#giving em that sense of individuality ya know

[marmarblesz]

Page two completed!!! I love these dorks sm (fanfic is called [Data Recovering] by @manofthepipis!! :3c

Also, for the third panel, Spamton says this: “YOU ALL ARE A [[Pipes burst? Call Now]] LEVEL OF [adware]! EAHAHAHA!! IF SOMEONE [took loving care] OF YOU ALL ONCE AND FOR , ALL OF THIS WOULDN’T BE [Broadcasted daily]. WHO THAT SOMEONE WOULD BE?? [The answer may surprise you]!!” (Idk why but I have a head canon that if Spamton talks for a long time with too much passion and emotion, his words become more glitchy, and kinda have a ringing effect LMAO)

Anyways I hope you all enjoy!! :3 Stick around for page 3!!

[randomstoryenjoyer]

Hey I love your stories and your 'white lily's fall' gave me an idea for a request...for a story!

Imagine a witch (y/n) at first baked cookies to try to make a friend but as they kept running away...it gave y/n an idea! If they run away...why not make a track and make em race? So now y/n bakes them to either run a normal race or an obstacle course race to the window to escape amd y/n even put something under their window to cushion their fall so they wouldn't crumble and can simply run out to join the cookie world! Also the obstacles are harmless and not deadly like if they fail an obstacle, they just land on something soft and can walk over to some stairs or a ladder and try again! Ofcourse the finish line is the window!

Oh and whenever they race, y/n chooses one cookie to cheer on as they sit to the side, watching, and hopes that said cookie wins the race...again for entertainment! Maybe they even pretend to be a racing announcer as they race!

And imagine if other cookies found out...like, one possible idea is DE flying along, plotting against the witches when they suddenly hear hearing like: "AAAAAND RED ICING COOKIE MANAGED TO JUMP OVER THAT MASSIVE GAP! SO IMPRESSIVE! THE CROWD IS GOING WILD!" followed by y/n trying to impersonate a crowd cheering like crazy! So DE goes to investigate aaaaand finds Y/n racing cookies instead of eating them! Or maybe some other cookie like gingerbrave finds them! Just some ideas but can't wait to see what you come up with for this concept and curious what ideas you'll have lol!

Possible to add on, putting this possible add on here incase ya wanna add it: Y/n also keeps track of the races and the winners in a book and also timed it to see which cookie they've baked is the fastest and if a cookie read the book, they'll know that y/n raced cookies LOTS of times!

The Witch’s game

Rugelach Cookie’s breath hitched as they swerved left to right, their little legs scuttering as fast as they ever had before… he was so close to the end… all that was left was to…

”AAAAAND TRAGEDY STRIKES! RUGELACH COOKIE HAS FALLEN DOWN! HERE COMES COCONUT FLAKE COOKIE TO SNAG THE WIN!”

With the finish line crossed and window reached, Coconut Flake Cookie stood proud and delighted as he received the witch’s praise, eventually jumping out the window. Rugelach Cookie was left to get back up and head back to his place, however, if one looked closely, they could see that he was hiding a giddy smile…

———————————————————————

Due to being a witch, your life consisted mostly of isolation, except for the odd meeting with other fellow witches here and there. Thus, you came up with the idea of creating your own friends by baking cookies to give life to! It was an easy goal to achieve… if not for the fact that every cookie you baked always ran away and jumped out the window.

This kept going for multiple baking sessions, each one making you more annoyed when the results showed no sign of changing. Eventually though, it began to make sense to you. No matter their size or origins, living cookies were still as much as individuals as anybody else, little creatures with a desire to leave the nest and live a life of their own, instead of being stuck inside a witch’s kitchen with a giant being looming over them. It was just something you had to accept.

This led to a new idea develop: if they insisted on running, why not put them through a race? From then on, your lair became a small race arena. All you needed to set up was a long path that led to the window as the finish lane, and then fill it with many different types of (non-lethal) obstacles for each race. The first cookie to reach the window would have the prize of being able to jump out of it and live in the outside world! You didn’t actually know what the cookies did in the outside world, but it didn’t really bother you.

Between races, the cookies you baked would get their own resting village inside your lair, where they could all gather around and interact with one another, most conversations being about what laid outside the windows of your lair… what existed below the glimmering moon and stars they saw every night…

As for you, you decided to make the most out of your idea, sitting to the side during the races and choosing a specific cookie to cheer on, acting like a wild crowd. The first contestant cookies you baked were a bit confused at your odd actions, but eventually began to even enjoy them.

Oh, enjoy them they eventually did. It soon got to the point where the racing cookies would begin getting weirded out if you didn’t act like a crowd going wild over the contestants. Your cheers and howls of excitement directed at them soon became the main motivation for being willing to take part in the races, to the point that they sometimes even forgot what they even were originally racing for!

Slowly but surely, talks amongst the cookies every night in the resting village shifted from wonders about the outside world to gushing over the the witch in the audience seats, mostly led by the very first racing cookies that you had baked. More recently baked cookies were swift to join the talks about you, but it was the older ones who truly prided themselves knowing the most about the witch who baked them.

Many cookies soon began seeing the races in a different light: why would they want to go to the outside world when they had you and your praises in this cozy home? Surely staying with you wouldn’t be that bad as originally thought!

During these last few days, you’ve started noticing how… clumsy some of the cookies were during the race. A bit slow of slow running, a few of them missing a some.simple jumps, and taking extra long to get back to the racetrack once they failed an obstacle… and the numbers of the cookies doing it increased day by day. Despite the fact that it opened up a bigger chance for cheers and announcements from your audience stand, it still felt a bit suspiciously random.

If only you knew just how much your presence and cheers meant to your cookies at this point…

However, these didn’t end up being the only cookies that were aware of your races, as new ones would soon know about you…

———————————————————————

Dark Enchantress Cookie was busy scouting out the area with her cake witch carrying her as always, looking for more places to build her cake army in while the rest of the cookies of darkness were busy with her other demands, when she suddenly heard a loud cheer from not too far away.

Her instincts very much telling her that this voice she heard was a dreadful witch, she made her way to the source of the sound a fast as she possibly could, expecting to see what she had seen during the fateful night of the witches.

Instead, all she found was a witch… watching cookies run from one place to another?

She stood there, just watching the scene unfold. The excited look on the cookie’s faces, the enthusiasm of the witch, the complete lack of any cruelty of mischievousness on the witch’s voice and actions. It didn’t make any sense to her at all. Witches weren’t like this. They weren’t meant to be! She saw it all in the night of the witches!

She remained still for so long that her cake witch had began to stare at her with slight discomfort, wondering why its master had gone stiff for such a long time.

Dark Enchantress Cookie remained quiet within her mixed thoughts. Seeing cookies who weren’t baked with the intention to be eaten seemed to have rattled her mind a bit. After all, her view on the witch’s uses for cookies was the whole reason she had become who she was. But now, her initial plans for Earthbread seemed to have a small flaw in it. Unprepared for this extra factor in her equation

Leaving the area before she got any more hooked onto the ongoing scene, Dark Enchantress Cookie planned to order her subordinates to come visit in this place frequently… and to inform her all they find out about you specifically.

———————————————————————

With sightings of the cookies of darkness having been reported around this area, Gingerbrave had decided to come check this place out, trying to find out what the COD’s plans in this area were.

What he didn’t expect to run into however, was the lair of a witch! His mind already bringing him flashbacks of his very first living moments, he felt tempted to just run away instantly, and yet, something in his mind kept telling him to explore this new landmark. The vibe he got from this place was… unexpected, for lack of a better word.

Imagine his surprise when, instead of seeing the worst kind of cookie torture devices or other scariest stuff that he could think of, the first thing he saw was a small village full of many cookies who were all excitedly discussing something! He was too far to hear them properly, but judging from all the chatter, it was clear they were all discussing about the same thing.

Deciding to keep exploring, he’d carry on sneaking, now laying his eyes upon every nook and cranny of his surroundings, until he jumped in surprised at the sudden loud voice:

“GOOD MORNING, COMPETITORS! WHO’S READY FOR THE NEXT RACE?!”

Peeking out of cover, Gingerbrave’s eyes widened as he took in the view. Many of the cookies from the small resting village were all lining up to the race track, all cheering and looking up at the witch that had announced the start of the race.

Once it began, his eyes almost sparkled when he saw it all. All the cookies running, looking like they were having the time of their lives, and the loud cheers you were giving towards the racing cookies, it almost made him feel a bit sad and jealous that he wasn’t a part of it…

Too distracted by the ongoing event, Gingerbrave accidentally knocked into a book that fell down in front of him and opened. Curious by your handwriting on it, he skimmed a few pages and realised that this book recorded all the races you had ever had… you’ve been doing this for a long time! And he and the rest of his fellow cookies of Earthbread weren’t aware of you? The very first nice witch in probably forever?

Beginning to see this place in a new light, he began coming up with a plan to tell his friends about this new discovery… and possibly to sneak into your lair again and maybe try to disguise as your racer cookies too… all for the chance of getting to participate in on the fun, and receiving your wonderful cheers too…

Now you have two groups of cookies sneaking into your races, trying to blend themselves in as a part of the cookies you baked. They were all confident you wouldn’t notice the difference.

You did.

[petrichor-idyllic]

@lu-thinkingstuff I accidentally deleted the original ask (and the entire fuckin fic I'd nearly finished along with it) so have a screenshot of your ask I managed to keep. Sorry.

I'm writing this as a standalone piece, but it can be read as a prequel to quite a few of my pieces if you please.

INDOCTRINATION

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. I know the request is fem!reader, but I guess this can be read as gender neutral since I don't think I used any pronous to refer to you, apart from you obviously lmao. Follows no cannon events. I am making this shit up. Can be read as a prequel to "Life before Drowning", any other of my fitting work, or as a standalone. Whatever ya want. References to the simulation sky that's in the books - if you're reading this as a movie fic, then let's pretend this is a failed WICKED experiment.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, annoying WICKED shenanigans, traumatised children, Ratman.

You met Minho when you were seven. Maybe eight.

The last few weeks had been a blur of chaos you can barely remember. With the Flare finally taking its victims in your hometown, families flocked to their last resort, donating their children to WICKED.

Most children weren't picked.

Of course, they weren't. Most children aren't immune. The occasional normal child was also plucked from the masses and swept away from the warmth of their families to the cold, white walls of WICKED's laboratories. But that was rare, and they were only ever valued as a control variable in whatever twisted experiments they took part in.

Not that you ever knew that.

The potential horrors didn't matter to most parents; yours included. Mothers and Fathers desperately passing their remaining blood to men in masks in hopes of saving their loved ones. There really wasn't much choice.

You were given even less choice as you were one of the lucky ones to be picked.

A white room became your home for several weeks. They made you forget your parents - those parents who willingly passed you into Ava Paige's custody in hopes you'd have at least a fleeting chance of survival on the infected planet.

They took your name, too. Your personality. The few memories you'd managed to develop so young. All of it; gone.

You were almost in a state of shock when they finally said you could leave your pristine tiled prison cell.

Following your capture through the endless high-tech halls and flawless clean corridors, you reach a large dining hall. Several long tables fill the room, along with the high-pitched chattering voices of children. The kids vary in age - some older, some younger, but that doesn't matter. They're all talking.

"Grab your food and find a seat." The booming, hollow voice of the balding man in a labcoat reaches your ears, and you can't even begin to process what he's saying.

"W-what?" Your voice is barely a whisper as you squeak out a response.

"Join the queue, and then find somewhere to sit. Your lunch break doesn't last long." He gives you no chance to ask anything else as he turns and walks back down the corridor. Leaving you with very little choice but to continue into the room.

Getting the food is the easy bit; a tray full of a passing excuse for food and a small cup of juice. Finding somewhere to sit is the problem. You mindlessly search for an empty seat, though your gaze mainly lingers on the masked individuals lining the room; armed and dangerous.

"Psst. Don't stare. They don't like it when you stare."

Your head snaps towards a voice. An Asian boy, about your age, leans over the table top, hand cupped around his mouth as he whisper-yells at you, like he's pretending to be subtle.

"...What?" You stare back at him as a grin creeps across his face as he sits back down.

"Those freaks? Duh? Don't stare at 'em. They'll snap at you." When you don't respond, the boy starts to sense your unease. "...You gonna sit down or what?" He vaguely gestures to the empty space on the bench across from him. It takes you a second to move, but he seems relieved when you do. "You got a name?"

"Uh, (Y/N)... I think."

"You think?" He scoffs as you struggle to get your leg over the slightly wobbly bench. You think it's wobbly, or maybe you're shaking too much; it's hard to tell.

"Well, yeah - that's not my real name, is it?" Your response leaves the boy unsure how to react. You're... not wrong.

"Huh. I guess. I'm Minho." He says with a grin. "And even if it ain't my real name, they made a good choice. It suits me, right?"

For the first time since you'd arrived, you find yourself smiling. Minho is charming, for a kid. He's already got an air of confidence about him, which is almost reassuring in this situation.

"Yeah," you giggle, "I guess it does suit you."

And that is how you met Minho. Reckless, cocky, funny, brilliant Minho. And by brilliant, I mean he is a brilliantly bad influence.

It's not like you got to see him very often - just over lunch and the rare breaks you both got at the same time. But when you did, it was always fun. You even developed a little group, mainly including Minho's friends - he has enough charisma for both of you.

The first time Minho snuck into your room, you were eleven.

It's the middle of the night, the faint sounds of footsteps from WICKED guards echoing through the small white room you reside in at nights. It's all background noise, now, you barely even notice it as you drift off to sleep.

Until the loud clattering of the vent hitting the floor makes you jump out of your skin, shooting up in bed.

"...shit." Minho murmurs as he peers into your room.

"Minho?" You whisper-yell at the sudden intrusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep." He responds, matching your tone as he attempts to clamber out of the vent and onto the safety on the floor below.

"So, you decided to break into my room?" You climb out of bed, coming to assist your best friend as he slides down your wall.

"Yeah. Figured I'd give you a visit."

You cross your arms, eyebrow cocked as you glare at your friend. "Are you insane? We're gonna get in so much trouble if you get caught." You grumble at him, swallowing your initial shock (and your small smile thanks to his presence.)

"So? What are they gonna do?" Minho dusts himself off. "Make me train more? Poke me with another needle? However shall I cope?" His sarcasm results in another eye roll from you, but you can't help but chuckle as you shove him, playfully - but warning.

"They could lock you in your room for a week." A beat passes. "Again."

"Great." He grins. "Means I get some peace. Sleep away my problems."

"You're such a dick."

"You love me, really." He flashes you another signature cocky grin.

You don't even dignify that with a response. "What exactly are we doing then? Just... hanging out in my room?"

Minho hesitates, then looks back at the vent, then you again as a sly smile slowly creeps across his face. "I think I have a better idea."

And that is how you end up crawling through a vent in the middle of the night, and following your chaotic friend through the facility. Minho is a lot calmer than you are; cracking jokes, whistling and generally being a cocky little shit. You, however, are hissing at him every thirty seconds to shut the fuck up.

Somehow, you both stumble into a vacant hall. Well, Minho dragged you through another vent and whilst he gracefully jumped down, you fell in a heap on the floor.

"Christ-" you grumble as you dust yourself off, looking around the room. It's dark, unusually so - the only light creeping in from under the locked door to the room from the buzzing halogen bulbs. "Where are we?"

Despite your low tone, Minho doesn't do much to hide his voice. "Dunno. Damn - this place is huge!" The boy chuckles to himself, dragging his hand across the wall to navigate, the sound of his words, and comfort, creeping away from your reach.

"Minho-" you say into the void, further panic swelling in your gut.

"Yo, I think I found a light switch."

Before you can object that this is a bad idea, there's a hollow click, quickly follow by a binding light.

You weren't expecting it; expecting the same dull bulbs that consume the WICKED labs. But what you get is anything but.

The entire ceiling springs to life, imitating the bright blue of the sky you haven't seen since you found yourself in WICKED's custody.

"Holy shit-" Minho gawks upwards as he stares, too, finally in your line of sight.

The fake sky is scarily realistic - the glow of the sun, the faint fluffy clouds floating across the screen. You're not even sure you could call it a screen, honestly. There's not lines, or glitches or lagging from the technology. It looks so real. Like you could reach out and feel the damp clouds through your fingers, the heat of the sun on your skin.

You look at Minho, who looks at you at the same time. Both of you have no words; how could you? But your silence and exchanges looks say everything words could - what the actual fuck is this?

"...this is.." Minho starts, losing himself quickly.

"..beautiful." You finish for him.

"I was gonna say freaky." He responds, earning a chuckle from you as you wander into the middle of the room. "Hey, there's other buttons-" He says, gesturing to the control panel on the wall that he originally assumed was a light switch.

With the click of his fingers, dark clouds start to fill the fake-sky, creating a dimmer, more stormy atmosphere. But there's no rain. Just clouds.

Those seem to be the only two weather modes as Minho keeps switching between the two. Cloudy and sunny. It's definitely not quite advanced enough to imitate the real thing.

"Look- there's a time monitor." Minho mumbles as he moves a slider. The sky dims, as bright sunset colours fill the ceiling before it creeps into dusk, and then into a series of bright stars.

Minho's goofy grin says enough as he moves away from the controls, joining you in the middle of the room. You barely even notice him until he's crouching the lie on the floor.

"What are you doing?" You raise an eyebrow at him as he moves to lay on his back, looking up.

"Star-gazing, duh. What does it look like?" He says as he smiles at you, before gesturing for you to join him.

"We're gonna get caught-"

"Will you relax?" He chuckles, leaning up on his arms. "When are we ever gonna get a chance to do this for real? Might aswell enjoy it whilst we have the chance."

"It's fake." You cross your arms defiantly.

"Still pretty. Still better than our boring white rooms." He retorts. "C'mon."

You sighs, but relent as you move to lay next to him.

He's right. It really is pretty. The mimic stars sparkle and flutter, and suddenly the labs and the experiments feel worlds away, even if your escape is an extention of your captives skills.

Minho suddenly starts chuckling.

"What? What's so funny?" You say, turning your head to look at him.

"Nothing." He shrugs. "Just thinkin' that if Thomas was here, he'd probably be telling us about all those star thingies."

"...star thingies?"

"Yeah. You know? Those... stars that are, like, in a pattern."

"...constellations?" You can't help the amused smile creeping across your face at your friends ignorance.

"Yeah- those. They got names don't they?" Minho turns to look at you. "Thomas is such a dork. He'd know all of them."

You shake your head as you look back up at the ceiling, but Minho keeps looking at you.

"We should tell the others." You say, not noticing his gaze.

"What?"

"About this room. Newt and Sonya would love this."

"I thought you didn't want to get caught?" He chuckles and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah- but this is cool. They should see it."

A beat passes as Minho continues to look at you. "Nah."

"Nah?" You look at him, surprised by this. He's rebellious and fiery and is normally the first to drag everyone into schemes and fun despite the risks.

"Nah... this is... ours." He says, smiling softly at you, before he shifts slightly to slips his fingers between yours, looking back up. "Just ours."

And that's what it became.

At least once a week, you and Minho would sneak around and into this secret special room. You'd spend hours talking and messing around, and somehow, you didn't get caught. Or maybe some of the kinder WICKED people were turning a blind eye to two kids enjoying themselves.

Who knows.

It was like this for about a year. Maybe a year and a half.

But, things took a turn.

Minho was starting to revieve praise for his athleticism. He became one of the most physically capable subjects, and it was impossible to get him away from a rigged-up treadmill. So, by the end of the day, he was exhausted. Too tired to be crawling around vents with you.

You were thirteen, maybe fourteen when Minho ended up crawling though your vents again.

Hearing the familiar noise, you're out of your bed before he's even here, your bare feet already on the cold floor as he appears.

"Minho-?"

"I know. I know." He grumbles. "I'm sorry." He says, before you can even get so much as a word in, and it leaves you stunned.

"For what?"

"For like... not being here. For neglecting you, I guess." He shrugs as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Neglect-?" You cut yourself off. "Dude, they've been working you to the bone. You don't have to apologise."

He sighs, seemingly of relief. "Yeah, well, I still feel like a dick. You're my best friend."

"Well, you're here now." You attempt to reassure him. "We can go back to the sky room."

He shakes his head. "Nah. I was thinking we could go exploring." He flashes that damn grin at you again.

"...exploring?" You raise a brow, crossing your arms.

"Yeah. Yanno- like me, Newt and Thomas used to do."

"I never joined in with that."

"Well- you should've. And we were exploring when we found the sky room, so you're no so innocent." He chuckles, and you can't help but admit he's right. Yet, he continues at your hesitation. "Look, we found that room by chance. Surely there's more cool and interesting things to find. I'm getting bored of looking at the same fake sky everyday."

Something in that comment stings. You'd never gotten bored of that pretend sky. Maybe because you'd always been with him - and you could never get bored of him.

"C'mon." He drags out the syllable. "One night of exploration. Just one. Who knows how far they'll be making me run from now on. Better take the chance whilst you have it."

You playfully shove him at this. "...fine. One time only. Okay?"

"Okay." He smiles. "Let's go."

So, once again, you find yourself creeping around the sleeping facility with your far too confident best friend.

Though, when Minho reaches a locked door, you would've never expected him to slip an excess card out of his shoe, swiping it into the card reader.

"What? Where did you get that?" You hiss, wide-eyed and stunned.

"Some dumb lab-coat dude left it on the side. So, I picked it up. Finders, keepers." He says as he pushes the door open.

Sneaky around is one thing, finding hidden rooms through vents - but stealing an ID card is something else. You're literally never going to see each other again if you get caught. Not that you get chance to voice your concerns as Minho walks into the room.

This sinking feeling creeps into your gut, yet, you can't find it in yourself to tell Minho. What if he really is starting to find you boring? Being whiney to him about this would only confirm that. You don't need him getting closer with someone else, especially not the flocks of girls in the dining hall who have started taking interest in the boy since he started his physical training.

Okay. Maybe this is creeping beyond friendship. It was years ago, but you're always thinking about the way he held your hand the first time you found that room. How it was just yours. Your special place, just for the two of you. And he doesn't want to go there anymore?

You've never felt so insecure.

So, you keep quiet.

The first room is full of labelled chemicals you don't understand.

The second is full of strange, clouded tubes, with slimy, creatures with metal arms. Even Minho was eager to leave that one - to remain ignorant for his own bliss, pulling you along once you stop to stare into the tubes. You suspect Thomas mentioned something to him. Thomas has always been Ava's favourite.

Though, the third is far less scary. It's a office - well, more like a small library with a computer and a desk. Filing cabinets liter the walls with endless documents.

Minho lets out a low whistle. "A computer." He grins, casually sliding into the office chair as he starts fiddling with the computer. Having most of the common sense in this friendship, you've assumed that the computer is password locked.

Which is confirmed by Minho's hushed cursing.

So, you start looking through the documents in the drawers. A lot of them are medical files and general testing that you don't really understand.

Though, a few documents contain blueprints and titles such as "the Maze Trails" and "The Scorch Trails". They're detailed and confusing.

"Minho-" you gets his attention, passing him the notes as he's distracted from the computer, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he looks through them.

He doesn't get much time to comment as you find another interesting drawer; labelled "Subjects."

Flicking through a few, you recognise the pictures of the people you've spent the last few years with. Teresa. Thomas. Gally.

You stumble upon Minho's- grinning at his awful mugshot style photo. A7. The Leader. They've already got him marked down pretty faithfully.

Though, something consistent through all the documents is the phrase "status: Immune." Something about that stands out to you, for some reason.

That is until you reach Newt's file.

Staus: Nonimmune. Control Variable.

Nonimmune?

Nonimmune.

"Uh, Minho-?"

"These maps are insane." He mumbles, still examining the blueprints. "Do you reckon these are those big plans Thomas is always yapping about?" He picks his head up to look at you, noticing your face drop, concern written throughout your features. "What? What is it?"

"...we're all immune to the Flare, right? That's why they're testing us. To find a cure?" You don't even look up at him.

"Yeah..? Why else would we be here?" His grin is there, same as always, but now it's uneasy and uncertain. You look at him, before walking over and slapping Newt's file onto the table.

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, his face drops, and he just looks at you.

Before any words are exchanged, footsteps can be heard from down a corridor.

"Shit-" you both scramble, collecting all the papers and stuffing them in whatever drawer they came from (or whichever is closest.)

It's a mad dash to get out of the room - adrenaline and fear coursing through you both. You didn't even find your own file.

Are you immune? Could the Flare get you?

Little do you know, Minho is internally freaking out over the same thing.

In your panic, your silence evades you, which alerts whatever guard was prowling the building.

"Quick! Up here!" Minho commands as he struggles to open a vent, giving you a leg up before yanking himself up the wall and diving in.

You don't even know where you're crawling to, you're just trying to rush away. But, eventually, it goes quiet, only the sounds of yours and Minho's panting in the small vent system.

"We have to tell Newt." You say, managing to turn in the small space to face him. Minho hesitates for a moment, but nods.

Of course you have to tell him.

"Yeah, at lunch, tomorrow. We'll tell him. But right now, we have to get back to our rooms. They'll be checking." You nod in agreement. "Let's get you back first."

Minho has a far better memory than you, leading you back to the safety of the room before he turns to navigate the way back to his.

"Minho-" you say, turning to look at him once your feet hut the floor, a sense of dread overwhelming you.

"..yeah?"

You can only look at him. There's so much you want to say, but none of it want to come out. Some deep gut feeling screams at you that this is the end, but you tell yourself you're being silly.

His blank expression pushes you to talk, though.

"Just.. be careful."

He offers a warm smile, but rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. See you at lunch tomorrow."

Your attempt to mimic his expression falls flat as he shimmies back into the vent and on his way.

You didn't know how accurate your instincts would be.

The next day, you make your way to the lunch hall. You're late- your lab testing ended up being longer than possible. But when you enter the dining hall, Minho's absence is quickly noted.

Though, you do spot Newt. Maybe Minho's running has gone overtime, again?

"Newt-" you shout him, jogging across the hall. "Have you seen Minho? We need to talk to you."

Newt doesn't even have to say anything as he glances at Thomas, whose eyes are burning into the table in front of him. There's some sense of desperation in Newt's expression, mixed with grief and regret, but like he can't say anything.

It makes your stomach flip and your heart stop as you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get any sound out.

"(Y/N)." Janson's annoying voice sends a chill down your spine as you turn to look at him. Two guards stand by his sides, his forced grimace doesn't reach his cold, unforgiving gaze. "I need a word."

Janson gestures for you to walk with him and you swallow a lump in your throat. Your first instinct is to run. Like Minho thought you. But in a room full of people? It's not like your quiet escapades in the middle of the night.

Your feet are like concrete as you force yourself to walk towards him.

Janson walks in front of you, the guards behind you. You're trapped, and even if you did run, that wouldn't change anything as he leads you into a room. It's a room you're familiar with.

It's where you have one-on-one progress conversations with Janson to discuss how you're doing. Minho spent more time in here than you ever did, but that doesn't mean the confines space doesn't fill you with anxiety, even in normal circumstances.

You take your place in the cold chair as Janson sits across from you, the slab of metal that is meant to be a table keeping you separated feels like a godsend. Though, not much of one with the guards breathing down your neck.

"...Where's Minho?" You manage to croak, attempting to mimic your missing friends confidence.

"He's been dealt with." Janson says, and your blood runs cold.

"What- what does that mean?"

"I'm sure you already know what that means. From your adventures last night." The world stops.

You knew.

You knew it was a bad idea and your own insecurities led you to keeping your mouth shut and hiding away from your concerns. What? Because of a stupid crush? Your own feelings of inadequacy have led to Minho's demise. And it's soul-crushing.

"I-I don't understand." You words falter, any false confidence quickly shattering.

"It's a shame. Really. It is." Janson nods as he leans forward, his elbows on the table. "We let yours and Subject A7's strange relationship slide because it was showing promising results. New waves in the Killzone we were examining. I knew we should've stopped it." He sighs. "...and now, you know too much."

"Where is he?" You spit, fists clenched, unused adrenaline causing you to tremble.

"I told you." Janson hisses. "You already know. But don't worry. You're not going to remember any of this." Janson nods towards the guards.

"What-" your words catch at a sharp sting in the side of your neck as one of the masked-men injects a burning liquid into you. You gasp, grasping the side of your neck. "What have you done?"

Your words slur slightly as a dull buzz fizzles into your vision, your head feeling light.

"My job." Janson leans back as he watches you sway in your seat. "What was always going to happen."

You can't even respond as your limp body slips out of the seat, and your consciousness leaves you before you even hit the floor.

WHOOP WHOOP. 1K BABYYYYY.

I guess this is my 1k follower post - and it's angst. That's typical of me. Sorry for the massive gap since I last posted something, but everyone's support has given me a drive to write. Well, at least finish writing this. Sorry if its not everything you wanted, but I've always felt there's something so much sadder about not getting that chance to say goodbye to someone, and things fizzing out instead of a bang.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed :)

[spade-of-storms]

What the others think of Allen x Deuce

Heartslabyul

ACE: "Ugh, these two can't go three minutes without going to smoochville. Deuce is almost never alone at this point and they're hella annoying! Trying to get them together was a pain in the ass... that said, they're kinda cute, and I'm glad Allen's able to turn Deucey into less of a loser."

RIDDLE: "I have witnessed a fair share of unpleasant, inappropriate happenings because of these two... But Allen has managed to help Deuce with his grades a whole lot, which I'm grateful for. They're good in my books as long as they refrain from kissing in public areas at Heartslabyul."

CATER: "Ooh, Deucey and Lenny! Took them wayyyyy too long to get together. It was pretty obvious since day one that Deuce couldn't keep his eyes off of Allen, and watching those two be so oblivious was a painnn!"

TREY: "I'm glad they've found happiness in each other. Allen is guiding Deuce towards the right path, and it's pretty obvious to all of us. Has definitely helped us avoid some more trouble at Heartslabyul, haha..."

Savanaclaw

LEONA: "For someone who wants to stay out of trouble, Allen chose him out of all people... pff."

RUGGIE: "Yeah, I can see why they like each other, and I'm glad Allen's found someone. Lowkey gettin' second-hand embarrassment from the lovesick way Deuce acts around him, though."

JACK: "They're cute and it's obvious how they support each other. I'm wishing them the best. ...hm, so that's why Deuce constantly brings him up in the Track Club."

Octavinelle

AZUL: "I wouldn't have expected a wicked person like Allen to go for him. But knowing him, he definitely has his reasons... tsk tsk."

JADE: "Oh my, those two. Is it wrong if I say that I already expected them to be a couple during the anemone *incident*?~"

FLOYD: "Eyyy, Orca and Mackerel. Yah, they're cute. Hella clingy. Drives ya over the edge sometimes... and you just wanna give 'em a squeeze."

Scarabia

KALIM: "CUTIES!!! Allen smiling more often because of Deuce is always a nice sight."

JAMIL: "I would've expected Allen to settle for someone more scheming, but I can see why they're dating. Allen definitely craves... um, forget it."

Pomefiore

VIL: "Deuce sure has an eye for beauty. I remember giving him a fair share of advice on this topic during the VDC preparations, and it was pretty shocking to see Deuce make so many efforts in order to impress someone who... doesn't seem to focus on other people's appearance all too much. But I guess that's what happened... Deuce figuratively got intoxicated by Allen."

ROOK: "Ah, l'amour. Monsieur Spade has proven Monsieur Troublé that he can be adored and that the stains on his heart can fade."

EPEL: "Damn, I'm hella happy for 'em. Definitely see why they're so in love... and Deuce has even passed parts of the advice Allen's given him down to me! Seems like a longlastin' relationship that helps both of 'em a lot."

Ignihyde

IDIA: "So much PDA... it rots my teeth. Surprising that Allen even has the time to play online games anymore..."

ORTHO: "I have statistics on how often they've kissed in public! Wanna see? But they might shock you!"

Diasomnia

MALLEUS: "They fill each other's voids, and I'm congratulating them. It's not every day that two individuals crossing paths match each other so perfectly."

LILIA: "Kheehehe, young love. Both are adorable and somewhat clueless, and their love is so genuine. These two kids are really good for each other!"

SEBEK: "THEY'RE ALWAYS TOGETHER!!! You cannot simply talk to Deuce without him bringing up his boyfriend!!! ...huh? What do you mean I do the same with the Young Master and my girlfriend?! THAT'S A DIFFERENT THING!!!"

SILVER: "I can sense that both are much calmer in each other's presence. I'm glad my friend has found a loving partner who's fully capable of showing him just how much he matters."

[lancermylove]

Teen MC 34: Influenced by the Internet (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Demon Bros x gn!Reader, platonic

Warning: Language

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Could I request Obey Me headcanons for a teen mc who's being groomed on the internet? I know this sounds like and odd topic but something I feel is really prevalent is the stuff that teens these days do online and the lack of intervention from adults. Teens just shouldn't be dating online and it's so sad to see how their manipulated.

A/N: Anon, I can't agree with you more. It's sad to see how kids/teens are exploited without realizing it. I know you said you meant both the formal definition and internet trend, but writing for the formal definition of grooming is disturbing for me. I honestly can't even fathom how sick-minded people can be. I will treat your request as MC closely following different internet/trends.

Series: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28][29][30][31][32][33]

———————————————

Lucifer heard you crying and asked what happened? He was worried they were injured or someone had said something to them.

But he wasn't expecting MC to say their nose was too big, their skin had textures, and their figure was not on trend.

"I need surgery to make my nose smaller...and stop eating and exercise more. Is there a way to get rid of skin texture? Maybe I should ask -"

"(Y/n), you are fine as you are. Would you kindly stop belittling yourself?" Lucifer sat down beside you and squeezed your hand between his hands. "You may not believe me, but you are perfect. Your nose suits your face. Your skin texture adds to your beauty. Your body is beautiful. There is no need to follow trends. Follow what makes you content, not to suit the unnecessary standards of insecure people."

Lucifer never understood trends but didn't bother to stop Asmo. Now, though, seeing you following the same trends bothers him much more than he wants to admit. Lucifer refuses to let you look down on yourself - your beautiful self.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and pressed an ear to your door. What were you watching? Why did it sound like...oh hell nah.

He kicked open your door and ran straight for you, not giving you enough time to react. He stared at your screen in horror.

"(Y/n)...why are ya watchin' things meant for adults? How did you learn 'bout this?"

You rolled your eyes and told him you were already a teenager, which meant you were practically an adult. "Besides, everyone my age is watching stuff like this all the time."

"Well, you ain't everyone. (Y/n), you're different than 'em...so don't go around comparin' yourself to 'em," Mammon sighed and shut the laptop but not before exiting the rated site. "You ain't gotta do what others do - you've your own mind and thoughts...you're your own individual. I'm not tryin' to lecture ya or anythin', but (y/n), enjoy the innocent times while ya still have 'em. 'Cause when ya get older, you're goin' to wish you were back to these times...so enjoy it while ya still can, y'know."

Mammon set your laptop in front of you and met your eyes, "Also, I ain't gonna tell Lucifer 'bout this, but if you go onto these kinds of sites again, I'm gonna tell him."

Levi went to get a glass of water in the kitchen, but as he passed your room, he heard you say, "So in today's video, I will hang myself from this noose and see how long I can stay."

He ran into your room, only to find you standing on a small stool pretending to hang from the noose. What were you doing?

A few days later, he found you in the woods with torn clothes and muddy makeup, making a video about how poor you were. He was confused but didn't think much.

Nothing made sense to him until he found your social media account. Were you doing all this for clout? Were you lying to your audience just to get likes and views?

Levi almost brushed it aside as you were trying to make it on social media, but then he saw the comments. Most of the comments were criticizing the demon brothers for not taking care of you.

It finally clicked. For the past two weeks, he and his brothers got hateful looks and nasty glares whenever they went outside. No one knew what was happening, not even Lucifer. He brought this up to Diavolo, but even the prince was clueless.

"(Y/n), can you stop?" Levi was nervous about confronting you alone but had to get answers.

"Stop what?"

"Making posts for clout. Did you s-see the comments? Everyone is looking down on us..."

"Who cares what they say? Just ignore them! My videos are getting so popular. Did you see how many likes and comments I got on my last video?"

Were likes and comments the only things that mattered to you? You were destroying their reputation and hurting them as well. They worked hard to build their reputation in Devildom, but that didn't matter to you, did it?

Levi quietly dragged his feet out of your room. He needed to tell his brothers before things got worst, but you will get mad at him. Why did he have to be the one to find out the reason the truth?

"You fckng b*tch."

Satan stared at you with wide eyes. Since when did you start using such language?

"Your outfit is just like your face. Ugly."

That was uncalled for. He watched the poor lady you criticized walk away with tears in her eyes. Where did the (y/n) he knew go, and who was this new person?

'You are such a bad actor. No one likes you, and your movies are horrible. Find a bridge and jump off.' Satan watched over your shoulder as you posted that comment on the actor's recent post.

Okay, this was crossing the line. Day in and out, he heard you using cuss words, trolling people online, and roasting everyone around you, including his brothers.

"(Y/n), what enjoyment do you get from hurting others?"

"Hurting? What are you talking about?"

"You just told the actor to take his life..." Satan furrowed his brows.

"I don't have anything against the actor. This is just how people talk today - it's on trend."

"And the day you told the lady her outfit was ugly like her face?"

"She asked for my opinion, so I roasted her."

"And when you cuss others out?" He curiously asked.

"It's cool to use cuss words," you laughed.

So that was it, huh? You were hurting others and demeaning them because it was trendy and to seem cool. Did you forget people had feelings? Your words had the power to hurt them? What if the actor actually listened to your comments and jumped off the bridge then what?

Satan massaged his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He had to figure out how to teach you an unforgettable lesson, so you would stop following useless and mean trends.

Asmo was all about being charming, cute, and seductive when needed, especially when it came to his social media posts. There's nothing wrong with giving your followers a little fan service. But what you were doing was unacceptable, even for him.

"Why are you doing this, (y/n)?" He asked uncomfortably.

"What? The thirst traps? I'm adding a little oomph for my followers. What's wrong with that?"

"You are not an adult...and there are creeps out there who might be misusing your content..."

"That's not my problem. I am following my heart, and there's nothing wrong with that," you huffed. "Why do you care anyways?"

"I do care. About you and your well-being...at least wait until you are a legal adult."

"Don't lecture me, Mom. I'm done talking about this."

Asmo watched you stomp out of his room while biting down on his lower lip - your behavior almost had him in tears. He needed to talk to his brothers about this.

"No, I don't want to eat that..."

"Are you feeling okay?" Beel asked, concerned. "Your...taste has changed, and you're a picky eater...did something happen?"

"No. Oh, Beel! Let's go to that cafe."

Even at the cafe, you were more interested in taking photos of the food than eating it. Beel watched you in confusion but brushed it aside until you took one bite of the sandwich and winced. Despite not enjoying the taste, you continued to eat it.

"Why are you forcing yourself to eat something you don't like? I can finish it for you..."

You shook your head, "This sandwich is trending on social media, so I have to eat it."

Your words made no sense to him. Why were you eating something you disliked just to follow a trend? Your food choice should be based on your liking, not what social media tells you to eat. "(Y/n), are you only eating trending food?"

"Yup! I want to feel included."

Beel sighed. That was far from healthy. He wondered if Solomon's cooking became a trend tomorrow, would you still eat it?

Belphie was asleep on your shoulder and woke to find you texting someone.

You were a little too friendly, but he assumed you were talking to your close friend. Then you switched to a different chat and were just as friendly.

"(Y/n)...who are you talking to? Your friends...?"

"Nope. They are strangers?"

He sat straight up and stared at you with wide eyes. "Haven't you heard of stranger danger?"

"That's stupid."

"But (y/n)...you are giving out personal information..."

"You are overthinking."

"No, (y/n)," Belphie sighed, "That's not okay. People aren't as nice as you think. They might try to take advantage of you..."

"Belphie, I know what I'm doing. OMG! Stop lecturing me."

After that response, Belphie didn't say anything and excused himself. He half wanted you to learn your lesson the hard way but didn't want you to have permanent scars.

He plans to talk to his brothers later to figure out how to scare you to get you to understand the possible consequences of your actions.

———————————————

➣  Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open || Requests: Closed

[sketchedboba]

"A Green Queen" AU Short

"Assembling"

In a news station along the coast of Rainbow Road. An interview is conducted in the studio of

"So your highness, what's it like having the King and Queen of the Koopas over?", A Koopa with a microphone and headset asks.

"They're such a lovely couple! I'd expect nothing less from such mighty powers, but I would've thought the King would marry someone less... Fragile?", he sighed, feigning distress. "To think they'd leave magnificent and strong troops under the leadership of.. this poor individual. I pity the King, truly.."

"Uh huh... Well your highness, putting the Darkland information aside, intel from your troops in the Mudai Kingdom have speculation to believe that the Princess is staging an attack for the throne! Do you feel threatened by such bold statements?"

He glared at the Koopa, unimpressed. "Heh.. my father easily thwarted her and her silly little castle. As a young cub, seeing her plead for mercy from my father should be a warning to her. The throne is nothing but secure, if anything were to occur, so to answer your question: No."

"Nothing but confidence! G-Good to hear.", The newscaster glanced over at the lakitu ushering him to hurry it along. "N-Now for our last question... Your pendant. At your coming of age ceremony, you were given it by your advisor. Most of the public knows of its power, but wonder what spells were strong enough to wipe out armies, destroy a castle, and cause such a strong leader to grovel at the fee-er- paws of a King."

Khufo gave a cheeky grin, playfully swinging his tail, "I think leaving that to the imagination would be best, hm? I know my enemies are watching closely, so to disclose such information-"

The screen turned black as the stand vendor leaned over his stall, "Are you gonna trade it for something or what?"

"O-Oh, right! Sorry, uh... Do you like mushrooms?", Mario laughed nervously.

The stone creature grunted, "not much use for it here. What else ya' got?"

"A few power ups... Water, maybe some apples?"

"Hm, if you get at least five, I'll give you the shell."

"Got it!".

Mario tried to whistle the yoshi over but it simply stared at him as it ate an apple. "Hey don't eat that!"

It rolled its eyes and strolled over. Mario reached into his stash, "First the shell, then I'll give you the bag. Deal?"

"Fine fine.", The vendor grumbled. They placed the hollowed Koopa shell onto the stone board. "Apples, pipsqueak."

Mario reached out to pick up the shell, "let me try it on first-"

"A-UH, nope! You trade it or no deal!"

"Ugh.. ok..", Mario pulled out the sack and handed it over the counter. The vendor smiled and handed over the shell before gazing at the sack happily.

The small plumber started to put his feet through the holes near the bottom and squeezed his guy into the narrow opening. "Is there no easier way to get this on?!"

The vendor glanced over and pointed to a small hinge on the side of the shell.

"There's a latch separating the lower and upper halves, genius."

Mario began taking it off midway just to check and as he unhooked it the shell opened. "Huh.. do they all have this? Why would they.."

"Nope, I made it myself for customers, an easier way to sell em."

"Oh ok, that makes sense. Wait.. where'd you get this from? Aren't they attached to-"

"Have a nice day kid.", The vendor munched. They chewed messily, leaving Mario to stare in disgust.

"Uh-huh... Thanks, I think?.."

He grabbed the yoshi's reins and started off to the next vendor, he finally had confirmation on where his brother was with the beast. He wasn't sure how long they'd stay until setting off again. He'd hope he could at least check if his brother was ok before they departed to who knows where.

'He better not have laid a claw on him. I can't have him hurting anymore.'

Canonicity is up for interpretation.

Author's note:

It's meee!! I just wanted to clarify a bit that there will be some ocs included into the fanfic and that once the school year begins, chapters will slow down a bit. I will try to finish as many as possible before then, so you're all not waiting months for a new chapter.

On a brighter note, new art pieces will be made for this au and posted onto here and exclusives along with ref sheets will be up on Ko-Fi by the second week of August for simple donations! They'll also be up in September if you don't want to pay for early access! I'll be happy just sharing these tbh you'll also probably see landscape art for some scenes in chapters as well, so stay tuned.

Last, but not least. Don't forget to drink water n take care of yourselves. Peace out ✌️

[yooniesim]

well, idk them really but the sims look mixed and/or lightskinned to me? plus if they're vamps or something, they just look washed out/dead ya know which makes sense. Especially the second sim looked like a deeper skintone was washed out post-mortem lol. didn't really look white race wise to my eye. even the sims dump one looked mixed.

Which, I've spoken about people only making light skinned/racially ambigious sims of color before, more in the context of paywaller monetization/advertisement for their black hair cc, but it's different with your average simblr because the individual post matters less than an identified pattern. There's a difference between a lack of diversity/care across years of selling a product vs an individual's OCs so to speak. How do you evaluate which sims are worthy of which hairstyle and the details of their race, and who is qualified to judge such a thing? What is an acceptable ratio in terms of race of sims? Do you need to post an explanation for each sim? Etc etc. It's impossible to judge and any system would be ludicrous & just lead to bickering/bad faith arguments if we're being honest.

In short, it's kind of a difficult subject when the sim isn't like, aggressively Caucasian & the simmer isn't blatantly antiblack lmfao. So I judge not by a couple posts but by majority posts/pattern. If I see someone posts majority white/lighter skin toned sims and all the sims with black hair are light, I find it a bit sus and unfollow. If I see one post that looks weird I might send them a reply or ask about it in a polite way but I don't see it as a huge deal. Especially if that pattern doesn't continue. Cos I'm like, not the sims police and trying to keep up with who posted what sim in what shade of brown with what features is exhausting and meaningless overall lol. ...All this to say that it depends on context, really ahsjdk. A personal vibe check that doesn't need to get any bigger than that.

anyways the person you're referring to seems to be a minor so uh be kind and take it easy on em. give them the benefit of the doubt if you can. if it's a pattern with like every other post or something I can see being concerned & unfollowing or whatever, but yeah, I'd give em a chance especially if they have other sims with darker skin tones & appropriate hair types. I definitely wouldn't call it intentional or malicious. At the end of the day just trust your own vibes and don't worry about if other people are talking about it or not.

[storiesofsvu]

Okay, im gonna preface this by saying that i normally post these directly after watching, so the chaos no context makes a little bit more sense but i was way too tired to deal with uploading after the ep last night... reading it back.... i DID enjoy the episode and did think it was a good one! props to director Aisha. i just think that *between* the eps this season, they keep flitting back and fourth between the style of how they're executing adding in new unsubs/connections to gold star/whatever and my brain can't follow it sometimes (esp at 2 in the morning when i'm getting tired lol).

Alright, considering I normally stay up til the crack of dawn something about making me stay up til 2am for these eps makes me exhausted. I blame the heat. Here we go!

I know that the format of the show is to keep us connected with individual ep unsubs, but none of us CARE. Either make us fully invested in the gold star/north star shit, OR make it the back seat story arc while these new unsubs are suddenly the bau’s focus like they did in the last season!!!

…unless that was morse code and is connected..

BUT STILL!

Make it make sense and be connected to the viewer before starting the scene

I don’t give a fuck about these guys…. Give me the people im waiting for

If you want me to care about eps that are stylized like cm s 1-15 then you have to make them ALL that way, you can’t pick and choose. Make me focus on gold star/elias/Jade from the last couple eps or nothing. You cant switch styles halfway through the season… no matter how intriguing that COULD be im automatically uninterested because its not the same style

Is tyler getting paid for this shit? Or is he just like.. hanging out and having fun?

LLOOLLL not Emily profiling tylers handwriting

PLEASE give us more and ALL dr tara lewis, she’s already been unappreciated as a character, but as a DOCTOR, please, she so smrt. Give us all if it

AS IF that many boxes contain EVERYTHING for four years!

Dad!rossi: I forbid you

Em: fuck you dad imma do it anyway

LOOOLL “ive never been forbidden before…” THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT SOMEONE SAYS BEFORE THEY DEFY ORDERS. I WOULD KNOW

Ok.. NOW this unsub storyline has caught my attention but I am confused lol. Seems very heartbreaking either way

God Emily is so fucking gorgeous

Jfc how smart is tyler?? Imma need to do a deep dive on this…

Man voit is a better fucking profiler than half the team, if he wasn’t…. ya know… a serial killer.. LOL

HHAHAHAHA omg tyler

Yess! Another VVERY NATURAL FUCK! I don’t care what anyone says, the more natural swears are the ones that I love the most!

Garcia’s so fucking hot…

Hotch “left the unit a few years ago” bruh that was at least a decade

LOL JILL IS ME

NOT FELICITY HUFFMAN OPENING WITH A FUCK

JFC. SHES SO HOT its giving elizabeth Mitchell

Looooolllll fucking rossi…

Jj and luke work super well together and I love it

Loooll Emily throwing tyler in last minute just like she planned and jill calling her on it RIGHT AWAY LOL

NOT THE GUILT TRIP LOL

“not even Jason was this manipulative”

WTF??? This some supernatural/insane shit. Is the wife even alive anymore?? Is he hallucinating that?

Aaand jj and luke have figured it out and this shit is fire

They got this girl locked up like joe from you

Jesus CHRIST this took a twist and I love it but AGAIN, I would love it so much more If it was the primary focus of the ep

Ooooo CALLED IT

God that’s heartbreaking

How THE FUCK DOES SICARIOUS STILL HAVE ACCES TO HIS NETWORK IN JAIL??

OMG Jill instantly hugging Penelope makes me SO WARM

Uuggghhh jill being dragged back into this is not fucking fair.. like… she left.. Jason DEFINTELY left.. that poor queen

JESUS that cut to rossi was straight out of a horror film where he WAS THE KILLER jfc

[sholven]

Hi! I already asked this question to other people but I just want your opinion on this:

What would the reaction of some Bloodborne bosses (before they turn into monsters) when meeting the Good Hunter, who is a New Game+ that somehow managed (maybe accidentally) went back in time before the event of the game starts? My impression of the Good Hunter is that they're a contracted hunter when they came out of the clinic. Due to social anxiety from not talking to sane people in their last round of killing Flora, the people of Yharnam will end up get the impression of "He's just standing there, menacingly" vibe off of em'. And to top it all off, they're blood quality is so pungent then normal blood saint, its as if they themselves is a great one (if ya wanna go with the squid baby ending then be my guest).

Hope you get well soon <3

HI, I'M SO SORRY I'M JUST NOW GETTING TO THIS, THIS SICKNESS HAS BEEN KICKING MY ASS AND I'M JUST NOW STARTING TO GET COHERENT THOUGHTS 😭😭😭

Looking at some few bosses rq that transform when we see them, I'd have to agree with how you put it! Gascoigne especially would be bewildered as to why the Good Hunter is so reluctant and shocked. Almost as if they'd seen a ghost! We know Gascoigne though revels in the fight while he's still human, so I think he'd eventually have enough of just Staredown: The Game, and initiate the fight himself if he had to.

As for the next one on our list, Amelia, I feel like she'd be more sensitive to the presence of the Good Hunter's blood. If she has the chance to pull herself away from her prayer when approached, all of this plus the hunt and her impending transformation would probably make her even more afraid at that moment. Who is this hunter she's never seen before? Why is their blood something akin to Old Blood and maybe something stronger? And more importantly, why are they staring at her in such as way, almost as if they are as scared as she is at that moment? I think she might also take it as a sign from the Great Ones themselves. Unfortunately, I don't think she will have the time to ponder why...

As for some other bosses throughout the main game, most I think will not have that important of a reaction, but others like Ebrietas, Logarius, and Wet Nurse will definitely take some notice. Mostly the same between them all. Considering the other Great Ones we encounter are stronger than Flora, they could also most likely have knowledge of the events from before and recognize the Good Hunter as well. As for how they'd react to the blood? I'd say either cautious or inquisitive.

As for the DLC... Ludwig is an interesting one, being the opposite of most cases in Bloodborne. He turns from a beast back into a man. I feel like that experience along with being in the Nightmare plus his connection to the Moonlight Greatsword would give him an idea of sensing other powers. He is a very caring individual so I feel like he would take notice of the Good Hunter's reactions and body language in this situation, and might even ask about it. Whether or not he gets an answer, I feel like he would have some suspicions as to what's going on. Maria might be the same, as well

And as for Endgame...

Gehrman catches onto everything the second the Good Hunter sets foot into the Dream workshop (again). He's dealt with enough shit to understand the Hunter has something otherworldly about them in some way. But I also feel like he knows about the reset, being forced to relive imprisonment, and fighting the Good Hunter all over again. If anything, I think he'd react to it all with pure sorrow. (Why can't peepaw ever be happy 😭)

Flora would obviously know. And she would be fucking. Pissed. The Good Hunter's strength with the ascension by just its presence would probably weaken her. She knows they got the better of her before and she is going to make sure it doesn't happen again. One thing I do think though, could some of the power be taken from Flora in the past experience? And if so, does she lack that power still in this current run?

BONUS

Micolash would of course sense everything and might even be aware. Is he gonna do or say anything about it? Fuck no. He's probably going to be the exact same. Might even jump through EVEN MORE mirrors. What good research it would be, to see how much you could annoy a Great One!

[ask-chef-teruteru]

Wow you sure did get a lot of baked goods for your birthday... More than I would expect anyway. Trying to cook something for the Ultimate Cook seems really intimidating to me ha ha.. Anything in particular stand out as extra tasty to your refined culinary pallet?

“Mmm, that’s fair enough. Plenty o’ people who’ve mastered their craft love turnin’ their noses up at amateurs who don’t know the ins n’ outs frontwards n’ backwards like the back o’ their hands. The culinary arts— the arts in general for that matter— got a real ugly problem in the form o’ pretentiousness. I should know, I’ve been on both sides of it.

I got three Michelin stars n’ a competitive ultimate title to upkeep— of course some lil’ sweetheart’s baked goods they made out o’ the kindness o’ their heart for a birthday ain’t gonna be on the same level as those of a chef who’s been doin’ this stuff every day all the day for more’n half his lifetime. The standards I hold for myself n’ for the dishes I make are always gonna be loftier’n what I expect outta someone who ain’t a professional. If I was buyin’ food from a restauranteur who was s’posed to be on my level or higher n’ got a product that didn’t reflect that skill, it’d be a different story, but bein’ given homemade gifts o’ food cause they care about me is another matter entirely, y’know? Could some o’ the baked goods I been given have been improved in a technical sense? Sure. Hell, even my own could! But food is made to individual taste, not to perfection. Bakin’ is hard! So much of it is so precise with so many variables, n’ at the end o’ the day, there bein’ a lil’ too much sugar or not enough flour and so on and so forth don’t actually matter in the big scheme o’ things. All o’ my birthday treats were yummy n’ not dubious in terms o’ edibility, so they were huge successes! Why on earth would I focus in on what could’a been done better in someone else’s act o’ love for me, y’know?

End o’ the day, I love food n’ I love the people that make it! I see the effort put forth n’ the time spent! I know how hard it is when y’ain’t got experience to guide your hands yet, n’ I know how much courage it takes to do it anyways! Tearin’ people down over somethin’ like that just sounds downright evil, don’t it?

…

Shoot, that ain’t actually what y’all asked, is it? I’ll give ya one thing though— this refined palate gets bored easy. I say all the time that variety is the spice o’ life, n’ I feel that way ‘bout the meals I eat too. ‘Course there’s a few dishes that are too nostalgic to not love to pieces no matter how much I eat ‘em, but… It’s a lot easier to appeal to me than y’all’d think.”

[parttimepuff]

Y’know, Dedede, I really think you should actually have a for real face-to-face no-hiding-intentions talk to Meta Knight before assuming he’s possessed just because he is… getting therapy and wanting to learn more about Matters. Sure, he hasn’t been direct with you, but can you blame him for wanting to tread carefully around the subject? Especially when speaking to someone important to him who has trauma tied to it?

Besides, is it not best practice to know your enemy? Or, rather, if what you think is your enemy really is anymore? Look at how much time has passed, the major events that have taken place; is it really so impossible that, just maybe, some things have changed? That maybe what was once accepted fact does not fully apply? Worst case scenario, looking into things will confirm what you already believe. But what if it instead reveals that you have at least one less being, one less individual in this world to fear?

Why suspect evil is at play when someone is merely seeking the truth?

Admittedly, a truth that others have already discovered for themselves, but cannot openly share without fear and risk of complete misunderstanding?

At first, the king growled under his breath. "That's not why ah've been considerin' the idea. It's cause he... acted like it wasn't a huge deal. That ah shouldn't be worried. An' that ain't like him at all. Not about this or really anythin' else. Guy's serious about almost every single thing he does. Or, at least he tries to seem that way." Dedede ranted, trying to keep his temper in check.

"And that's not entirely off base. Course people tread lightly about it around me." He conceded. "But he's been through that, too. Personally and, as a witness. So it just don't make a lick a sense that he can, be over it so fast. He used to be just as messed up about it as me." Dedede pointed out. A hand raised to rub his temple.

Listening for a moment, he seemed conflicted. "Y'all have really been pushing the idea that Matters ain't so bad for awhile. Some of ya, anyway. And... ah get the idea, ok? We don't know a lot about 'em, maybe there's more there. It's a nice thought, provided you've never dealt with 'em yerself." Dedede grumbled. "Hell, yer right, it'd make things a lot easier if that were true. If one of 'em really has him, though, cain't say ah'd be willing to give them a shot to explain themselves."

After a moment, he sighed. "Ah should talk to him. Either somethin' really is wrong and ah can fix it... or ah talk with my friend honestly. Long as we've known each other, ah owe him that much." Dedede chuckled. "He's a stubborn old man and he can be callous and self-righteous, but he is my best friend. ...ah'm gonna invite him over now." The king decided, making for his phone.

[petra-creat0r]

Petra's Commissions!

Guess who got her sh*t together and finally has started commissions! Me!!!

Alright peeps, here's how we're doing it. Also just now realizing I forgot Sketches.

Here are the Waistup examples. Waist up sketches are 5 dollars (even though they aren't on the sheet)

Waistup Sketch, $5

Waistup Lined, $10

Waistup Flatcolor, $15

Waistup Cellshaded, $20

And then you can also add a flat color or transparent background for no additional cost

Make sense? Here's the rest of the examples

Fullbody sketches are $15

Fullbody Lined, $20

Fullbody Flatcolor, $25

Fullbody Cellshaded, $30

Adding a simple background is +$5, so this would be $35

And then, adding additional characters is also +$5

So something like this, Waistup Sketch, $5 + 2 characters, +$10 = $15

Aside from the standard art piece commissions, I’m also doing Emotes,

$5 a piece

Icons, for $10

And Shipkids! For $15 a batch (so like 2 or 3 refs for 15. 10 individually)

This one was a commission I did for @aquadine​ (posted here with their permission)

And then finally... I’ve decided to sell some extra student slots for my student contest for AtDFF. Everyone gets 5 slots to start, but I know some people who’ve filled their slots, might want to submit more. So I’m giving them a chance by selling these for cheap, I just please don’t hog ‘em guys.

So yeah, to finish off, here’s what I will and won’t do

Pretty straight forward in my opinion. If you’d like to commission me or just have some question, then just message me and to pay, please pay full price to my PayPal, paypal.me/petracreator . I won’t accept the money until I’ve finished the commission.

With all of that! Thank you for your time and see ya later Creative Creators!

-Petra

[hyenahunt]

Secret Service: TERRORISM - 7

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Kohaku, Madara, Ibara

Proofreading: bakemonoremy (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: haranami

Kohaku: Dammit! If that rule that forbids ya from goin’ t’other regions didn’t exist, I’d fly to Shikoku in the blink of an eye an’ give him a good sock in the gut!

Location: Osaka

[Simultaneously, during the SS preliminaries. Somewhere in Osaka, part of the Kansai region]

Kohaku: Why, you little…! Ya absolute dimwit! What the hell do ya think you’re doing?!

I haven’t heard a single peep from ya in ages — do ya have any idea how goddamn worried I was?! Well?!

I must’ve called ya a dozen times, but not a single one of ‘em went through! I went around askin’ everybody who knew you, an’ they had no idea what you were up to either!

Fer cryin’ out loud, I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!

But then, all of a sudden, I find out you’re in Shikoku or god knows where doin’ guerilla lives!

When I saw ya on some TV show ‘bout SS, I thought my eyes were gonna fly straight outta my head!

I was jus’ glad t’know that you were hale an’ hearty an’ alive, but—

Ya could’ve at least given me a holler!

An’ what’s with all this MaM guerilla live business in the first place? Don’tcha know that ya can’t participate in SS as an individual?!

Or did they let ya join the competition as a solo unit?

I’d be happy fer ya if that were true, but—

Hold on, whaaat?! Whaddya mean, “there’s no way they’d accept that”?! Why the hell didja start doin’ solo lives then, ya halfwit?!

I dunno the nitty-gritty details, but the leader of each unit gets a Secret Order or somethin’, right? An’ you’ll get punished if ya go against it.

Even our Rinne-han’s wary of that, so he’s actually behavin’ himself for now.

If ya break the rules an’ attract the attention of the higher ups, ya won’t get away with a lil’ slap on the wrist! Fer cryin’ out loud, why’re ya ignorin’ all that? Why don’tcha use that head of yours every once in a while?!

Huh? All this MaM work has nothin’ t’do with SS? Ya didn’t even get a Secret Order, so there’s no need t’worry?

Makes sense, I guess~ They’re jus’ regulations that’re put into place durin’ the SS preliminaries, right?

...Wait a second! How come ya didn’t join SS?! Everybody’s in sync, tryna step forward together — ya can’t be the only one who’s movin’ backwards!

I jus’ heard this through the grapevine, but apparently the idols who’re uncooperative durin’ SS are gonna be blacklisted in the industry from now on.

They’re gonna refuse t’give ya jobs an’ kick ya onto the streets — as an idol, that’s pretty much the same as dyin’.

What’s that? Ya don’t get jobs anyways, so ya don’t really care?

Well, ya better start carin’, ya dolt! If you’re not gettin’ any work, you oughta use SS as a chance t’stand out an’ attract more offers!

SS is the biggest darn festival in the world of idols, period. To us, it’s a huge chance to turn things around.

People tend t’bad mouth Crazy:B a lot, so we’re workin’ our hardest to try an’ redeem ourselves now.

Huh? “Do your best”? This ain’t the time to be cheerin’ other people on without a care in the world! Double Face an’ Crazy:B are in equally hot water!

What’re ya plannin’? What’s Double Face gonna do from here on out?

I called ya a thousand times ‘cause I wanted t’discuss that with you, but you ignored me this whooole ti—

Wha— hey! He hung up on me! What the hell?! I’ve had it up to here with that guy!

Dammit! If that rule that forbids ya from goin’ t’other regions didn’t exist, I’d fly to Shikoku in the blink of an eye an’ give him a good sock in the gut!

✦✦✦✦✦

Location: A café in Shikoku

Madara: ……

…My little kiddo really flew off the handle.

Ibara: Yes, he was loud enough for me to hear. Have you not been in contact with Oukawa-shi at all?

Madara: Well, I knew he’d definitely get mad at me if I told him that I’d be working independently as MaM. Kohaku-san… He’s a real stubborn one, so I doubt he’d accept my decision even if I told him the reasoning behind it.

But the fact is, you can only pick one unit when you register for SS.

Ibara: Naturally. If more than one per person was allowed, you could simply place powerful idols into multiple units…

Then station them at various regions and have them win in each one. There are plenty of underhanded tricks that would be made viable.

Consequently, we also have a rule that forbids one from travelling outside their assigned region, although it is simply titular.

This is all hypothetical, but if a single person was a member of every unit that was deployed…

That person alone would be free to travel wherever they wished.

And that’s rather unfair, isn’t it? It wouldn’t make for much of a game.

If a super idol such as Hidaka Seiya-shi were able to move around freely in that sort of situation…

He’d certainly rise to the occasion and win in every possible region. In the end, he’d emerge the sole victor.

Madara: Hahaha. The whole point of SS is to pick out the strongest idol, though, so I think that’d actually work out.

Ibara: No, I believe the upper echelons of ES — or rather, the SS management — would find that rather troubling. Hence, they’ve decided to enforce such regulations.

✦✦✦✦✦

← prev ✦ all ✦ next →

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.

[quinintheclouds]

Hey, I just read your post on ADHD/EFDD and was just wondering if you have read any research articles on this and if you have, could you tell me which ones because it all sounds super interesting and I need to choose a topic for my psych lit review and I’m thinking about doing something to do with all the stigma around and misconceptions about different mental health disorders.. it’s totally okay if not tho, I know it’s a big ask, but thanks anyway

That sounds like such a great topic!!! I would be HONORED to help :D 

The first person I think of when discussing the term EFDD is Dr. Russell Barkley. He’s one of the leading ADHD experts, and has been a spearhead for studying executive dysfunction in people with ADHD for decades. Very much ahead of his time compared to the DSM. I’ve had his book “Taking Charge of Adult ADHD” recommended to me so many times, but have yet to read it.

Here’s some free stuff, though! 

[reblogs appreciated because Tumblr hates posts with links and I wanna make sure this anon sees it!]

I tried to include some short stuff and longer stuff, some articles, images, videos, and comic recs, so you can choose based on your current energy and focus level :) I’ve also bolded links and key points of each source if you like skimming. Let’s go!

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Here’s an interesting article/study on EFDD! They found that “ADHD [is] associated with deficits in inhibition, managing one’s attention, self-directed speech and rule-following, self-motivation, and even self-awareness [...] ADHD therefore involves deficits in self-restraint, [...] selfsensing and imagery, self-control of emotion, and self-directed play for problem-solving.”

Thank you for motivating me to look up some articles, because I learned some new things, too! For instance, they assert that ADHD could also be called SRDD (Self-Regulation Deficit Disorder), but conclude the article by saying either SRDD or EFDD fits better than ADHD, and that the terms could be used interchangeably, because SR (self-regulation) and EF (executive function) are effectively talking about the same things. So his assertion is that even if the name ADHD never changes, it can still be scientifically classified as either of the other terms. I believe in recent years he’s preferred EFDD more and more.

[note that the above article/study is from 2011, back when we were on the DSM-IV, so a lot of research has been done since then]

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If that article’s a bit wordy or you want something more visual and up-to-date, here’s a really detailed PowerPoint presentation used during the 2018 ADHD Symposium! It’s long but well-organized so you can just read the big headers or you can read all the bullet points explaining it. Keep in mind this was a lecture, so some of it probably made more sense in person. I’m glad I read this, because I realize the terminology I’ve used is slightly off: according to the Symposium, there aren’t “subtypes” of ADHD, but the different names (ADHD-PI, ADHD-PH, and ADHD-C) are really just used to show the prevalence of certain symptoms in that individual. So they’re all terms for ADHD, but “subtype” was poor word choice on my part. 

Oh! I just found a video of him giving a lecture in 2012 using many of the same PowerPoint slides! Here ya go! It’s a bit longer than the other videos I’ve linked below (13min), but it might make the slides easier to interpret :)

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If you want a really short and basic overview, here’s a video explaining 5 main ways executive functions affect the brain and how they work differently in people with ADHD. [I put the video below as well if you wanna stay on tumblr] It’s from 2010, but it holds up. It only covers 5 big ones, so remember (if you can) that executive function affects EVERYTHING and the symptoms will affect everyone differently and at different levels. 

This is just the most basic overview and a good place to start:

...................................

Here’s one where he talks about our Time-Blindness! (below) I was going to pick a couple favorite quotes to give you an idea, but that’d wind up being a transcript of the whole video because HE GETS IT. This is from 2014, but I CANNOT recommend it enough!!! He mentions that ADHD doesn’t have a deficit of attention, but rather a deficit of intention. He describes us as having a near-sighted sense of time, and talks about deadlines, “laziness,” etc.

 ALSO he talks about how our brains DON’T CONNECT our knowledge to our performance (back of brain to front) like everyone else’s, so we have the same level of knowledge and intelligence, but can’t access and use it the way others can. This is why teaching skills and organization/memory/time-management tips isn’t helpful -- we can learn them, but our knowledge and action centers are separated, so actually doing them/sticking with them is just as hard as before. 

If you don’t watch the whole thing, at least skip to 3:29 cause that part’s really funny and relatable (ok the whole thing is relatable):

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And of course, I highly recommend the YouTube channel How to ADHD! I have a couple friends who work on it, and they REALLY know their stuff! (They’re the ones who taught me during a game night that RSD isn’t a real term and it should be called “rejection-sensitivity” as part of the emotional dysregulation umbrella) 

I went looking and found this video (below) has the BEST explanation of it that I’ve seen in such a concise, entertaining way. I hadn’t seen this one before, but it even covers some of the things I mentioned in that post your ask is about! Especially the Internal Restlessness that I mentioned as the true “hyperactivity” we all share; even though some of us also express outward hyperactivity, both presentations come from the same restlessness in our brains.

^^^This has some great examples, visuals, animations, and different ways of explaining and thinking about our symptoms! If you want more about this, the description has a bunch of links to their sources! Jessica and everyone else who works on this channel is great at making the videos watchable for people with ADHD (even if we have to rewind sometimes)

Here's Jessica's official Twitter @HowtoADHD! (I was today years old when I found out that she follows me)

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And if you want something REALLY short and simple, here’s a 2 minute animation comparing living with ADHD to trying to film a movie with a director who keeps falling asleep [below]

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If you like comics:

My favorite ADHD comic artists are: ADHD Alien [@ADHD_Alien on Twitter and @adhd-alien on Tumblr]; Dani Donovan [@danidonovan on Twitter and @danidonovan on Tumblr -- we’re somehow twitter mutuals and she is such a sweetheart. She has some really good infographics, too!!]; ADHD Bri [@AdhdBri on Twitter and @adhdbri on Tumblr]; and dreamadept [@yume_dango on Twitter and @yume-dango on Tumblr]

They’re all well-researched, funny, genuine, intelligent, insightful, talented artists who depict ADHD in a very accurate and relatable way. Go check ‘em out and support them! :D

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I’m gonna stop there for now, but PLEASE feel free to add on to this with other sources, questions, videos, thoughts, comic artists, etc.!!! Hope this helps someone out there!

[rainbowpacifiers]

Twin Kingdoms (A3! Event story) - Chapter 9

Haruto returns to practice. Rehearsals run smoothly and before we know it, their first show is here. (Sorry for potential mistakes!)

Chapter 8 | Index | Chapter 10

Haruto: ...... Haruto: It's Haruto. Reni: Enter. Haruto: --Excuse me. Haruto: Please accept my apologies! Haruto: I sincerely regret that I missed rehearsals for two days and was absent without notice yesterday, in spite of having the lead role. Reni: Do you feel better? Haruto: Yes. Reni: If you're not recovered, say so right now. Before anything else, resting your body is most important. Reni: That you couldn't attend practice and were absent without notice couldn't be helped. Reni: Rather, I am the one that is sorry for not noticing your condition and only making demands on you. Haruto: Eh... Reni: You might be thinking that I'm unreasonable and only strict on the GOD Troupe members... Reni: But Shift and you are members of the GOD Troupe, and I think of you as something akin to family that I will continue to be involved with in the future as well. Reni: That's why I direct by thinking about the next performance, and the next, and the future, and what kind of actors I will raise you to. Reni: In that respect, Tasuku will only be treated as a guest performer of the collaboration. Reni: I will communicate the intention behind the directing with regards to the play, but it is not my role to get involved beyond that. Reni: In that sense, I think it is undeniable that there is a gap. Haruto: --. Reni: Also, I believe you have noticed, but... My directing policy should have changed a lot from before. Reni: My directing so far has been one-sided, killing the individuality of the actors and dyeing with the ideals I pursue. Reni: I believed that to be the very best in order to express the ideals of GOD Troupe. Reni: But you, Shift and Madoka threw all of my guidance to the winds at the recent act-off, and I was deeply moved by the performance you rehearsed overnight. Reni: It is also fact that we were defeated by the performance of MANKAI Company, where the thoughts and feelings of the actors are respected. Reni: I was keenly aware that I myself wouldn't be able to reach the ideals that the GOD Troupe is truly aiming for. Reni: My ideals towards plays, and the world view the GOD Troupe is aiming for haven't changed. But I felt that I had to try to change the approach. Reni: You may be confused by the change in what I demand from the actors. Sorry for the lack of explanation. Haruto: --No! You have nothing to apologise for! Haruto: I know that despite your guidance having changed, the direction the GOD Troupe is aiming for has not. Haruto: Thanks to my meeting with the GOD Troupe and being discovered by you, I was able to change my life. Haruto: And because of your strict guidance, I was able to become an inhabitant of a beautiful world of dreams, just like I wanted to become. Haruto: I feel nothing but gratitude towards you, Reni-san. Haruto: Even if the course has changed, my feelings of wanting to grant your ideals with all I've got are unchanged. Haruto: I will never forget your appearance as a former actor, nor your words  to have spirit as an actor. Haruto: I plan to hold that in my mind and push forward as an actor of the GOD Troupe. Reni: Haruto... Thank you. Reni: Once this play's run is over, let's have a talk. About GOD Troupe's future. Haruto: --Yes! Haruto: (That's right... Just like Reni-san, the future I am aiming for has not changed. What I am aiming for is the ideal final stage that Reni-san and the GOD Troupe are aiming for. ) Haruto: (Whether I'm the "real deal" or a "fake", I will not be shaken. That is the sole truth within me.) Haruto: (I will continue to do my utmost to respond to the feeling of having Reni-san nurture me with an eye on my future.) Haruto: (I will devote my body and soul to repay Reni-san and the GOD Troupe for having changed my fate. That is what I must do in my life.)

Tasuku: "The 'Dragon's followers' [1] who worship the ancient dragon?" Haruto: "I've never heard of them." Shift: "Same here." Haruto: "Isn't the fact that magic tools were used proof that it's someone from South Agis?"  Tasuku: "That may not necessarily be the case. In the underworld, they are traded by North Aria, too." Azami: "In all likelihood, they aren't just random rogues." Izumi: (I was worried about Haruto-kun, but he's made a complete comeback. He seems healthy too - I'm glad!)

Reni: After a 10-minute break, we will continue onto the second half. Haruto: Excuse me, but can I say something before that? Haruto: Once again, I'm sorry for missing rehearsals. Haruto: The whole time, I had my hands full with myself, and I feel like I wasn't very reliable, neither as lead actor nor as leader. Haruto: In order to let this play succeed, I intend to do my utmost as leader for the remaining rehearsal time. Haruto: For the purpose of adorning the dawn of a new GOD Troupe, I'm counting on all of you. Shift: Of course! Tasuku: We're counting on you too. Azami: Sure. Reni: I leave it to you, Haruto. Haruto: Thank you. Izumi: (Haruto-kun's expression says that he's ready to move on. He seems somewhat dependable.) Haruto: --Tasuku. Tasuku: ? Haruto: I got your message from Shift. Though it kind of felt like you just were pitying me--. Tasuku: That wasn't my intent... Haruto: For a long while, I was jealous of you. Haruto: Even though you joined after me, you easily climbed all the way to the top, and excecssively stood out with your blessed physique. Haruto: You were the thorn in my side who was constantly complimented by Reni-san. For the longest time, I hated you. Tasuku: ..... Haruto: Whenever we were together, I simply felt annoyed,　and when we co-starred together for the first time in a while, I remembered that feeling. Haruto: But I will put all of that into my performance as Cain and act it out. That is my Cain. Haruto: In order to draw closer to the ideals that Reni-san's new GOD Troupe is pursuing, I will make use of any emotions and do anything. Haruto: There is no doubt that I am acting for Reni-san's, for GOD Troupe's sake. That is something that you can never do again; a pride only permitted to me. Tasuku: ....You're right. That's just like Yamada Genta. Haruto: Hah? Don't ya get cocky! Tasuku: Pfft. Haruto: Geez, as always, you're annoying.

Haruto: Izumida, it would be better if you could put more anger into that. Haruto: Tasuku, it will be easier if you come out sooner. Azami: Got it. Tasuku: I'll give it a try. Haruto: And Shimohira-san, about this sound--. Izumi: (He doesn't just provide advice for acting, he also has extensive knowledge about the production. As you'd expect...) Izumi: Haruto-kun has become quite reliable, hasn't he? Reni: That's because he has the most stage experience and sees the whole picture. Izumi: (His aesthetic sense is similar to Kamikizaka-san's as well. It feels like Kamikizaka-san is at ease and leaving it to him.) Izumi: (Also... After his breakthrough, he's become able to make himself look beautiful and express Cain's deep emotions.) Izumi: (I'm excited for the first day of performance!)

Azami: Face down a bit. Shift: This is weird. Azami: That's my line. Shift: Having you stare so hard at my face in such close proximity is a first, isn't it? It kind of makes me want to laugh. Azami: That should be my line too--you can face forward now. Shift: ....You know, I really want to make this play with Haruto-san in the lead role a success. This is making me psyched up in a different way from that time when I was the lead. Shift: So far, I was fine with performing as long as I myself could stand on stage, but now I think this way. Azami: I thought the same when Taichi-san played the lead. Let's knock 'em dead starting with the first day. Shift: Yeah.

Staff: Five minutes left. Haruto: ...... Shift: Alright, now a word from the leader! Haruto: Don't handle it so carelessly. Haruto: I don't know about MANKAI Theatre, but here at GOD Theatre, we are only allowed to show a complete 100% from the first day. Haruto: ....But, here, we have 3 people with experience as the GOD Troupe's top. 3 people who have been acknowledged by that Reni-san. Haruto: The remaining person only has 1 year of experience on stage, but he's a big newcomer with the attitude to manage such a big stage. Haruto: With these 4 people gathered here, there is no way that we can't do it. Shift: That's right! Tasuku: Naturally. Azami: Yeah. Haruto: Tasuku, even if you've left the GOD Troupe once, only for now, I will have you show the most beautiful play in this GOD Theatre. Haruto: Right now, you are one of the actors who embody the GOD Troupe's beautiful world of dreams. Tasuku: I got it. Haruto: Must be fabulous!

_______________

[1] The word used can also mean kin, clan or dependent.

Chapter 8 | Index | Chapter 10