#catastrophic abomination

[cptrackham]

Hobie Brown is what the DC YA John Constantine novel could have been if DC weren't such li'l BITCHES

[humofnight]

love posts that remind me the only us presidential elections I’ve been old enough in were 2016 and 2020 so yeah I have Bad Vibes associated with presidential election years 🥲

[hcluv]

how i feel after buying a tote bag just bc it had a bear on it

[orbital-inclination]

Moltendreams - Error Sans Alias - Static Pronouns: he/him, they/them Personality: Petty, holds a mean grudge, Big Tsundere, Complete Shut-in, Quick Tempered and Moody, fanatic with his interests, externally aggressive when in actuality he is quite shy. An absolute troll. His favorite passtime is messing with others. Paradoxically touch starved and suffers from haphephobia. Reckless with his own well being.

This variant of Error is capable of both love and compassion, he just hides it under a grumpy exterior and several layers of denial and self-destructive dogma. Other Notes:

Reluctant to harm Papyrus directly, though Static can't articulate why, and will generally avoid encounters Papyrus in any given AU.

Had a good relationship with his dad/W.D Gaster, actually.

Relates to "pest" pets; rats, mice, snakes, spiders, beetles, he loves them all.

Would have a pet rat of his own if he wasn't afraid of it shocking itself by chewing on his wires.

His favorite kind of chocolate is mixed with a hazelnut filling.

Views Frisk as a younger sibling.

Into Parkour.

-More Info undercut! -

Abilities: Static uses wire instead of string. Wire and summoned attacks can and do hold an electric charge. His presence alone messes with electronic devices. Residents of a particular AU may get a few minutes or seconds of warning as sweaters get staticy, computer screens glitch out, and anything with a battery spontaneously dies or gets super charged. By creating a circle of alternating RED and CYAN bones, Static creates a sort of reverse faraday cage. While Static can produce electricity, he can't directly control the voltage. He can only hope to direct it. The voltage of a charge is directly influenced by his emotional state. If you touch him, you will find his clothes zappy with static. Do NOT attempt to fight him in humid or watery environments for, hopefully, obvious reasons.

About: Static originates from a pre-Pacifist timeline that was followed by a looping Genocide Route. Through repetitive iterations, and an escalating instability in the timeline, the monsters of the underground began to recall events they didn't witness and memories they shouldn't recall.

Working together, Static, at that point still Sans, and Alphys were able to pin point the root cause of their timeline's instability. They made a plan to save the underground and separate Frisk from the Anomaly but when it came time to execute their plan something went catastrophically wrong. As a result Sans was torn from reality, and caught in the space in-between. Eventually, he escaped but not unscathed. Static has vague conflicting memories of his past, and to this day, questions if any of it was real. He can't find his original AU and secretly fears it may have been the first world he destroyed. He is still looking for it.

Outcode Politics: Static views all outcodes the same way he views every iteration of the original timeline that even slightly deviates: as glitches to be terminated. Bugs in the code he needs to hammer out before it all goes to hell. Static believes that by destroying deviating timelines and AUs, he is preserving the stability of the original. He is “saving’’ it from corruption by trimming the branches back. Despite his position as the self proclaimed Destroyer, Static is not above biases and making exceptions. 

Static includes himself on his long list of glitches in the code to be terminated. Static has a different view on the Spirits of Creation that Fable/Ink does. (Spirits of Creation are the in-universe term and stand-in for the creator of an AU). He calls them eldritch parasites. Abominations that should be avoided at all costs. And absolutely should not be encouraged or interacted with. Though he won't admit it out loud, Static is terrified of them. OG Error @.LoverofPiggies/CrayonQueen) Moltendreams @.me Edit: he has been named! Edit 2: revised his profile a bit

[fluffykittensox]

Dick Cheney just endorsed Kamala Harris for president. This is how you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Trump shouldn’t even be a thought.

Even Dick Cheney & his daughter are supporting Kamala Harris for president over the abomination that would result in catastrophic results not just for America but world wide.

(Edited just for typos)

[autumnmobile12]

So I had a thought:

Dr. Garaki straight up says that due to his catastrophic injuries, Dabi shouldn’t have survived a month after escaping the facility and because of that, none of All For One’s cronies bothered retrieving him, and everyone involved was pretty shocked when he turned up years later for the villains’ social upheaval/anarchy quest.  The explanation we get for this medical improbability is he remained alive because of his absolute hatred for Endeavor and need for personal vengeance/validation.

Me:  “There’s no scientific or medical explanation that makes this remotely plausible outside of bullshit anime willpower and——*side eyes H.P. Lovecraft’s Cool Air*——You!”

Long story short, Cool Air is one of Lovecraft’s lesser known short stories about this guy Dr. Muñoz who is technically dead, but through sheer willpower, he’s able to keep himself alive, and through the use of a janky cooling system he keeps in his apartment (an air conditioner, it's an air conditioner) he’s able to keep his body from rotting.  The contraption fails one night, and in a desperate attempt to stave of the inevitable, he recruits his downstairs neighbor to keep him supplied with ice until they can get the machine fixed.  They can’t fix it in time, Dr. Muñoz dies, his horrible secret comes out, and that’s pretty much the plot.

To sum up, a technically dead guy who keeps himself alive through sheer willpower…and ice…?  And Rei’s Quirk is…

It’s still implausible because Lovecraft should never in a million years be taken with any kind of scientific/medical seriousness, but neither should My Hero Academia, so my new headcanon is Dabi's ice-Quirk manifested way earlier than everyone thought it did and Dabi just never noticed it and credited his survival to the aforementioned hatred and determination.

In short, Dabi is a Lovecraftian abomination.

...

And for good measure, when I re-watched Overly Sarcastic Productions video on Lovecraft to see their rundown on Cool Air, this description of Dr. Muñoz came up:

This shitpost is writing itself.

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[determinate-negation]

On October 25, Kaplan recorded, "Another sign that bodes ill: Today, notices informed the Jewish population of Warsaw that next Saturday there will be a census of the Jewish inhabitants. ... Our hearts tell us of evil-some catastrophe for the Jews of Warsaw lies in this census. Otherwise there would be no need for it.”

Kaplan had witnessed rabbis brutally beaten and their beards forcibly cut. He had seen elderly women yanked at the jaw with riding crops. Innocent people were compelled to dance atop tables for hours on end. On the day of the census, Kaplan wrote, “These people must be considered psychopaths and sadists, because normal people are incapable of such abominable acts..." He also wrote: "The order for a census stated that it is being held to gather data for administrative purposes. That's a neat phrase, but it contains catastrophe.... We are certain that this census is being taken for the purpose of expelling 'nonproductive elements? And there are a great many of us how.... We are all caught in a net, doomed to destruction."

Kaplan was not alone in fearing the census. Czerniakow was besieged with questions about the purpose of this count. The deeply Talmudic community, which had little left except its faith and teachings, understood was that censuses were ominous in Jewish history. The Bible itself taught that unless specifically ordered by God, the census is evil because through it the enemy will know your strength:

I Chronicles 21: Satan rose up against Israel and incited David to take a census of Israel. ... This command was also evil in the sight of God... Then David said to God, "I have sinned greatly by doing this. Now I beg you to take away the guilt of your servant. I have done a very foolish thing."

Edwin Black, IBM and the Holocaust

[shiyorin]

The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well

Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)

+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]

+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian

+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]

+++ DATE: 327.M38

+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus 

+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS

+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]

Summary of Findings:

Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.

Behavioral divergences included:

Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery

Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts

Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command

Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations

At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.

Excerpted examples of documented cases:

[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]

"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."

"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"

[SAMPLE ENDS]

[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation

"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"

*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]

[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]

-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries -Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders -Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions -Final pict: [REDACTED]

The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.

Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.

2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.

3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.

Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.

The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.

I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.

Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."

-Inquisitor [REDACTED]

[thunderberryart]

So wait a second...

In official Rune Factory 4 lore, Ventuswill was supposed to die many, many centuries ago. It's uncertain how many, but it's generally accepted that Leon likely became the first Guardian around 1000 years ago. The big thing is that, in theory, Ventuswill's natural lifespan could have been much longer with no need for Guardians or Rune Spheres, but she was born in a land where the runes were beginning to die out and was thus weak. The Earthmates creating the Rune Spheres was as much about restoring runes to the land as it was saving Ventuswill because while the world can go on without Ventuswill, the world cannot go on without runes. Without runes, the land becomes barren, crops won't grow, and all life eventually ends.

Now, I don't know much about Rune Factory 2 since I haven't actually played it (and anyone who has is free to correct me on the below points), but from what I've read online in terms of the lore, Fiersome's apocalypse would have happened a thousand years ago had the ancient Earthmates not placed their seal on him--roughly when Ventuswill was originally supposed to expire. And every thousand years, the seal on him has to be renewed; if not, the world is destined to be destroyed in Fiersome's raging apocalyptic hellfire, after which Terrable will awaken and restore life to the charred landscape at the cost of eliminating whatever remaining life has survived--in other words, a total rebirth of the planet.

Between the close timing of these two past events--the point that Ventuswill's life was originally supposed to end and the point when the seal was placed on Fiersome--and the fact they were to occur when the world's runes were starting to dry up, the Earthmates both past and present have been staving off the inevitable End of the World for centuries. The world, as we know it, could have been destroyed a thousand years ago as it was supposed to, but the Earthmates said "Nope! It's too nice to let it all die!" and have done everything they can to extend its lifespan.

And that's when we get to Rune Factory 5 and an incredibly dark statement from the main antagonist, Gideon. According to Gideon, Alice/Ares is the last known Earthmate--not the last, but there are so few Earthmates that if there are any others left, they're most likely in hiding and are on their way to becoming an extinct species. Now, Ventuswill's longevity has been ensured thanks to the actions of Lest/Frey during RF4 and she'll probably still be munching on pancakes in 1000 years, but if the Earthmates wind up going extinct, there's no way to restore Fiersome's seal because only Earthmates are capable of renewing the magic used to keep him locked up. And Fiersome is not the only godlike creature capable of causing the world's inevitable destruction; Tides of Destiny gave us the Legendary Golem, whose cataclysmic battle with the Native Dragons led to the creation of the current world, and RF5's potential apocalypse was that of the Fathomless Dread, an eldritch abomination that literally had to be sealed in another dimension to prevent it from destroying the world.

The Rune Factory world has brushed time and time again with total annihilation and the only reason it has managed to avoid catastrophe was because there was an Earthmate around to stop it. What happens when there are no longer any Earthmates to stop the end of all? Or is it possible that the Earthmates are going to experience a revival of some sort? Besides a castle-esque design, the logo for Rune Factory 6 does suspiciously feature a seraph/halo motif, after all...

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

For Feminists, Silence On Gaza Is No Longer An Option

It is a feminist responsibility to call for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

…

I am also consumed by a deep anger, a profound disappointment, towards feminists in my country, the United Kingdom, and beyond, who appear completely disinterested in the suffering of women in Gaza.

…

These self-proclaimed feminists, are eerily silent about Israel’s similarly egregious actions against Palestinian women.

Israel’s near-total siege and indiscriminate bombardment of Gaza have already killed, maimed and disappeared under the rubble tens of thousands of Palestinian women and children. Many more have been displaced and left to survive the harsh winter without appropriate shelter and supplies. The almost complete breakdown of the healthcare system, coupled with the lack of food and clean water, means that some 45,000 pregnant women and 68,000 breastfeeding mothers in Gaza are facing the risk of anaemia, bleeding, and death. Meanwhile, hundreds of Palestinian women and children in the occupied West Bank are still imprisoned, many without trial, and trying to survive in abominable conditions.

This catastrophe is playing out in the open, but the majority of feminists in Britain, and more generally in the West, seem to have nothing to say about it.

Why are the stories of Palestinian women ignored? Why do the struggles of Palestinian women and children seemingly not merit the same level of concern? Increasingly, I am led to believe that this is not just a lapse in attention, but wilful blindness – the consequence of a moral compass that may be broken beyond repair.

…

In the face of such overwhelming terror, there can be no neutrality.

Today, Palestinian women are living through horrors that fundamentally challenge the core values of feminism. Mothers are burying their children with bare hands; families are grieving for their lost homes and shattered lives hungry, and under a rain of bombs.

Under these circumstances, silence is not a neutral stance. Silence today is a passive endorsement of the ongoing tragedy. How many more lives must be torn apart before these careful and politically “neutral” feminists find the courage to call for a ceasefire? The rising death toll isn’t just a tally; it represents individual lives, stolen futures, and a direct challenge to the principles that underpin feminism itself.

Today, what remains unsaid has as much importance, and impact, as what has been said.

Numerous prominent “feminist” voices, always vocal in their views on gender, sex and society, are still conspicuously silent on the struggles of Palestinian women. While their platforms have the power to bring critical issues to light, they also have the subtle power to relegate others to the sidelines. Too often, we see that the concerns of non-Western women are being pushed to the periphery by the reluctance of these high-profile activists to write and speak about them.

This selective silence challenges the universality of feminist solidarity. Especially when it comes from prominent feminists who many others look up to, silence becomes a form of complicity. Do you believe your silence on the tragedy of Palestinian women has gone unnoticed? I hate to break it to you, but your silence is deafeningly loud, and has stripped your work of any credibility in the eyes of many.

If you are one of those “feminists”, who do not speak about the suffering of Palestinian women, or endorse the calls for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza, for whatever reason, I have one, very simple demand from you. Look at the photographs coming out of Gaza. You may have been avoiding them, dismissing them as mere propaganda – but for one second, leave your biases and smart excuses behind, and look at them.

Look at the images of mothers cradling the lifeless, bloodied bodies of their children.

Look at the images of confused toddlers, often missing limbs and flesh, lying alone on hospital floors.

Look at the images of young women, with dead eyes, trying to collect fragments from their lives and murdered families in the rubble of their destroyed homes.

Look at those images, really look at them, and then explain to me why you think “it is not right to demand a ceasefire now”. And after seeing those images, really seeing them, you still want to stay “neutral”, stay silent, or talk about “Islamist oppression” and “LGBT intolerance”, don’t call yourself a feminist. Because you are not one.

- Article by Maryam Aldossari, Researcher of Gender Inequality at the University of London.

[000yul]

i appreciate that arknights went beyond what you would expect out of a eldritch horror cult story and into the detail of why people would join such a cult (or at least be sympathetic), why it continues to persist, why iberia has been so unsuccessful at eradicating it.. it's a really refreshing perspective. the seaborn are completely alien amoral monsters, sure, but the people who align with them do so for very human reasons. revenge, spite, a longing for something more, a rejection of iberian society - these apply to both the native iberians who no longer feel any community with or allegiance to from a cruel, overbearing ruling power, and the aegir refugees exploited and thrown away like trash…

this skill in fleshing out the many facets of human response to uncontrollable misfortune is a strength in arknights writing - the catastrophes and how society responds to them, as well as oripathy etc. being the prime example of course. i just think it's particularly notable here because of how much eldritch abominations are traditionally an external, Other threat, but here, the writing conveys a strong message: humans divided themselves along clumsy lines and failed their own, and that's not something you can blame the seaborn for

(saint carmen said something like 50% of the aegir taken from gran faro back then had cult links. the flip side of that: 50% did not. nonetheless - no one returned from their time with the inquisition. and how many liberi did they miss in their mad rush back then? amaia was a liberi, after all…)

fitting that their enemy is the seaborn - a species that is the purest, ultimate representation of the us-vs-them mentality (kin or not kin)—to the complete exclusion of all culture, the ability to relate to those not their own, and everything that defines humanity

[ghost-bxrd]

Regarding that one post about fae!dick and eldritch!jason, would dick would know INSTANTLY who red hood was when he appeared? Would he tell anyone? Would they believe him?

-☘️

I think fae!Dick would have to walk a thin line between feeling betrayed by Jason (someone he considers family) and trying to make him come back. I don’t think he‘d immediately tell the others tho! Fae like to be secretive, and as it is Jason is too much of a wild card to put the rest of the family into the line of fire.

On the other hand, a creature of nature and an eldritch abomination duking it out has the potential to be… catastrophic.

[ghostjunksickness]

Ghost Junk Sickness takes place in a galaxy far from our own. A majority of the story happens on the planet struck by the catastrophe 5 years ago, June7. It’s a post apocalyptic world on the struggle to recovery, covered with outlaws and bounty hunters who’ve claimed it as their own. GJS is a comic about two bounty hunters with an unstable dynamic who are pushed to pursue the deadly and elusive bounty dubbed The Ghost.

If you like:

⭐️Dumpster fire bounty hunter with a history of angry exes and poor life choices

⭐️Cinnamon roll thembo with weird arm powers

⭐️Lady that could crush you in her hands in a good way

⭐️Lady that could crush you in her hands in a bad way

⭐️Eldrich abomination here to steal your soul and look cute doing it

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[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O becoming a Daemon

Velvet had known S/O to be quite the klutz back then.

They were scarily efficient at hunting and fighting, but other than that? (Y/N) was an absolute catastrophe and quite the airhead.

When Velvet had met them three years later after the village was attacked, she expected a massive personality shift like hers, or some of the others she had met.

When they turned around, getting ready for a fight, Velvet steeled herself to put down a familiar face.

Only for them to drop their weapons and almost tackle Velvet in a hug.

(S/O) "VELVET! YOU'RE OKAY!"

And even though Velvet had grown far stronger than the last time they met, the force of the hug threatened to snap Velvet in half.

(Velvet) "S-S/O...! CAN'T...BREATHE!"

Releasing her from their death grip, they quickly moved to help her up.

(S/O) "S-Sorry! I just go so excited, I can't believe you're okay!"

(Velvet) "I...I see you haven't changed at all. That's...surprising."

As far as she knew, people became Daemons due to an overflow of malevolence. Someone as gentle as S/O becoming one was almost inconcievable.

Especially compared to herself.

Despite that fact, she was honestly glad that something from her old life managed to keep intact, reminding her of why she was out to kill Artorias.

Upon hearing their plan to get revenge for Laphicet, S/O joined without hesitation. And the two even managed to rekindle their old relationship, even if it was a bit...rocky.

Velvet and S/O tore apart anything that got in their path, the way they fought was almost as vicious as herself.

But when it came to outside of combat...

(S/O) "I think I'll cook today Ve-"

(Velvet) "Not happening."

(S/O) "Huh? Why?"

(Velvet) "Have your skills improved any these past three years?"

(S/O) "I would think so!...At least, I hope!"

(Laphicet) "Isn't that mean to S/O, Velvet?"

(Velvet) "Trust me, it's for the good of everyone present. Honestly, what they cook could probably make me taste again."

(S/O) "I-Is that why you can eat my food now?!"

Velvet looked sorry for S/O, seeing their distraught expression.

Which completely shocked everyone.

(Velvet) "...I should have mentioned that sooner."

Every Daemon was an abomination that had to be taken down, that was what the Abbey taught Eleanor.

Until meeting Velvet, Rokurou, and even her own S/O.

She was completely heartbroken, learning the fact S/O had become what she swore to destroy.

But during her travels, she began to learn the truth of daemonblight, and that sometimes humans were worse than them.

One thing that confused her greatly, was the fact S/O had remained largely unchanged, minus their red eyes and the markings over their body.

They were still the airhead she fell in love with, which conflicted her to no end.

As time went on and her attitude towards the Abbey changed, she was so happy that she could continue to be with someone she loved, even if they were going to live longer than her.

During combat, Eleanor could rely on S/O the most, watching as they dashed around the field with startling speed, dispatching of every last enemy with blinding ease with their needles.

However, she was the one to reign them whenever it was outside of combat.

...

Rokurou crashed through the wooden wall, scaring Eleanor as she leapt back, readying her spear in retaliation.

Only to find S/O rushing through the hole they made with him, apologizing profusely.

(S/O) "OH GODS! I-I AM SO SORRY!"

(Rokurou) "O-Ow..."

(Eleanor) "What the heck is going on!?"

(S/O) "T-THEY JUST SCARED ME AS A JOKE AND...A-and um, I may have...punched him."

He slowly rose up, hand on his head and he began chuckling, albeit injured.

(Rokurou) "Yeah, that was my fault, honestly. Thought it'd be a funny idea, even though I've seen how hard they hit."

(Eleanor) "S/O, you can't just be punching people!"

(S/O) "I-It wasn't on purpose!"

Eleanor just sighed and helped Rokurou up, continuing to scold S/O. She had done this many times back when they were growing up, and nothing had changed.

Except their strength, that was definitely new.

Magilou wasn't that shocked to see her S/O that unaffected.

(Magilou) "There's no thoughts in that pretty head of theirs, I honestly would have been more surprised if they actually changed!"

(S/O) "H-Hey...!"

She knew of their incredible strength and questionable skills outside of anything that required killing. But Magilou didn't care about that.

She cared more about the goofball that laid inside the boulder-kicking body. And she weaponizes it.

(Magilou) "S/O, I'M BEING ATTACKED!"

Eizen watches as the concrete wall next to them suddenly bursts with S/O, weapons drawn and absolutely ready to tear the throat out of someone.

(S/O) "WHERE ARE TH-...Eizen? Magilou?"

(Magilou) "See? Told you it worked!"

(Eizen) "Huh, two seconds, exactly like you said. I don't know if that's impressive or concerning."

(S/O) "Magilou!"

They began pouting as Magilou dramatically flailed her arms and wrapped it around them.

(Magilou) "I'm so sorry, my dear! I just had to prove how reliable you are!"

(S/O) "You're making me sound more like a dog than your partner..."

(Magilou) "Perish the thought! I would not dare to think of you so low! Besides, that's what Bienfu is for."

(Eizen) "Magilou here just said that if she called for you, you'd answer. Even faster if she sounded like she was in danger. Loyalty is not something to be ashamed of...Though your taste is questionable."

Eizen stared at Magilou.

(S/O) "Don't say something so rude!"

Eizen just shrugged as S/O picked up Magilou, the witch sticking her tongue in defiance.

[gaoau]

yes, you do; you're an abominable sinner

theory of the two demons warnings — none word count — 3.7k

prev. — next.

childlike, joyful cackles ring through the hallway as [Name] makes their way to the training room. they're running slightly late and dreading the moment they step into the room to find Dazai pointing a gun at them again. they raise a brow at the unfamiliar laughter, growing louder and louder as they reach the door. they doubt Dazai has it in him to laugh so joyfully. the glowing bruise hugging their spine and shoulders aches with every little move they make, from turning the handle to closing the door behind them.

there's a young child expectantly gazing up at Dazai, who's broodingly leaning against the wall as per usual and doing his best to ignore the little pesky bundle of energy asking to play. exasperated, Dazai sighs in slight relief now that [Name] is here to take this brat off his back. but when he finds their eyes, exasperation morphs into amusement at the loud rage simmering in their scowl. he figured this was an expected reaction, particularly after memorizing their entire history off their files.

it feels like a million shards of broken glass stabbing and invading [Name]'s bloodstream, smoldering as they liquify to burn them from the inside out. tinted with an ugly shade of innocence, they gawk at Q, clearly no older than ten years old, a worn doll tucked between their arms and a bright grin as they press, "i can play with them now, Dazai-san?!"

he ignores the high-pitched call of his name in favor of smirking at his mentee. [Name] stares back at a hollow, bottomless pit of pure darkness. they can hear wails echoing from its depths. and they don't care—not about how desperate Dazai is to burst into tears or how many friends Chuuya has lost or how much murder has stained their palms. "is this who you wanted me to fight today?" they question in a low snarl. the only thing they care about is the fact that Q is still bright.

Dazai's smile is as weightless and feathery as every other day, though today it dances with a faint hint of mockery. "don't underestimate them; they're a walking catastrophe," he warns, soft voice of proper advice. Q bounces over to him, standing in front of him to curiously peer up at [Name]. "i have a few theories i'd like to test out. go on, Q." he gives the kid an encouraging shove, prompting them to start playing.

giggling bubbly to themself, Q approaches their new playmate with a beaming grin. [Name] can't stand the sight of such a young mirror living in the Port Mafia's clutches. they're cautious of the fragile smile organizations like the mafia enjoy wiping clean off the face of the earth. Q knocks their balled fist gently into [Name]'s stomach and they let their guard down in confusion for a moment. they glance up at Dazai before Q pulls their arm back. from underneath their oversized sleeves, blood drips onto the floor.

[Name]'s heart sinks. "hey, what the hell?" they ignore the ache of yesterday's bruises as they drop to their knees, reaching carefully towards Q. they're holding a glass shard, willingly letting its edges dig into their palm. as they laugh gleefully, [Name] tries to pry it out of their hand.

"get ready to use your ability on them," Dazai chimes in.

"huh?"

before [Name] can even hope to register what Dazai could possibly mean, Q takes it upon themself to rip their doll and activate Dogra Magra. [Name]'s vision blurs as they freeze, a dark handprint manifesting on their wrist. Dazai stays out of sight and out of reach in case they mistake him for a hostile hallucination. but the images flashing directly into their retinas have nothing with reigning demons or little angels, the pure and the tainted floating around them, the echoes of falling creatures drowning in ink. all [Name] sees is blinding lights reflecting from their bleeding palms. the same poisoned whisper plays in their ears like a broken record.

childlike laughter bounces off the walls, but [Name] can't hear it. their hands act on their own as they dig their nails into their forearms, ripping through their sleeves and tearing through the skin and drawing blood. i want to die, i want to die, i want to die, i need to die. what hasn't been completed or who hasn't been saved doesn't matter when selfish desire is much stronger than altruism. they crawl and stumble, reaching for shadows that don't exist.

they touch Q instead. as soon as their fingers come into contact with Q's ankle, the handprint vanishes; the hallucinations cease and they regain their senses. Q frowns—they've never had anyone but Dazai counter their ability.

children so young generally take longer to kill than usual, but [Name] doesn't try to harm Q past stealing a small amount of life from them. it's not life they take; an orange glow activates and vanishes within a second. they shrivel into themself, panting and gasping for air, cradling their torn arms to their chest. with blurry vision, they glare at the drops of blood and sweat dripping onto the ground, falling from their face and crying from their eyes. they gulp thickly, wiping the bloody tears off with trembling fingers. their nerves burn under their skin at the influx of energy.

a pondering hum resonates through the room. it takes them a little too long to realize it's Dazai. he's thinking. "do it again, Q."

[Name] gasps at the order, eyes wide in panic. Q doesn't hesitate to do as told. they grasp the glass shard tightly on their unharmed hand before pressing their fist against [Name]'s shoulder. they try to move away before Q gets hurt again, but they only manage to stumble backwards. this time, however, when Q rips their doll, nothing happens.

Q blinks curiously at this rather odd development. they glance up at Dazai in case he's willing to offer an explanation. as [Name] anticipates anything unreal to attack them with bated breath, Dazai counts. he waits.

a beat later, the dark handprint to identify Dogra Magra's curse resurfaces on their bloodied wrist. the orange glow manifests around them and makes them stronger. images and whispers that make [Name] claw at their skin relentlessly, deeper into their flesh so the blinding lights on the ceiling stop flickering so tauntingly. they thrash helplessly, reaching towards Q blindly. Dazai casts a glance at the broken doll. he's already proven both of his theories. he watches in silence as [Name] takes their sweet time in leeching the energy from Q's activated ability.

finally, their fingers brush against Q's face, leaving a smudge of blood on their cheek while they snap back to reality. the handprint fades away. on their hands and knees, they try blinking the blood away from their eyes. Q's slippers come into focus.

Dazai's voice echoes, "good," and [Name] wishes Dogra Magra would make them a haunting hallucination to disappear as well. "that's all i needed. maybe i'll ask Kouyou-san just to make sure…" he scans his bored gaze over his mentee as they gasp and pant to catch their breath. they might be in excruciating pain from the rivers of blood pouring from their arms, but it doesn't keep them from glaring at him so scornfully, so hateful. he hums, "[Name], clean yourself up. give Q a hand, too, while you're at it, yeah?"

both [Name] and Q watch as Dazai exits the room without as much as a single glance at the mess he's leaving behind. once the door closes behind him, [Name] exhales a heavy sigh of relief, letting their shoulders relax while they sit up on their knees. the ache on their forearms starts to slowly settle, burning on the surface of their open wounds. there's still a tingle on their fingers from when they stole Q's lifespan, but it doesn't seem to be as strong as it was with Chuuya.

still out of breath, they lick their dry lips as they gather their bearings. then they notice Q is silently staring at them. they'd been laughing nearly maniacally before, but now they're awfully quiet. their palms are slashed open and bleeding. they're still holding onto that damned glass shard.

"hey! hey!" they start, taking a step closer to [Name], "can we play? can we?"

[Name] looks at their bright, round eyes. they're a kid. they're just a kid. a young kid who shouldn't be here or in a lab or cutting themself up for other people's gain. (they're just a young kid who shouldn't be here, [Name] thinks, but these are thoughts that don't spare Q or whatever happened in history.) fate bleeds through [Name]'s soul, no matter how resistant and resilient they might be. it turns a fragile shade of agony and helplessness.

crawling closer, they try not to scowl at the walking catastrophe, because it's not their fault at all that [Name] is so angry. "are you okay, kiddo?" they steal the glass shard from them, using Mirror Mirage to crush it into dust without leaving any more scratches on themself. gently, they grab onto Q's wrists, shifting their hands to face up and assess the damage. it makes their blood boil. "these cuts are bad, we should clean them up."

"are we gonna play after?! please?" an excited glimmer lights up Q's eyes—a child's spark lights up the night.

although panting softly, [Name] manages the kindest of simpers, huffing a chuckle. "yeah, sure," they answer and an endearing grin blooms on Q's face instantly. "let's fix this first, though." they get back on their feet, motioning the little kid to follow them. (Q thinks they'll follow [Name] anywhere.)

"okay! i'm Kyuusaku!" they cheer, bouncing excitedly on the balls of their feet. their small fingers snake their way into [Name]'s hand, holding it tightly. their open wound burns and their blood mixes with [Name]'s. "come on, let's go play!" they tug and drag [Name] towards the infirmary; the faster they both get patched up, the sooner they can play, after all.

[Name] laughs to themself, letting Q lead the way. a voice in the back of their head says they should be concerned to know Q seems to be more than familiar with the route to the infirmary in this maze of a building. they ignore it when Q's overjoyed cackles ring through the hallways as they squeeze their hand in excitement. [Name] squeezes back.

Dazai Osamu doesn't believe in anything; not in life, not in death, not in good or evil. he believes humans are so weak they cannot live without a faith to rely on. he scans his eyes over [Name]'s files and finds their faith. it's not loyalty; Mori didn't save them from the ruins of an orphanage. he'd laugh if it wasn't so bitter. when he hands the updated documents to the boss, he glares at him with a gaze that demands confirmation to all his conclusions.

with a chuckle, Mori processes the latest development in Mirror Mirage's training. there seems to be a lot more to it than what those researchers managed to put together. as detailed as the information is, if they had known better than to miss crucial bits like this, they would have tried to keep this little tricky ability under even more surveillance. it's quite the powerful tool. countless organizations around the globe would love to get their hands on it.

"i'll be adding it after this, but," Dazai starts, making Mori hum as he looks up from the papers on his desk, "the nullifying effect lasts around fifteen seconds, which can be quite dangerous if used right. the only issue is that it seems to incapacitate them."

there's always a downside, of course. Mori doesn't expect perfection from anyone, not even from the demon prodigy glowering at him across his office. "they're a better investment than i originally thought, then," is the response he chooses with optimism. it makes Dazai's glare burn a bit stronger.

"you had your eye on them for a while," he states as if it were a matter of fact. it is a matter of fact; he knows this much from what he's gathered so far. mentoring [Name] isn't limited to using them as a punching bag.

Mori stares at Dazai with blank eyes. he takes a second to consider the million results that could come from this interaction depending on his answer. "i did meet them before you. seems they were worth it." he waits for a reaction on Dazai's face. he wonders how quick he is to put two and two together. it's been a year, after all.

"i am curious about that, Mori-san."

"what is it?"

"the attack on the orphanage, the organization we eliminated, the misinformation they acted on," he starts listing off occurrences with the help of his fingers. Dazai stares at Mori with a blank eye. "you know there's no such thing as coincidences on this side of the world."

letting the silence settle for a moment, Mori hums. then he grins. "you're right, Dazai-kun."

Dazai seems surprised for a second at the confession. "what if they find out?" he asks, knowing just how easy it'd be for [Name] to write Mori down on their hitlist. he asks because he can't yet put his finger on what it is this man is scheming.

"i'm not worried about that. they won't find out unless you tell them." Mori shrugs carefreely. he looks Dazai in the eye for a little longer, finding the questions he isn't pressing on. airily, he laughs, "i'll let them be the ace up your sleeve when you put a knife to my throat."

"no way," Dazai chuckles genuinely. he shakes his head, lips curling into an amused grin. "they'd never work with me to take your head—or to do anything, really. they'd rather die."

"well, that doesn't mean much coming from them. i won't be mad if they kill themself, but try your best to avoid it, will you?"

Dazai doesn't believe in anything. Dazai knows [Name] won't slice their own wrists anytime soon. whatever belief he has for them is a lie. "so you did know. is that why you left them to me?" even when knowing this, Mori believes he can save this kid and make him live cleanly, properly.

"i'd like to see where this goes."

the discussion ends there. putting another good word in for their mentee, Dazai relinquishes his position as a mentor. he leaves [Name] to train as an assassin under the one and only King of Assassins deep in the basement. Mori doesn't argue; he trusts Dazai will oversee [Name]'s progress until either one dies and he's making this decision because it's the most profitable. if used right, Mirror Mirage can be an unstoppable weapon. promptly after his report, Dazai exits the office.

Mori watches the door close behind him. he glances at the files on his desk, humming, "i hope it works out for you, Dazai-kun."

Yumeno Kyuusaku doesn't like their name anymore. they did at first, when it was only a cute, fun play gifted to them by the mafia. now that they've gone through hell at Dazai's hand—not to mention the hell that awaits—they hate it. they don't want it anymore. it hurts and they didn't ask for this.

jarring, agonized screams echo through the destroyed training room. blood-curling and nearly deafening, [Name] has never heard anyone wail at the top of their lungs with so much pain in their voice. they want to cover their ears from the horrifying noise. they can't, though; not when Q is clinging onto their shirt with balled fists, trembling in their arms and bawling so loudly. Q buries their face in [Name]'s chest, tear-stained cheeks and bleeding wounds making a mess on their clothes. they sob and shout and hiccup until their throat is sore.

even then, they don't stop. [Name] hugs them closer, wincing at the pain shooting through their body and drilling into their eardrums. they know how painful it is to be a tool for organizations bigger than they can comprehend. Q doesn't deserve this. not the training, the desensitization, the torture, the abuse—whatever name it might have, Q deserves none of this. they cry in the only comfort they can find, and [Name] wants to cry, too. they don't, though; not when it's the last thing Q needs right now.

[Name] can't tell if the blood covering them is theirs or Q's anymore, but they know the open cuts are on Q's arms. they should get those cleaned up sooner rather than later, but when [Name] makes a move to get off the floor, Q grips their shirt tighter. they refuse to let go.

sighing, [Name] listens to them sob and shout and curse, "i'll break him…! i'll break Dazai-san…!" they go in circles. they've been going in circles ever since Dazai (waving his hand dismissively, "do whatever you want.") walked out the door earlier. "i'll break him, i swear i will! i hate him! i'll break Dazai-san, i'll break him…!"

with a tone as gentle as they can muster without shattering, [Name] shushes them, "it's okay, kyuu-chan, i know." they run their fingers through Q's hair, matted with blood and sweat.

"i'll destroy him! i'll burn him down!" Q pounds their fist against [Name]'s chest. it's not [Name] whom they want to hurt, but they know no other outlet that doesn't involve glowing bruises and bleeding out.

"i get it, kyuu-chan. i wouldn't blame you if you destroyed the whole world. i bet you could, huh?"

"i don't want to! it hurts! i don't want this…!"

"i know, kyuu-chan, it's not you—"

"don't call me that!" they snap, pulling away abruptly. the open slashes on their arms burn as the coagulated blood pulls at their skin. [Name] stares at their face. cheeks burning a fierce red, eyes quivering and filled with tears that keep flowing; the face of a child, young and angry, throwing a tantrum over a toy their parents refuse to buy. a bruise on their temple and a scratch on their nose and dried blood on their forehead; the face of a weapon (a walking catastrophe), not a person.

[Name] recognizes this face. it's forever unfading in their mind, whenever they glanced at the mirror wall before going to bed. as Q wails grievances about their cursed name, [Name] can't ignore the lonely kid out of sight, chained up and awaiting death with open arms. they can't hear them and they can't see them, but they know they're there. they don't want Q to end up like that. they don't deserve that—not that [Name] did, either. so they listen.

Q doesn't like their name. [Name] thinks kyuu-chan is a cute nickname. Q hates being called Q or anything similar. it hurts and they didn't ask for any of this. not the hospital beds, the straps, the needles, the experiments, the pain. [Name] didn't ask for any of this. they empathize. Dazai is nothing but a nightmare. it all brings pain because of an ability no one ever wanted. the saying in the Port Mafia goes, the greatest misfortune for Dazai's enemies is that they are Dazai's enemies, but what about the poor fools under his wing?

"hey, hey, it's okay." [Name] holds Q's face to stop their rambling, gently cupping their cheeks and brushing the tears away. they leave a smudge of blood on their skin. they see Q's bottom lip tremble as they bite back their sobs. "i never caught your full name, you know?" and because they're a fool under Dazai's wing, they'll behave just like one, because do whatever you want isn't lenience, but a dare. [Name] knows not to touch what burns, but Q is getting burnt, too, unless they do whatever they want.

there's no such thing as rules here, but [Name] is breaking all of them. Q furrows their brows in a frown, eyes glazed over. for a moment, they don't understand what [Name] is asking. when they let go of their face, they settle down, crumbling against [Name]'s chest once more. they mumble quietly, "…Yumeno… Yumeno Kyuusaku…"

"yu-chan?"

(Dazai tells them, "don't," but they reach for the fire again.)

Q shakes their head. they don't like that, either.

[Name] hums in thought. "yume as in dream?" Q nods this time. "okay, let's see, then. yumekyuu? yumesaku… no, that's so bad, sorry." they hear a faint giggle, bursting through Q's bloodied lips. [Name] breathes easy knowing they're calming down, they're not hurting as much anymore, they're not burning. "menokyuu? yunome…? i'll work on it," they chuckle to themself. Q laughs with them.

it's not much. Q's arms are still littered with open cuts and they're still seething with anger. but they stop crying, sniffling as they nuzzle into [Name]'s filthy shirt, letting them rub their hand up and down their back soothingly. eventually, Q dozes off.

([Name] tells him, "shut up," but they know this pain and it'll never end.)

inside the infirmary, [Name] dismisses their right-hand, "good work today, namiyo-san." namiyo bows and exits, making sure not to disturb her boss after their intensive training with Verlaine.

they open the brown envelope that namiyo came to deliver and pull out a bundle of photographs. flipping through them, [Name] can't hold back the grin tugging at their lips. four kids, each in a different home, but fortunately loved and happy. maria, shion, kentarou, and yuu. they're doing fine now.

the battle isn't over yet.