#filed under: ic

[fracturedfables]

"I'm so proud of you." It was not in accordance to any protocol, but he had to embrace and hug her. "I am so proud of you, Penny. You are doing great and I am sure you will be doing even better in the future." //*collects lovely daughters for Jimbo* :>

human emotions were still very new to her. understanding them and knowing what they meant were something someone like her should not be able to understand. and yet, somehow she did. to an extent, anyway. "Thank you, General Ironwood, sir." She responded, like she always would whenever they were in the same room. what is being informal? Her face widening in a smile. "I will continue to do my very best!"

[fracturedfables]

One thing Blake loved about Ruby was the fact that she cared. Ruby may not be the sheltered girl when Blake first met her: the girl who wanted to be like the heroes in the stories with the happy endings. But Ruby was still Ruby. Her innocence still lingered under the hard exterior she seems to now carry around her. Perhaps that was why Blake still felt the need to shelter and protect that part of her.

"I appreciate that Ruby but it's something you can magically fix and I know you well enough to know that you still think you can fix everything." And she loved that about Ruby, but what Adam put her through? What he still seems to be putting her through? The pain, the torture, all of it was something she was going to have to live with.

@fracturedfables asked: "you don't understand what it was like." blake to ruby?

Ruby pressed the finger tips of her index fingers together, nervously pressing them into each other. "Well, yeah, I mean... I didn't experience it."

Ruby was smart enough to know that her and Blake had had very different lives. And likely, they couldn't really understand what the other had been through. But that didn't mean they couldn't listen and empathize, at the very least.

She looked at Blake, wide eyed. "But if you want to talk about it, I can try."

[tenderments]

@hiredassault   /   ONE - LINER STARTER CALL.

“   i'm bored,   when are you gonna teach me how to  shoot  like you do?   ”

[warpaway]

🎲 cabagehg........

a gentle peck

linhardt likes bernadetta. to him, the two are close friends. nowhere near as close as caspar, of course, but if linhardt had to choose some one to spend an unreasonable length of time with and caspar wasn't one of the options, he would pick bernadetta.

their introversions are similar, as far as linhardt can see. they would also like to lock themself away in their room all the time, but bernadetta has more reason for it and they know from experience that too much of that just makes them sad. in that way, perhaps bernadetta is stronger than them.

there is, ultimately, one big difference between them.

linhardt's anxiety is a quiet, inner turmoil that turns their stomach into knots and twists until they throw up.

bernadetta's is loud. she gets mouthy - she talks too much, and she bites, and she runs and screams and oh goddess he has no idea what wound her up in this instance but there she goes.

"bernadetta -" they attempt, but she continues in her too-quick-to-understand tirade.

"bernadetta -" he tries again. can she even hear him? she doesn't stop.

"bernie -" maybe her nickname, foreign on his lips, will break through?

no, of course not. she is spiraling.

linhardt places their hands on her shoulders and leans in, placing a quick, purposeful kiss on her lips, staring directly into her eyes.

"it's okay, bernadetta," he says afterwards, "there's nothing here that's going to eat you."

[colourme-feral]

You know people are really into a show when they are ignoring how vanilla garlic ice cream is supposed to be a thing and they are crying about the ice cream not the flavour of it.

[your-dads-filing-cabinet]

Y'all cannot be fucking serious his eye looks exactly like a dead fish.

[penumbralma]

Random starter for @hwangjunh0 !

"Would it be strange to ask if you know about any officers or detectives from Tokyo? Maybe a renowned detective or so?" She tries not to look at him when she asks. It feels random, wrong to do so. She can't say much about her brother or the rumors that have been spreading about him, not even all the way here... But she has to try. Even now, even here.

[discordantrhapsody]

About one hundred fifty years ago, Jack Vessalius, third son of Viscount Vessalius, formed an unlikely friendship. Glen Baskerville, leader of the mysterious Baskerville Clan, was an enigmatic figure whose orders were followed absolutely within his own community.

Though the Baskervilles rarely allowed outsiders to contact them, Jack was an exception. He grew close to Glen and regarded him as his best friend. However, over time, their relationship soured.

After a period of suspicion, Jack's fears were confirmed when Glen ordered those within the Clan to kill all outsiders in the capital city of Sablier. Their reasoning remained uncertain. While the public story suggested a plot to usurp the throne, Jack believed it was an attempt to aquire the power of the entity known as the Will of the Abyss.

During this attack, a powerful force dragged the city of Sablier into the Abyss, leaving Jack Vessalius as the lone survivor. He would recount that he had killed Glen himself in order to limit the destruction from expanding beyond the city, perhaps even swallowing the entire world.

Though horrified and sorrowful for the loss of his friend, Jack would go on to work alongside the King to establish the creation of the Four Great Dukedoms and the paramilitary organization Pandora in order to research, and control, the powers of Abyss. All properties formerly held by the Baskerville clan would be divided evenly between these five powers, including four of five Gates leading directly into Abyss, and the black-winged Chains they house.

This is the story of the Tragedy of Sablier, according to Pandora.

[bejiayi]

━━ xmas market ◞ ice skates.· (@arabe)

“i know you don’t want to go skating,” jiayi says, holding ara’s hand as they weave through the slight crowd that had gathered around the rink. “me neither! what if i fall? i already have enough bruises from training,” she huffs. “but anyways, i thought watching other people skate would be much more fun! they’re like, professionals, you know?”

she’s on a mission to get them to the front. after pushing past several people, jiayi determines that her and ara are as close to the stage as they can get.

“i think it’s about to start! i can’t wait to see what kind of outfits they have on.”

[fracturedfables]

 “i’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, i’ll be okay.” - Shadow // just a lil' bonus if you decide to write as Maria; I couldn't resist. X3 // from @th-nocturne

Mechanical eyes short circuiting as she looked at his wound in question. "Ha. You call that a flesh wound? That's looks like a scratch to me. You'll be fine." A shake of the head, muttering following suit. Something about how he wouldn't know a flesh wound, if he saw one.

[gravesung-moving]

kenjaku instructing geto for his first kill in yakuza au😏 (for evil geto purposes)

START BRUTAL AND SCALE BACK. there is no easing into it here.

the most egregious act of violence suguru has ever committed was accidentally breaking haibara's arm during a spar. he carries the guilt to this day, despite his friend's repeated insistence that "it wasn't his fault" and "he's fine now." satoru certainly never let him hear the end of it — despite the lightness in his voice, each tossed-out insult stings just the same.

outside of the disciplined, honor-bound practice of dojo combat, suguru geto is a gentle man. so why was it so easy to drive a hunting knife between ribs and into the heart of a man he doesn't know? this blade, kenjaku told him only minutes ago, is far more accurate than a bullet so long as you're within lunging range. bullets are small. even if you strike the chest, when the target is weaving and squirming they can easily land askew of the vitals you aim for. a knife in your hand is much, much less likely to miss.

take your pick. eye, throat, lung? the latter takes muscle, but you're strong.

he sits back on his heels and shakes and shakes. again, the dreams come to mind: charred flesh-scent choking his lungs, screams and cries a haunting echo above crackling flames, and, in his own chest, a deep, yawning, unrelenting apathy. over and over again his dream-self swallows something vile. it is as much gluttonous self-punishment as it is strengthening; he can't stand it. he can't get enough. he knows what he deserves.

there is a dissonance here and his body knows it. something in him rebels horribly against himself. the man below him chokes on his own blood, twitches once more, and stills. suguru drops the knife. a trembling hand claps over his mouth as he forces back a wave of nausea, bile threatening at the back of his throat, the corners of his eyes stung with tears of pure overwhelm.

why was it so easy? suguru has read up on the experience of killing another for the first time. parents often picture their children's faces on the body and spiral into panic. younger people picture their friends. should he have thought about haibara? why didn't he? what was it that possessed him to move so smoothly and confidently as he drove the blade at just the right angle into the dead thing's chest?

kenjaku stands above him like a tall sun-cast shadow. once the initial wave of panic fades, his eyes lift, wide and unfocused. something has changed irrevocably that suguru cannot understand — that dark part of him grows several shades darker. only now, as clarity and dread trickle back into the dizzy hellscape of his mind, he bares his teeth. he feels like a failure-son taken hunting by a father on his last thread of patience, their prey his beloved pet set loose in the trees. every proving ground in this job carves a piece of him away. the dark thing reminds him, this is what you deserve. the dark thing begs silently for kenjaku's pride while the rest of him battles it with barely-suppressed hatred. ❝ was that good enough for you? ❞

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

"Knock, knock! Sorry for coming in through the window - dreadful etiquette, I know."

[etruatcaelum]

[ @the-gray-maiden // for summer ]

The worst part of all this is how little her life has measurably changed: sure, Summer abandoned home and family to clasp hands with the enemy, but most of what she does now is… tromp around in the wilderness to keep the grimm at bay, still, albeit not often with blade or bullets anymore.

In a way it feels better, despite the tearing ache of what she left behind. Salem gave her something to fight for—something real, not just the grinding attrition of never-ending siege by inevitable darkness. Shatter the vice of Ozpin’s conspiracy, sunder the shackles of his relics, and maybe then the sun will rise.

The last time pays for all.

But it’s also infuriating. So much of her life was wasted as a huntress, spooking at shadows and doing her part to protract the infinite man’s infinite war. Every time she cards her fingers through the delicate, silken fur of a grimm she feels the inferno of her anger banking hotter. It’s not magic that tames them, not any dark power binding them to Salem’s will: it’s just… about knowing.

“You’re fine,” she murmurs, as the beowolf rumbles out a sound like grinding rock. It’s a pretty big one, half a head taller than she is at the withers and bristling with chitinous spikes, but it settles nonetheless when she strokes its shoulder and the aura gathered in her skin flows into its grainy black flesh like water into parched earth. “What’s wrong, hm?”

They can’t understand human speech. Not really. But she’s found that it helps to talk, and Salem has said that hordes can pick up a sense of tone and intent after a while. The beowolf sinks its belly to the ground and flexes itself around her: bringing her into the curve of its flank while it orients on something behind her.

Summer glances warily over her shoulder.

“…Oh,” she says.

She turns around by inches, keeping her palm against the grimm, and says calmly, way more calmly than she feels, “Hi. Do not draw that sword, and don’t make any sudden moves, please. I mean that in an ‘I’m holding a powder keg and you have a matchbox’ way. Not a threat.”

It’s been– what, a few years now since Summer left? Odds are this woman doesn’t know her, huntress though she seems to be. Might recognize her full name from an obituary, if Summer’s finally been declared dead.

Maybe she can spin grimm-whispering as a semblance?

Deep breath. Okay.

“I’m Summer,” she adds, voice a little tight. The beowolf shifts its weight restively, rumbling again. “Don’t mind him, he’s just—nervous.”

[nightmarecountry]

"Perfect nightmare." from Dream, while he's stroking - but not altering - the first Corinthian's jaw.

Dream's praise washes over him like hot water, settling something inside him he hadn't known was restless. Bloodied, panting from the hunt, he leans his face into his master's hand with a pleased growl. He isn't tired. If anything, the dreamers tonight have only made him more eager to hunt again; to take their eyes, to crush them between his teeth and show them their darkest, hidden selves.

It's what he was made for, after all, and he must be as Dream says he is: perfect.

[penumbralma]

❛ are you afraid? ❜ / from @thcrealheroes Hughie

Had he noticed? The way she kept averting her gaze, trying not to stare back at him, not to look for long. Inevitably, she still did so and, it seemed that her back and forth made it clear. Though she tried to keep her cool, not think too much about what she was witnessing, he noticed. And she ended up nodding.

"I am," Mitsuko's words come in a whisper, like she is attempting to keep others from knowing... But, weren't they both alone? It is a little difficult to speak, her English was not as perfect as she would want it to be – her studies were leading nowhere, she felt. And Duolingo was not doing her any favors, either. "I've never seen... someone haunted quite like you. The spirits that are clinging to you are... terrifying. They refuse to let go and they are loud. Can you even sleep at night?"

[insextras]

"I terraformed the moon!!!" "I'm a gay icon!!!"