to prevent a tragedy from happening, but he was determined to find a solution in due course. He possessed a certain resourcefulness and would not allow his brother to ruin his life any further. But that would be for another day, one absurdity at the time. For now, he had to devise a plan to counter any inquiries about his...what did mortals call them again? Ah, yes, feelings. He intended to conceal his emotions for as long as possible.

As he frantically sought a solution, his train of thought was interrupted by the faint whispers of your prayer. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, and he materialised beside you.

"You heard that sound? It was the sound of your little prayer fluttering all the way down into my realm and babe, you wished for it and baboom, here I am", he exclaimed, a smug grin hiding his nervousness, wiggling his eyebrows.

"So", you mumbled, avoiding his gaze while nervously shuffling your feet on the ground, "Aphrodite..."

"Yeeeeah I know I know", Hades said, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted between you and the ground.

"Is it...?", the question lingered unspoken for a moment.

"True? I would guess so", he sighed.

"So what...uhm...now?"

"We dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we carry on, we go home happy. If you want to of course, unlike my dear brother, Mr. High and Mighty, I'd actually prefer if we were on the same page for those kinda things."

You chuckled at that, feeling your heart flutter at the prospect of a date with the Lord of the dead.

As you locked eyes with him, you noticed a flicker of vulnerability hidden behind his typically stoic expression - a mix of affection and apprehension. It occurred to you for the first time that even a god like Hades might be plagued by insecurities. After all, living under the weight of a notorious reputation for eternity, while the other gods lived their best life on Olympus, didn't leave much room for love. Perhaps he had even given up on it altogether, until you wiggled your way into his immortal existence. He grasped your hands, intertwining them and raising them towards his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss. The sensation elicited a soft sigh from you, his unnaturally warm lips against your skin sending a delightful, tingling feeling throughout your body. A blush crept up to your cheeks as your gaze remained fixated on his thumb, softly caressing your flesh.

"The full-time job my brother so charitably bestowed upon me is waiting. I'd really love to stay but I can't. I'll pick you up tomorrow night for a proper date. Be here at sunset."

With those words, he vanished, leaving behind a faint trace of smoke. A real date with a real god...tomorrow...you internally screamed of joy, trying to keep a stoic expression, just in case he'd be watching. You strolled back home, thoughts racing around what he could possibly come up with for tomorrow evening and what a mere mortal like you could wear to impress the Lord of the dead.

Chapter 3

[slowd1ving]

I. THAT'S WHAT ALL THE PEOPLE SAY ･ﾟ FRANCIS MOSSES

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey

MISC. MASTERLIST

THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART・

‘That’s life (that’s life), that’s what all the people say.’

Tinny, crackling music permeates the small diner. Sound waves echo against the chequered tiles bathed azure in the blue hour, and return to the record player in an endless cycle. Rinse and repeat. Devour yourself and be devoured in exchange. Ouroboros.  

Is there particular meaning to be found in musing over such philosophy? Maybe, maybe not – the only witnesses to tell you otherwise are the winking lampposts stationed outside the building. Thus, these thoughts keep you company on such cold days; there’s no one to tell you otherwise, after all. 

There’s not much else to do here. You’d change the record, but the only vinyl left behind by the old owner is the old ‘66 Sinatra. You’d clean up, but that’s all you really do. You’d talk to someone, but this hour before sunset isn’t the time slot of any of the usual regulars. 

Day in, day out, they come at their methodical intervals: Mr Henryk Jameson at quarter to five, a new woman on his arm each time; Mr Steven Rudboys at six, desperately rushing home with two takeout boxes for himself and his retired father; and Miss Mia Stone at half-past twelve, who talks a big deal about her students while she tucks into her onion rings and beef burger on her lunch break. 

There are others, of course, but these are the ones who remain most salient in these changing times. 

Here, there’s never a rush. It’s a languid sort of pace, one that allows you to be one of only two workers that run this place. The quarterly margin for the books is awful narrow; it dances on the line between profit and loss, and occasionally plays jump-rope with it. But you’re not here at the edge of town to make money.

You like the quiet life. 

You leave making money to the businessmen in the city, with their pinstriped suits and powdered foreheads. They’re regulars at lunch: hands gingerly poised to avoid greasing their harsh charcoal three-pieces, mouths pursed like an asshole sphincter as they sip their scalding instant brew, and eyes constantly honed in on other businessmen hawkishly. 

Some things just never change, just like this diner. It was the same three years back: same red retro bar stools, same fluorescent neon graphics, same polished black counters that left behind countless fingerprints. 

Still no customers. 

You slip a pack of Old Gold from your apron, lighting the last stick with the stovetop. At least you have the courtesy to step outside while you smoke, unlike some of your uncouth patrons. Some people just won’t understand basic manners, and that’s fine (it's not fine). 

The heady nicotine rush soothes you. At times like this, it reminds you of the field ration pack new recruits received on a weekly basis. 

Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit. Honourable discharge, May 7th, 1973. Humanity’s adapted to its challenges well. 

You breathe the smoke out; it trails grey against the blue fog of the sky. The taste lingers: slightly nutty, moderately sweet. 

You know this flavour well. 

It preludes the adrenaline of battle.

‘You’re riding high in April, shot down in May.’

Why does the Special Extermination Unit want its cadets high on the rush while they fight? The answer’s surprisingly simple. 

Forget fear.  

It’s drilled into each new recruit. Fear clouds your mind. Fear leads to irrationality. Fear tears apart that which must remain compartmentalised. 

Better have cadets slightly out of the loop of the mind than pissing their pants in the face of a doppelgänger. Or faces (plural). Or lack of one. 

On the quiet road, a small van emerges from the mist. It’s nothing special; a white standard model awash with the indigo haze of dusk. You take a drag whilst observing it; when it pulls up into the diner driveway, its wheels crunch on the gravel with a sound that suspiciously resembles a breaking ribcage.

This is new. 

Your universe has been slightly tilted on its axis of rotation. 

When he takes a step towards the fluorescent light blinking from the joint, his breath comes out in neon puffs. Just like you – except, you know, your lung damage is significantly worse. 

You’ve never seen him before. Methodically, you observe him in your scrupulous capacity: a habit from your regiment that you’re hard-pressed to let go of. He’s of shorter stature than you, just an inch or two. Dark brown hair is slicked back neatly under a cap that blatantly reads ‘MILKMAN’ in bold letters. While his white shirt and dark trousers have been ironed, there are slight wrinkles in the fabric that betray his hard labour. 

While you observe him, he observes you. Those tired eyes gleam brick-red when you jostle the stick of nicotine in your fingers, and you don’t doubt the gleam in your own. He moves closer, and you can see the pronounced eye bags under his eyes and the gentle arch of his nose. Closer still, and your eyes can pick up his lashes, while your olfactory senses notice the milky, powdery scent that breaks through the smoke. 

Wordlessly, he moves past you. The heavy glass door swings shut behind him, and you swear quietly as you step on your still-lit cigarette to snuff it out. 

He’s waiting when you go in; his hands roughly loosen his bow-tie as he stands at the counter. No, he leans against it with his hip: tiredness more pronounced in the harsh neon incandescence. 

Your routine has been broken for the first time in three years. 

“Hard day?” 

“Mm,” he acknowledges laconically with a hum, not a word more of affirmation. You give up in your meagre attempts to further crash and burn this aforementioned routine. 

“What will it be for you, then?” The end of your question is markedly more flat. Boredom has seeped in once again. 

“House special.” His voice is low when he replies, vibrating at a frequency that sticks into your own sternum. “And a coffee to-go.”

“It’ll be ready in five or so minutes, sir.” You rip the small receipt from the pager and hand it to him – that marks the end of your conversation. 

Whilst the onion and beef cooks on the griddle, you take the time to watch him. He’s a singularity – an anomaly – in your Frank Sinatra-hazed day. Though, despite his strange role in your life as an unexpected variable, he seems painfully ordinary. His head’s tipped back against the cherry-red leather booth: eyes shut in a way that relaxes his face and makes him look at peace rather than exhausted. No, scratch that. Who are you kidding? He looks even more exhausted like this – hands unfurled on his lap, shoulders loose in their sockets as he slumps. 

Even his hat looks exhausted, deflating slightly on the seat beside him. His hair loses its slick quality; it’s messy in a way that pushes you to add an extra shot of espresso to his cup. He deserves it more than those stick businessmen in their suits, you think. 

You turn down the volume dial of the record player. Just a bit, until the vocals and instruments blend together as a singular ode to swing. It creaks from disuse – you don’t think it’s ever been turned. 

When you walk to his table, you do so soundlessly. Doppelgänger senses extend further and better than human ones; you know from ample experience. In the welcome video for new cadets, the crackling voice mentions such every few minutes. Even with your boots that squeak on newly-mopped floors, you manage the walk silently. 

Just as softly, you place his order down on the table and take that instantaneous moment before the aroma reaches him to observe once more. 

His face is serene. Soot-black lashes flutter as he finally registers the source of warmth and the caramelised aroma of the dish, and you take a step back. 

“Mm,” his hum is quieter this time – sleep-tinged. “Thanks.”

That short exchange is nothing less than your galaxy finally exploding. 

You don’t know his name. But you’ve got a great memory, and he’s currently the crowning supernova in the middle of it. 

‘But I know I’m gonna change that tune, when I’m back on top, back on top in June.’

The unexpected variable turns into an expected one. 

You haven’t seen him for a week, but he shows up during your shift seven days later – eerily at the same time he had previously. He looks the same – you’d know the signs of a doppelgänger, of all people – and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Wait. 

Why would you care?

You thoughtfully thumb the plastic of the pack in your apron pocket as you deliberate the question. You’re not one to get attached to people – you’ve blown through the brains of faces that looked almost identical to your comrades-in-arms, with nothing more than indifference. 

So, why?

You really shouldn’t have started the philosophical thoughts at this time. It appears you’ve Pavlov’ed yourself into introspecting when dusk begins. 

He sits in the same booth he did last time, half-pressed against a window on the left side. His hair is mussed once more, while his bow-tie is strewn haphazardly on his cap. It almost feels like a routine is beginning. Except it’s not, since he’s awake this time. 

He looks at you with those dark brown eyes, and you don’t look back. 

And you’re determined to stick to your pessimistic and mundane world-view, so once you place his food down, you head into the azure realm to light a stick once more. 

You watch his white van, parked neatly in between those two pale lines while a stray cat circles around the warm tires. He watches you in turn. You can feel those pinpricks of pupils, boring straight into your back as you breath the menthol in, and out, and in, and out. Those instincts and reflexes of yours have been honed to a furious degree, after all. This much is child’s play. 

Are you a deviation from his routine, as much as he is to yours?

You’re not sure what to think. 

‘I said that’s life (that’s life) and as funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks, stomping on a dream.’

It’s the third time meeting him that you learn his name. It’s not like you learn it on purpose, but you’ve finally got a name to put to your blue-tinged anomaly. 

“Your usual, sir?” Your voice is polite, yet anyone could sense your exhaustion clear in your cadence. It’s been a long day, filled with numerous Miss Mia Stones after she brought her colleagues over – an exponential increase of imaginary students to talk about. Ever since he began eating here, there seem to be more deviations to your peaceful boredom. 

“Francis Mosses,” he replies without a hum for the first time. You pause in pre-filling the pager. The world grinds to a halt for a brief, starry moment. 

“Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. 

But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. 

“Yes, please.” He maintains eye contact this time. Perhaps it’s the fatigue that’s trained his gaze on you. Perhaps he’s slightly delirious. Perhaps it’s neither. 

Regardless, you can feel a slight shift in attitude, and you don’t like it. 

It’s different when the Businessmen in Pinstripe Suits come by. They’re very Important, they proclaim, so don’t mess up their Coffee and get it done Pronto. They don’t give names, only business cards. They don’t give names, only leave smoke from their Marlboros behind. They don’t give names. That’s how you like it. 

Their seats remain fixed – prime positions to glare at each other while simultaneously flaunting their contracts and suits and new watches. These constellations remain constant. That’s the rule of nature you’ve noticed. It shouldn’t diverge.

It shouldn’t.

It can’t.

You won’t get close to anyone. This is fact.  

‘But I don’t let it, let it get me down.’

The typical reasons for joining the Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit, colloquially dubbed “Execution Squad”, are one of three: a strong sense of patriotism, a keen desire for revenge, or a death wish. 

You are not a patriot, and you’re definitely unenthused at putting yourself through hell simply to die at the hands of a doppelgänger. Really, there are easier and quicker methods at killing yourself that don't involve this infernal training regime. 

Those invasive pests had broken apart your family. You pick up the weight of the gun to return the favour, losing a bit of your humanity in exchange. 

You take the dangerous jobs – risk is nothing with the nicotine and fury bubbling through your veins. You raid the abandoned warehouses, negotiate and exterminate the intelligent doppelgängers, and cull the ones impersonating animals. 

With each mission, you lose part of yourself. 

You shoot people who look like your friends, fellow humans like yourself. Children. Elderly. It’s exceedingly difficult to remind yourself it’s not human blood coagulating on your hands. 

Your sacrifice serves you well. Your anger bolsters your righteous path as Captain. It doesn't quite feel like revenge when it’s paved with gold and a heavy salary, but what do you know?

All stars burn bright before they die, right?

‘Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin’ around.’

It’s been a little over two months, and the supernova has become part of your galaxy. 

He orders, he sits, he takes a short rest. While he eats, he watches you smoke. You think that’s the end of that, but it’s not. 

Mr Francis Mosses stops coming weekly. Rather, he’s begun coming nightly.

Just as the clouds begin turning that alizarin blue, he parks his compact van in the driveway. You hear him before you see him – senses enhanced by your years in this country’s pseudo-military, muscle and sinew tensed in anticipation. Each gravel crunch is a signal, each careful step a firework. You can hear the engine hum as though it was by your ear. 

You don’t know when the anticipation started. You don’t particularly like it. 

“Mm,” his voice has become slightly rougher. Those dark shadows beneath his eyes look particularly deep tonight, when the dusk coalesces faster. “What do you recommend?”

This is new. This is uncharted territory, but your supernova always throws out the map regardless. 

You blink, thoroughly perturbed by his sudden question. Self-consciously, your fingers thread through your apron ties. 

“I don’t know.” You’re carefully neutral, to the point where you’re even boring yourself. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

You really haven’t. It’s not like you particularly care about what you eat; smoke distorts your perception of hunger, and you just pick whatever’s closest to you.

“Pick something for me, then, anything at all,” he offers. You stare at him like he’s grown another eyeball. This, you think, is the most words you’ve heard in a row from him. It’s slightly disturbing. “I think I’ll like whatever you choose.”

You stay silent, with neon lights dancing on your impassive face as a response. 

When you make his strawberry milkshake and chicken club sandwich, he’s not closed his eyes. Rather, he watches while you work, much like you’d watched him when he first came to the diner. And rather than his usual booth, he sits right on the cherry-red stools at the bar counter, right in front of the kitchen station. 

It’s unnerving.

The streetlamps create halos around him. He’s a cerulean angel, you realise, one that’s tired and exhausted from the divine lifestyle. 

For the first time in three years, you can hear something other than the vinyl. If you stop to think about it, you think it’s your pulse drumming impatiently in your ears. But that would be absurd. 

Everyone knows that when you die, your heart shrivels cold and hard. 

You've died several times over. A pulse is impossible.

‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’

From the very beginning in the Execution Squad, you’re taught two fundamental rules. The first is that though these creatures may appear human, you should extricate any and all pity you may have for them. 

The second fundamental is that doppelgängers work alone. Amongst apex predators like these, they hunt alone and live alone. These truths were observed when they first arrived, and you don’t question them. As a Captain, you’ve repeated the same tenets to your subordinates dozens of times, and they have served you well. 

That is the ‘routine’ you’ve created. Nothing good comes from its mutations.  

Don’t feel pity for these creatures. They’ll take your weakness and slit your throat with it. 

It’s supposed to be a simple operation. 

Use their lack of cooperation amongst themselves against them. A natural rivalry is present in the species.

You’ve grown complacent. It seems you don’t remember the most pivotal tenet of them all. 

But don’t expect this species to remain constant. 

You’ve already sent your Lieutenant back to base on your foolish assumption that this is just a simple extermination job. 

“Two confirmed doppelgängers in the vicinity, may be more in hiding,” you mutter. Your pistol is strapped to your thigh, whilst your shotgun rests heavy against your back. It’s a comforting weight. 

It’s also a false security. 

No one can deny your experience. You know your subordinates inside and out; you’ve eliminated their doppelgängers countless times. You shoot their faces. You watch the viscera drip from your sleeve. You tuck away your weapon. 

The bile stops rising eventually when you use enough bullets. 

That’s enough reminiscing. 

When you light the stick, you’re under the eaves of a crumbling factory. Rain drizzles from forlorn clouds – it’s winter, and you’re starved for warmth. Anything will do, even if it’s the hot blood congealing off your body in dense rivulets. 

It’s sickening, but you’re sick in the head and have been for a long time now. 

It’s not bloodthirst, but a cold detachment. Even without the nicotine, you think you could stay compartmentalised enough to face hordes of doppelgängers. 

Slightly nutty, moderately sweet. A note of sourness, you appreciate. 

You can sense several figures moving around in the factory. Even though they appear closer to each other than usual, you don’t think anything of it. 

After all, this is your ‘routine’. 

When you stub the smoke out into the soaked pavement, you know it’s time to move. Though there’s some unease lingering in the back of your throat, you dismiss it. 

You shoot the lock open. Your dark coat whirls behind you as the door clicks inwards. 

Several pairs of eyes swing towards you, and you freeze. 

How could you not?

These aren’t the people you’ve spent each day with for the past few years. These are your parents, your siblings, your cousins.  

No one warned you about this. 

This wasn’t in the manuals you read. 

When they say your name, you crumple like the building you’re in. Your tears cascade like the rain outside. 

You know their faces. They’re real, breathing mementos of long-gone humans. You want to believe; you can feel your precious tenets disintegrating with each step you take towards your family. 

Your family.  

Through blurred eyes, you can’t examine them in detail. They croon towards you – hushed murmurings of love and comfort – and you cannot help but give in. The gun at your thigh, the gun at your back; they’re there because of them, your family. 

Those compartments in your mind. They’re gone, burst open as though they were floodgates. 

You’re held for the first time in a decade. Human warmth envelopes you, before it starts suffocating you. 

Give in, it says. 

You want to. You want to, damn it, more than anything. 

You lied when you said you didn’t want death. 

You crave it the most. 

“I’m sorry,” you plead. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” they coo, and for a minute it feels wrong to imagine otherwise. It feels like betrayal to think of them as anything other than kin. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat through sobs. Your guns are drawn, and you aim at the faces you wanted to see again more than anything. 

This is love, you think. You bear this pain because you love your family. You love them, to the point where you shoot them so they can finally rest beyond the veil. You love them, to the point where you point your gun at yourself and drop it wretchedly when it’s out of bullets. 

You love them, to the point where you’d rip your heart out of your chest to quell their sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Salty tears drip from your face as you shoot for the last time in your career. 

When your Lieutenant finds you, you’re drowning. You’re curled up inside the abandoned factory, bodies strewn around you as you clutch your mother’s face for the last time. It’s not a pretty sight – brain matter and blood drips from you in oceans. They bled like me. They bled like my parents.

You’re choking on the waves. You’ve gotten your revenge. 

You’ve gotten your warmth – the blood and tears and rain scald you. Devils burn when exposed to such liquids, after all; you’re too impure to carry on living. 

Your cries strangle you. Even when you gasp and heave, no oxygen enters your desperate mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, you repeat the same syllables. Even when the tears stop, your eyes are curiously blank and you continue the mantra. 

The lack of tears doesn’t matter anymore. The sky cries for you; weeks after the incident leave the area with relentless downpour that doesn’t cease even long after you’re taken away. 

I’m sorry. 

Revenge wasn’t meant to be like this. You had clear expectations; the doppelgänger was never meant to be family. You’d imagined a faceless creature. You hadn’t imagined this at all. 

I’m sorry. 

Episodes like this happen to even the most experienced within the unit. No one can shoulder this burden forever.

I’m sorry.

You’re honourably discharged. As of May 7th, 1973, you’re no longer part of the Execution Squad. 

“Go,” they say. “You’re free.”

No one says anything when you tumble in from hell into a small town on the edge of the city. There, you’ve been given a blank slate. They’ve scrubbed clean the blood from it – it smells like bleach and a myriad of cleaning chemicals. 

You’re allowed to keep your pistol. Though you’re not a part of the Execution Squad any longer, your badge allows you to keep it for self-defence against doppelgängers as a former Captain. It’s less work for the D.D.D – you take on the vigilant role, while they don’t need to put you on the payroll. It’s a pity for them, however. 

You don’t plan on touching it ever again.

When you sign the job contract for a shitty diner that only plays the same record on repeat, you savour it. Though your looping letters still come out bloody, it’s from beef patties rather than doppelgängers. 

It’s a fresh start. 

Here, you’ll create your painfully ordinary, mundane ‘routine’.

It can’t mutate again. 

Please. You plead with fate. Not again.

You don’t plan on feeling hurt ever again. 

‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’

“My name?” 

“Mm,” Mr Francis Mosses hums. His eyes lazily trace you, and you know he can see the name tag pinned neatly on your chest. You say as much, with as little emotion as possible. 

This is dangerous. Your stomach churns in what could only be nervousness. 

“I’d like to hear it from you,” he comments neutrally. Or not. If you’re not mistaken, the earlier impassivity of his has melted slightly into amicability. You hope you’re mistaken.

Even so, your name leaves your lips like a promise. 

I hate myself. 

If he notices the hidden loathing, he doesn’t say anything. 

‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’

It happens on the eve of ‘77. Snow softly powders the welkin and the earth, yet everything is still blue. There appears to be no purity where you reside; just a sorrowful, mournful despondency trailing behind you like a grave shroud fluttering on the funeral pyre. 

You’re about to light your second cigarette when you hear that familiar hum of machinery. It sings to you, breaks your blood vessels and rebuilds them once more. 

You hadn’t expected him to come today – it’s a day that should be spent with family, not at some diner where even the most rambunctious couldn’t be found today.

The stick is left between your lips like a kiss. 

When he gets out of his van, he doesn’t move past you. You, the Cerebus of the underworld. You, the mad dog who can do nothing but guard. You, who couldn’t do even that, and failed in your duty. Your honourable discharge is anything but. You’re a disgrace.  

No, he doesn’t move past you. 

His jacket slips off his shoulders and wraps around you. You blink in surprise, sturdy muscles poised to act to this unknown danger. What is this?

He still doesn’t move past you – his nose is slowly turning red in the below zero Celsius weather, while his breath comes out in silvery plumes. It’s unfathomable. 

When he pulls out a lighter, you almost go into anaphylactic shock. 

But you don’t, because your body is a traitor who can’t even die properly. 

You bend obediently at the waist to receive the flame instead. 

This is new. 

It seems like your supernova was able to reach past his limits.

This gravitational pull – it has to be a black hole.

Your galaxies need a thorough reshaping once more, it seems.

“Go, Mr Francis Mosses,” you mumble. “It’s too cold out here for you.”

When he enters the warm diner with a small hum, you miss the small smile on his tired face. 

The heavy glass doors swing shut. You’re alone in the blue world, drinking in the menthol and tobacco and tar and all the flavours that exist on this pitiful planet. Yes, you’re a speck on the planet, and Mr Francis Mosses is at the centre of the orbit. It all comes down to him. He’s the sudden singularity that continuously tilts the axis of motion. 

You don’t think the belt of stars can ever be the same. 

When was the last time you felt like this?

He’s not in his usual space by the counter when you shoulder open the door. Instead, he sits at the booth closest to the record player – Sinatra’s mellow tenor can be heard clearest at the point where the sound waves reach their zero order. It’s a good spot, especially for the eve of the next year; it’s in direct sight of the digital clock that currently reads a quarter to ten. 

You step silently towards him, but there’s no use in that. He’s watching each pace, after all. 

You don’t know what he’s thinking. All this time spent among doppelgängers, and you’ve lost the ability to read humans in return. 

He’s unusual. 

What’s he scheming?

“What would you like, Mr Francis Mosses?” you ask instead. It’ll be an easier answer for you to bear, you think. 

This corner is particularly dim, lit only by the back glow of fluorescence from the reflective walls. You can easily pick up the dilation of his eyes as you move closer; with your sharp eyes, you can even pick up the reflection of you and that coat in his irises. 

He should’ve moved to a brighter spot, you think. You’re not particularly discerning when it comes to these matters. 

“I’d like to share a meal with you for New Years’,” his voice is husky-low with exhaustion. You pity him, having to work to the bone each day. “You can decide what we have.”

“Go home, Mr Mosses,” you reply. 

Maybe he’s like you. Alone, without a supernova to shift his axis. 

“I can’t,” he tiredly remarks. “You’re good company.”

This time when you cook, he keeps his eyes closed with the jacket covering him like a blanket. You’re damn sure it smells like any pack of Old Gold, yet he’s conked out like a baby nonetheless. 

You frown.

What’s with this guy?

He’s out for quite a bit – you watch the minutes drag out until it’s half to eleven. By then, you’ve painstakingly made waffles, generously topped with strawberries. There’s other dishes too from the diner menu: burgers dripping with onions and beef fat, fries coated in powdered spices, and a bottle of cognac you were planning on drinking on the steps tonight. 

It’s New Years’ Eve, after all. 

Your hand reaches out to shake him awake, but you freeze just before collision. 

What’s with this feeling?

Your stomach feels tight, but before you can react, your hand’s already clasped around his deltoid. It’s startling how warm it is; you can feel each steady thrum of his heart, each gasp of lifeblood as it oxygenates and pulses through his cells. 

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you rasp, low and just barely above the strains of swing music. The crackle of the record player seems to be louder than your hushed cadence, but the man awakes quickly regardless of your volume. He takes a moment to register his surroundings, before stiffening slightly upon spotting your hand still on his shoulder. 

You quickly retract it as though burnt. 

For the first time in a while, you can taste the food. It doesn’t go up in smoke, and it doesn’t go anywhere save your stomach. 

When you drink the cognac, Mr Francis Mosses drinks with you. His flushed face is something to behold, something that makes your solar plexus tighter and tighter. 

There’s a burning sensation that claws from your chest. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think it’s the alcohol. 

“Mr Mosses,” you say, glancing at the sky beyond the windows. It’s no longer blue – rather, the black firmament reflects nothing but neon motifs. You step outside, lighting a fresh stick as he follows behind you in a tizzy. 

“It’s midnight,” you exhale. 

“It is.” It is, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. Eyes crinkled at the edges, teeth slightly on display. Your breath catches, and the cigarette in your fingers twirls, forgotten in that moment. 

“Happy New Year, Mr Mosses.”

Everything is supercharged. 

For the first time, you truly don’t know what the future will bring. 

[ancientforgcd]

About Goku

Name: Son Goku Alias: Kakarot Allegiance: Dragon Team/Z-Fighters Occupation: Martial Artist, Farmer Age: 40~55 Birthday: Unknown Race: Saiyan Morality Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Gender: Male Sexuality: Bisexual Handedness: Ambidextrous Height: 178 cm Eye Color: Onyx Hair Color: Black Misc: Still has his tail.

Personality:

Goku had always been a figure defined by boundless curiosity and a pure-hearted love for adventure. He sought new challenges with an insatiable drive, forever eager to test his limits and discover just how far his strength could take him. Unlike many warriors, his desire to grow stronger stemmed from an innocent thrill rather than a need for dominance or power over others. Goku’s fascination with powerful opponents was rooted in a genuine admiration for their abilities, leading him to form unique bonds, even with those initially seen as enemies. This open-minded approach shaped his encounters, transforming rivalries into friendships and shifting the dynamics of countless battles.

Yet, despite his fighting spirit, Goku possessed an unshakeable kindness and compassion that set him apart. He carried a remarkable sense of empathy, often seeing the best in people, even when others could not. His willingness to offer redemption to former foes like Vegeta and Piccolo spoke to his forgiving nature and belief in people’s capacity for change. Goku’s sense of duty to protect Earth and his loved ones was unwavering, although his approach to battles sometimes worried his allies, who found his playful, risk-taking nature unpredictable. Rather than rush to overpower his enemies, Goku often held back, relishing the excitement of a fair fight and allowing his opponent to reach their potential.

At his core, Goku’s simplicity and innocence fueled his joy in everyday moments, from family meals to training sessions with friends. His straightforward outlook and genuine curiosity sometimes left him naive to the more complex emotions and social cues around him. However, this very naivety allowed him to act without prejudice, making him approachable and deeply admired. While he valued strength, he cherished his connections and held his family and friends as his greatest treasures, embodying a hero not just in battle, but in his humility and unwavering spirit.

Background:

He is a Saiyan sent to Earth as a baby by his parents, Bardock and Gine, to escape the destruction of Planet Vegeta and the Saiyan race. Adopted by Grandpa Gohan, he grew up as a kind-hearted boy after a bump to his head altered his natural Saiyan instincts, setting him on the path of great adventures that would later span Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z.

After marrying Chi-Chi and settling down with their son, Goku eventually learns of his alien heritage when confronted by his elder brother, Raditz, setting him on a path to defend Earth and his loved ones from powerful foes. His battles extend through his victory over Kid Buu, after which Goku briefly takes up life as a radish farmer before encountering the God of Destruction, Beerus. Inspired by Beerus's immense power, Goku embarks on a journey through the multiverse, uncovering realms and warriors beyond his imagination.

In Super Dragon Ball Heroes, this version of Goku is known to fans as "Capsule Corp Goku" or "CC Goku." In this timeline, he has experienced the anime versions of Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, specific DBZ Movies (including the Cooler movies, The Tree of Might, and Bojack Unbound), as well as Dragon Ball Super, with elements from the Dragon Ball Super manga up through Dragon Ball Super Hero. His adventures expand into the game’s narrative through the Universe Mission, Big Bang Mission, and Ultra God Mission arcs, making him a central figure in battles that transcend even the limits of the universes he knows.

Trivia:

Goku's hobbies include finding and fighting stronger opponents, fishing and grilling meat, going on adventures, sparring/training with Vegeta and spending time with his family.

Goku has can access Ultra Instinct at will, but it still drains his stamina heavily. Hence why he uses -Sign- more along with his emotions to achieve 'True Ultra Instinct'. The silver-haired form still remains his strongest form to date though.

Otherwise, Goku more or less just uses Super Saiyan or Super Saiyan Blue to fight against most foes, as he can regulate his energy much better that way.

As usual, he has a habit of not fighting at full power in any fight from the get-go and instead slowly powers up more and more as it goes on, deliberatively holding himself back to enjoy fights more.

Despite his simplicity and love for fighting, Goku had a remarkable memory when it came to techniques and strategies learned from past battles. He often incorporated elements from other fighters' styles into his own, showcasing his adaptability and respect for their skills.

Goku had a hearty appetite and was known for his love of food, often eating several times more than a regular person, which frequently surprised those around him. He particularly enjoyed big feasts and was happiest when sharing a meal with friends and family.

[mermaidinthecity]

Billions of people. I'm choosing you, though. Wherever we go, keeping you close. Never ever letting you go. Loving you's a piece of cake. Sweetest thing I'll ever taste. I really really really wanna spend my time with you, 'cause I, 'cause I love it when you say you love me. Need to hear you say you need me. Girl, I wanna be your only one, your only one. Everybody needs somebody, so put your body on my body. Only wanna be your only one. Your only one. Only wanna be, only wanna be, only wanna be. Your only one. Only wanna be your only one. Your only one. Love it when you say you love me. Only wanna be, only wanna be. Need to hear you say you need me. Only wanna be. Girl, I wanna be your only one. Only wanna be. Everybody needs somebody. I need somebody. So put your body on my body. Only wanna be your only one.

Only One by Big Time Rush

[ruthiesrambles2]

Sharing clothes: re: the hospitality uniforms.

"Melanie?" Ruth begins, a little out breath.

None of the passengers she had passed on the way to the hospitality office would have seen anything amiss, a pleasant smile on her face and walking, never running, with purpose. The breathlessness the only sign thst Ruth had been rushing.

"What's the emergency? Tristan said-" she stopped as Melanie turned to face her. "Oh."

Melanie's face was serious as Ruth held back a laugh. Melanie's jacket lay discarded on the desk, evidently removed to assess the full damage of the large dark stain on an otherwise crisp white blouse.

"it's not funny, Ruth. This is my last shirt, laundry are days behind with uniforms and I was minding my own business when that - that - boy barrelled into me and sent my coffee flying! The next thing I know he's running out the door talking about how you'll know how to fix it and I -" Melanie let out a frustrated noise, "- I haven't got time for this!"

"Now Melanie, Tristan is a very nice young man and I'm sure he didn't -"

"Ruth!" Melanie gestured wildly at the still wet shirt that was now sticking to the skin below.

"Okay, okay!" Ruth conceded, marching to the drawers at the back of the room. "Let me think. Coffee... We need to blot it as much as we can. Draw out as much liquid as possible... Aha!"

With a triumphant smile she turned back to Melanie, holding out the large stack of napkins she had been searching for.

"The batch we recalled for the W being upside down. I guess we never got them restitched."

Melanie took one of the proffered pieces of cloth and dabbed at the large damp area on her chest.

"Be easier with it on a flat surface," Ruth mused. "And anyway, we'll need to run it under cold water next."

Melanie just stared in response.

"What? It'll be harder to get out if we leave it," Ruth offered.

"What am I supposed to wear in the meantime? I've got that meeting with the catering team about - oh god, and then Lilah Folger is expecting me to discuss LJ's birthday -"

Melanie's speech was rapid, verging into panicked. Ruth had seen her handle many a crisis, and felt a twinge of discomfort watching the unflappable head of hospitality, well, flapping.

"Oh!" she interjected, cutting off Melanie's to do list. "I've got a - hang on -"

Ruth returned to the drawers, pulling open the one marked 'Misc. Supplies' in perfect script.

"I almost forgot this was here. It's probably a bit creased, but it's clean. I stashed one away for - well for this really. Only for me, obviously. It might come up a little big but I'm sure we can tuck it in..."

Now it was Ruth's turn to ramble, but she stopped as she saw Melanie's eyes widen in surprise at the shirt in her hands.

"Ruth, I could kiss you!" she exclaimed.

Ruth barely had time to register the blush rising to her cheeks before it rose again. She swallowed harshly as Melanie began to pull up her coffee stained shirt.

"I-" she spluttered, quickly turning away.

She fiddled with her W pin as she stared at the wall, her own pulse loud in her ears. She must have really been rushing around, she thought. Just not got her breath back...

"Come help me zip?" she heard Melanie ask over the roar of her heartbeat.

She swallowed again.

Slowly turning back, she saw Melanie unsuccessfully reaching for the zipper halfway down her spine, arms contorted. The shirt was a little big, but Ruth couldn't help but think it looked good. Not that Melanie ever looked bad in anything ever but...

Ruth shook herself back out of her head, stepping forwards as Melanie turned her back towards her.

Carefully reaching for the zipper, she pulled it up slowly, careful not to catch any skin.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, only she must have been too close when she did so, as the skin on Melanie's neck rose up in goosebumps.

"Thanks," Melanie said, uncharacteristically softly, as she turned back to Ruth.

Tucking the shirt tightly into her skirt, her eyes flicked up to the clock.

"I've got to go, is there any chance you could -" she gestured to the discarded shirt on the desk.

"I've got it. Don't worry."

Melanie smiled warmly, and Ruth felt that damn blush again. She handed Melanie her jacket.

"I'll swing by the laundry car too, and see if we can't do something about your uniform being expedited," she offered.

"I owe you one, Ruth," Melanie said genuinely, touching her hand to Ruth's arm for just a second.

And then she was out the door, leaving Ruth with the crumpled up shirt, and the blood rushing in her ears again.

[lunarhobbits]

misc sweeney hcs

(disclaimer. i am new-ish here and have no idea how popular/prevalent any of these are go easy on me ok. also a lot of these are dadben related wh o o p s)

i've seen some variance of if this is canon in fics and stuff but i really do like the idea of the barkers also living above the pie shop in addition to the barbershop being there. similar situation w the pie shop/lovett living quarters. ig it's just easier to picture in my head then????

(p sure the b*rton film confirms smth like this but i'm ignoring it bc i don't like that guy. this idea is mine now)

part of the reason i like this so much is it means that benjamin barker had all the more time to have lovely moments with lucy and johanna when he wasn't busy with clients

(this also makes sweeney returning there without them all the more painful. if he sits and doesn't do anything then he's flooded by memories of the life he had in those same walls fifteen years ago. like no wonder sweeney's so bent out of shape by being forced to wait for the judge and the beadle to come to him)

johanna had only JUST started walking when ben was transported. he was so excited and happy and loved to try and assist her, encouraging her to take steps holding his hands. chattering away about her with any customer that would listen, perhaps even showing her off ("look at my jo! she's such a fine girl!" "i'm sure she is, mr. barker, but could you please finish shaving me?")

he bought johanna a little lacy bonnet when she was a week old. she didn't need something so fancy at such a young age, and lucy had already sewn her a few bonnets months prior. it wasn't the most sound financial decision he ever made. but oh, his girl just had to have it, and it's a little big, she could grow into it! (lucy admits she looks very cute with it on, even though she says johanna doesn't need it)

(the bonnet is left forgotten in a drawer somewhere for years, until sweeney opens that particular drawer and finds it gathering dust upon his return. he feels sick seeing it, reminding him again how much he missed. then he puts it back and refuses to give it any mind.)

nellie lovett was infuriated by lucy barker in that way that you can't quite pinpoint why you're mad other than they're "too perfect" or "too pretty" or something. ofc there was the fact she was married to ben, but i think there was a little "get out of my school" energy going on there too

idk exactly how lucy ended up on the street (or in bedlam, as lovett says in the finale) but i do think that nellie was, sadly, at least complicit in inaction to stop this from happening (if not having thrown her out herself)

anthony is the sweetest dude around and genuinely loves johanna. doesn't matter that he barely knows her when he says he'd marry her, he knows that he's going to be happy as long as she is

johanna loves him too, and she's surprised by it. not because of anything to do with anthony, but because she's felt so little real love in her life (that she can remember). it's a wonderful and frightening rush looking at him, sometimes, but then he squeezes her hand, or does something silly, or even just sneezes or clears his throat and she's brought back down to reality, in a good way. that anthony is real, and human like her. she doesn't have to "earn" his love by being utterly perfect.

they get out of london basically as soon as they can, just wanting to leave it all behind, at least for a while

it took a little time and arguing but anthony did end up getting a good sum of money from the judge's death, through johanna's inheritance going to her husband (him). they immediately used this money to finance travel. they both love to travel, anthony promising to show her the beauty of the world that, still, cannot rival her in his eyes

this is all i got that's coherent rn really lol. anyway here you go sweeney todd fans who liked/reblogged my post haha @demonbarberofbeepbeep @captains-clever-goose @little-lovett @fabulousairpirate @funnygirlthatbelle

[calypsorhythm]

okay go my allister headcanons

allister is gay asexual + uses they/he. theyre 12 (1st of march 2012)

a few people think allister is possessed and/or evil and steer clear of them because of it. he is a living human though!!! not that he hasnt died though haha

he was born in galar though his family came from kitakami. they were very sickly. also their parents died after their taxi (the flying taxi cab things) was struck by lightning and after being flung around orphanages (i will not explain his death thingy thats for another day okay) for a bit he was adopted by beas family!!!!! yay!!!!!!!!!! awesome !!!!!

allister didnt like bea at first i imagine :( she was scary to them. anyway enough lore go my misc headcanons

allister's hair is messy A LOT. they will try and tidy it up when going to a battle or meeting but it gets very messy very quickly due to how many times he just. goes out into the wilderness. strange kid. they like their hair being brushed

absolutely thinks anyone 16+ is ancient. again theyre 12 so 16 year olds are obviously weird and old and scary!!

allister is a bit reluctant when recieving compliments/being praised because a part of him thinks he doesnt deserve it. but he wiill perk up !! because another part of them is happy that theyre being complimented/praised

allister likes to paint and draw becasue it helps him get their emotions out and its just a comforting thing

they are scared of loud noises .. especially after the darkest day. the darkest day had gotta been traumatising

melony is like a mum to them, kabu is kinda like a dad, and gordie piers milo and raihan are like the older brothers. the galar league is like one big family❤️

despite bea and allister being close in age they have a relationship that youd expect for siblings who are ~10 years apart. i guess. i hope people know what i mean as someone who has a sister whos 10 years older than me. they do not fight very often and bea is protective over him.yayy❤️❤️ they play roblox together

allister is a very smart kid. he is kind and has good morals and being shy isnt his only personalality trait i PROMISE. they can be very mischevious!! especially with their ghost buddies!!

very important headcanon. their favorite colour is green and purple. green because it reminds him of forests and purple because. have you seen them.

they watch object shows btw and are probably a gacha kid. theyre so cringe!!! (/pos way. cringe culture is dead guys)

they are a big fan of weighted blankets :3

if something were to be rushing towards allister (like a ball or a person), he would flinch with his body not his eyes. so like rapidly blinking while standing completely still. is this what normal people do? because i dont know myself as someone who does that

he has diagnosed autism depression and anxiety :) what a great combination <- someone who is also diagnosed with those

allister is lactose intolerant and gets sick very often!! poor guy!!

allister loves watching horror movies and games and will point out flaws if he sees them. "thats not how possession works" "the blood wasn't done well enough." "this isnt even scary! (talking about actual horrors)"

i think this is common sense for anyone who gets babied but allister hates getting babied. people will talk to him like a little kid (like 8 year old little kid level) and he doesnt like it. in his head 12 is mature enough and they can see that the other young gym leaders (bea marnie and bede. though theres a NOTABLE difference lmao) dont get babied. or at least as much as them

people who have seen his face include bea, bea's parents, of course allister's parents, gloria + victor, melony and some ghosts

bea and allister will play fighting games together :3 allister will usually lose though because bea is very competitive

allister totally has a crush on tommy from twilight wings. thanks for coming to my ted talk

allister uses a lot of emojis when texting and 👻🐛🐶 are their favs. they also use a lot of exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

very nervous about dropping and/or breaking things. if hes given something like a cup they will hold onto it for dear life. in the case of actually dropping or breaking something he'll briefly zone out and freeze <- projection

allister and kieran are cousins in my au. yay kindness and joy

he is very easy to get along with as long as you have the patience to get to know them!!!

thats all i can think of for now💔 lala i love joy

[kawaiichibiart]

Tenma Sibling Headcanons (ft. Honorary Tenma Siblings Minori and Kohane :))

Movie night usually happens on the weekend while they have school and throughout the week during any breaks. This is because they have 4-6 movies to get through depending on who shows up.

If you wanted to know their movie choices: Tsukasa - Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper | Saki - Barbie Fairytopia | Toya - Cinderella (sometimes he chooses the Princess and the Frog instead) | Kanade - When Marnie was the There (or like any Studio Ghibli movie tbh) | Kohane and Minori have the most misc. movie pick, from Disney to very old horror movies to animal documentaries.

Kohane and Minori mainly sleep in Saki's room whenever they're over.

Sometimes Kohane will go into Toya's room if he isn't spending the night with Tsukasa, the two like to cuddle in their sleep.

They have duo days where they each pair up and do something together, such as Toya and Kanade working on music or helping Toya learn to feel comfortable playing the piano again, Saki and Kohane going shopping to find new accessories or try new foods, maybe get some things off of Saki's bucket list, Minori and Tsukasa usually stay at home in his room playing dress up or working on making some of Minori's idol outfit ideas a reality (she designs, he sews, Minori tried sewing but kept pricking her finger and struggled with the machine).

Biggest supporters of each other. Kohane has a live show? Toya is by her side, the rest of her siblings are in the audience. Nightcord released a new song? Kanade is taken to celebrate at a place that sells really good ramen. Saki is performing live with Leo/need? Her siblings are all there watching and cheering her on. Minori and the rest of MMJ are livestreaming? She can see her siblings support in the chat, encouraging her throughout the stream. Toya plays the piano for the first time in a long time? His siblings are there for him when he starts crying because the piano is finally starting to feel familiar again. Tsukasa is putting on a show with WxS? His siblings rush backstage to congratulate him on another successful show.

Akito almost laughed when Kohane invited An to meet her siblings. She glared at him and she accepted the invite, she knew Tsukasa (and no, she still isn't used to hearing Kohane call him Onii-chan) and Toya obviously (which was another surprise), she hasn't met her sisters besides Minori (okay who started this? Tsukasa Onii-chan, Kana nee-chan says he collects us like how some birds collect shiny rocks. ...of course it was him). Game night was fun since all the S/Os also showed up.

As the eldest, Tsukasa is usually the one taking charge of things, he's even stepped in for their actual parents at times whenever they need to be seen or aren't available. The students at Miya Girls have gotten used to seeing him walk in for a meeting with one of his sisters teachers (doesn't he only have one sister? I heard Hanasato and Asuzawa call him big brother once....do you think he'd take me in if I asked? What the fuck? Come on, it can't be that bad to be a Tenma!!).

Kanade knows Minori and Kohane more from whenever they spend time in the LEAD Sekai than anything else, so it took some time for her to get comfortable and used to be being called big sister by the two of them. Saki she was used to, Toya usually just called his siblings by their name, and Tsukasa referred to her as his little sister, which she wholeheartedly accepted. But this? Yeah she needed time to get used to it.

Minori and Kohane will sometimes bring their pets over for play time. Some days they're all in the house together, other days Minori, Tsukasa and Saki take Samo-chan out for a walk while Kohane, Kanade and Toya stay at the Tenma's house and watch Count Pearl.

Since they're the ones who visit most often and were given a copy of the house keys, it isn't surprising for a member of Poly/need and/or Rui to walk in a massive cuddle pile on the floor. Some days everyone is still in their school uniform, Kanade in her usual sweats. Some days you can see a lot of what they were doing on and around them. Tsukasa has scraps of thread and fabric on him, Minori largerd scraps of fabric on her, either they were working on a new idol costume for Minori or some new cosplay. Saki and Kanade are surrounded by papers covered with music, new songs for their respective groups. Toya and Kohane are cuddling on the couch, gluestick finally falling out of Kohane's hand, the unfinished scrapbook she and Toya were working on sitting on the table, photos, stickers, fun paper, etc. spread all around for them to pick and choose from. Some days the room they're in is bright and some days the only light is that of the sun as it goes down, giving the room a warm, orange, glow.

[hallahart]

more veilguard thoughts, through the end of act 1

repressing my feelings with dragon age since 2009!!!

the whole Weisshaupt sequence was amazing and has been the strongest storytelling so far.

Overall starting to vibe with the way companion convos are structured, it’s not as info-dumpy and the conversations feel more natural. Still feeling like most of the recruitment convos were too abridged though, but I guess act 1 was already super long

still can’t tell if Varric’s super underutilized and sidelined or if he’s going to be a sixth sense twist lol. Has to be the latter. He hasn’t had a single interaction with anyone else.

shipping my teammates with each other more than rook, but I think I’ll go with Davrin! He suits my character and I wanna be a griffon stepmom. And we were a Weisshaupt power couple

Davrin and Emmrich’s parenting style disputes crack me up. How to tell your dev team is in their 40s

everything in the “misc” codexes is making me SCREAM. Not to mention the regret murals??? What????? Mythal you fucker! Basically all our theories were right. I think the only thing I hadn’t guessed was that the dagger was used to tranquilize titans. Wild.

anyone else into spirit solas. Just me. Ok

solas remains irrepressibly perfect a+++

Looking Glass was right about everything

Feel like everyone glossed over “the lifeforces of the evanuris power the veil” a little too quickly lol. But I’m sure solas is helping from the goodness of his heart :)

i will be mad if the game ends with the veil intact

NEXT IM GOING TO KAL SHAROK AHHHH

my theory is that the caretaker is felassan’s spirit

This game is going to cause so much fandom drama I can just tell beneath all the filtered posts on my dash

OH AND the inquisitor!!! I should have spent longer on her face!! But I’m fairly sure that was the first Solavellan reference so far and ahhhhhh. I’m scared.

i think my big issue with act 1 until Weisshaupt is how disconnected we felt from the threat of the gods. I get that they meant to accomplish that with the minrathous/treviso choice, but we didn’t actually see them attack d’metas crossing or the cities we didn’t choose to save, and sure the aftermath is scary, but I just felt a strange disconnect and lack of urgency. I’m just sort of there. They should do a LOT more than blight one village to kick rook into action, and sooner—like right after they were freed, in front of us. They should have killed Varric, or fully blighted Arlathan forest, or SOMETHING. And like it would have been easy to have rook go to Treviso and see the tail end of Elgarnan blighting it. Literally have not seen him on screen once yet. It felt like we were doing nothing to find them or learn about them except through solas. I picked Minrathous and afterward the city just kind of shrugs?? Nobody is talking about it really? There was a blighted dragon and tentacle lady on your doorstep! Same with the rest of the factions. And where the heck was your army btw. Idk. And meanwhile we’re just chilling going on friend dates. And then the inquisitor is like “oh yeah all of southern Thedas has fallen to the blight” and it’s like WHAT???? Why is that the first time we hear that?? And the first warden is sipping wine in Minrathous? The whole thing needed a few more drafts imo, and somehow felt too long and too rushed at the same time.

[cosmicheartzone]

COSMIC HEART ZONE TIMELINE INDEX

This is just an index that'll list each game within the timeframe of this Alternate Universe starting with Sonic Adventure all to the way to the most recent Sonic game. This will be updated as more asks that refer to what happened in each game's story and/or appearance by Cosmo are included. Note that this isn't 100% a checklist, as a game can be covered multiple times depending on the ask.

Sonic Adventure - How They Met, Confusmo, Big Friendly Neighbor, Cosmo's Tree Form, Asking the Frog

Sonic Adventure 2 - Cosmo the Hero, Cosmo's Hero, The Asteroideae, Shadow's Visit, Maria Robotnik

Sonic Advance Trilogy - Cosmo's Friends, Team Names, Minty Kisses, Amy's Photo, Cheese the Chao

Sonic Battle - Remembering Emerl, Cosmo's Agility

Sonic Heroes - Cosmo the Hero, First Date, They're Detectives and Thorns In Your Side, Forming the Team, Honorary Member

Sonic Rush Series - Royal Acquaintances, A Vacation for the Sol, Cosmic Rush

Shadow the Hedgehog - Cosmo's Hero, Big Friendly Neighbor, The Asteroideae, Shadow's Visit

Sonic Riders Series - Cosmo the Hero, Social Savvy, The Rosoideae

Secret Rings - Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves

Mario & Sonic Series - Social Savvy, Cosmo at the Olympic Games

Super Smash Bros. Series - Plant Powers, Social Savvy

(Note: Although Smash is listed, this does not mean Cosmo somehow got playable in the CHZ timeline. It's staying Sonic only as it is for us in official Smash games. This is more so for crossover references. If you want to hear about Cosmo in a fighting game. Ask about Sonic Battle instead!)

Sonic Unleashed - Confusmo

Black Knight - The Mage and the Blacksmith

Sega All Stars Racing Series + Sonic Racing Series (TSR + Crossworlds) - Cosmo the Hero, Social Savvy, The Rosoideae

Sonic Colors - Our Brilliant Translator

Sonic Generations/Shadow Generations - Classical Cuties, Shadow's Visit, Daddy Issues Part 2

Sonic Lost World - Hex Hath No Fury Like a Kind Girl Scorned

Sonic Forces - Heart of the Resistance

Sonic Frontiers - Daddy Issues Part 1, Hex Hath No Fury Like a Kind Girl Scorned

Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog - The Game is A-Root

MISC. CATEGORIES

Chao - (Tagged posts related to Chao and/or the Chao garden)

CHZ Seedrian lore - (Tagged posts that either expand on what little lore there was from Sonic X, and/or entirely original to CHZ)

A Royal Call - (Tagged posts related to a voice call with Cosmo's Sister, Galaxina!)

Team Rose Takeover - (Tagged posts where Amy, Cream, and Cosmo answered questions together as a team!)

Cosmic Rush - (A cross-dimensional story celebrating the 20th anniversary of Cosmo!)

These games below can still be asked about but may be difficult for one reason or another

Sonic Shuffle - (Cosmo would likely be at most an extra character ala Big and Gamma and not in the story. As amusing it may be to point out that Lumina and Void have similar design similarities to Cosmo) Sonic Pinball Party - (Can... we really expect much from a Pinball game for Cosmo to be involved in?) Sonic 06 - (The game retconned itself, even if we did cover what she might have done in the game. She won't remember it) Sonic Rivals - (I guess maybe at most a minor role in the 2nd game since Tails gets involved? Otherwise I'm not sure Cosmo would fit a game about rivals necessarily) Sonic Chronicles - (Had a cliffhanger ending that will never ever be resolved. And I'm sure as heck not going to be able to resolve it myself! Cosmo's existence as a canon character isn't just going to create a Sonic Chronicles 2 out of nowhere) Most games set before Sonic Adventure 1* - Tails Bullies (That includes Sonic 4, Mania, and Superstars)

*Though it just could cover what Tails said when telling Cosmo of his past adventures

[headmates-for-you]

,,could I get a special template mix of The Rake and Masky that's specifically a little?,,

^^ -Slade

Info

Name(s): Tristan, Edgar

Nickname(s): Sky

Last Name(s): Randall, Leer

Age(s): 5

Pronouns: he/him

Height: 3’6

Zodiac: cancer

Source(s): Creepypasta

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Labels

Gender(s): cismale

Orientation(s): n/a

TransID(s): n/a

CisID(s): blue eyes, blonde, semi-verbal, more sounds than words, dark sclera, fangs, autism

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Misc. Information

Positive Trigger(s): kids shows, cryptid stuffed animals

Other Trigger(s): any need for age regression

Role(s): semi-fictive, little, fear holder

Typing quirk: can’t

Emoji Signoff: 🍼🔪 or 🍼🩸or 🍼🌲

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Extra

Playlist 

Kidnap the Sandy Claws - Korn

leaking red glitter - KidSnorlax, cholorofilm

We Don’t Talk About Bruno - Carolina Gaitan-La Gaita

Big Time Rush - Big Time Rush

Kids - MGMT

Come Little Children - Erutan

Faceclaim

Aesthetic