#like he was a child solider when his life was ripped from him

[ff7boi]

think it's crazy that cloud was convinced that he wasn't a real person sometimes,, like shinra and sephiroth fucked him up so badly that the end product was a mentally broken cloud who genuinely believed he was never real and just essentially a lab experiment like how badly you got fuck with someone mentally to get them to that point man

[dilatorywriting]

“I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more.”

For the event, can I request Malleus for this? I need to send ALL my love to him ASAP. Although for this, feel free to have him being the one saying it to reader.

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt 51: "I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

There was something about being in love with a fae that would always be at least a little intimidating.

No, it wasn’t the unearthly powers that could literally rip through the fabric of time and space with a snap of his fingers. No, it wasn’t the cold, serpentine stare or the sharp fangs in his mouth that shined like well-polished knives under the right light. It wasn’t even the horns. Even though they added an extra foot onto the dragon’s already stupidly impressive height.

But there were other things, sometimes. Less tangiblethings.

You tried not to think about it too much, because you loved Tsunotarou. Really, you did. And you didn’t want some… some creeping thing at the fringes of your consciousness to ruin that.

It was cold tonight, and you puffed warm breath onto your fingers. Normally Malleus was the one waiting for you to arrive at your usual Gargoyle Filled haunts, but he’d had a meeting with his retainers today. And you weren’t surprised he was running a bit late in the aftermath.

‘Man, I’m surprised Draconia is ever on time for anything,’ Ace had complained, during some mandatory assembly or other. Watching as Malleus floated into the room a solid two hours after scheduled.

‘He’s usually very punctual,’ you’d answered, confused.

‘Sure, sure. But don’t fae have, like, super fucked up senses of time?’ the redhead mused. ‘Like I bet you could tell him to meet you in an hour and he’d show up a week later or something.’

“Child of man,” a familiar timbre called out over the snow, and you perked up immediately, hopping from foot to foot to get your circulation going again before trotting out to meet him halfway.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped. “How was your day?”

“Dreadful,” he answered, deadpan, and bent his arm neatly so that you could tuck your fingers into the crook of his elbow and snuggle yourself into his side. He was like a walking furnace, what with the roaring, emerald fires in his belly. And the snowflakes seemed to melt before they’d even touched his skin. “Nothing but paperwork. Perhaps I should turn them all into enchanted quills, and then they might finally be fit for their positions.”

You snorted into your glove. “You’d need to turn some of them into ink then, too.”

“Ah, of course,” he intoned. And then shot you a smirk that was just on the right side of besotted. “Whatever would I do without your wise guidance?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you teased, and then smiled right back in that stupidly, soppy way. “But you seemed more than smart enough to manage on your own before I came along. And I’m sure you’ll go back to being brilliant when I’m gone,” you added on a laugh.

But Malleus didn’t join in your giggling.

The fae stopped in place, and you were dragged to a halt with him. You blinked up at him, confused. His expression was… complicated.

“You are leaving?” he asked, each word sounding like it had to be pried out of his mouth with a crowbar.

“What?” you blinked. “Of course not.” Crowley never having bothered to lift a feathery finger to find you a way home aside, you had more than enough reasons to stay here for as long as your meager, mortal life would allow. Going home… it soured something in your stomach that you didn’t even want to consider. So you just tightened your fingers around his arm and shot him as reassuring of a smile as you could muster. “Even if I had the choice, I’d be staying right here.”

But that just made Malleus’s brow pinch up tighter.

“Then what did you mean?” he questioned, perplexed. “When you said ‘when I’m gone.’”

Ah.

You fought a guilty wince. You hadn’t wanted to drag your own little terrors into his worries as well. You really needed to get a better leash on the poor quips that managed to tumble out of your mouth.

“Well, just that, uhm…” You waved your free hand awkwardly. “You know.”

More furrowing.

“I do not,” he said, sounding grumpy. It was a bit adorable, seeing an almighty prince and near God pout at you. But you fought off the urge to coo over his pursed lips and scrunched nose. Time and place, self. Time and place.

“I’m mortal,” you said finally, hoping that would cover it.

“And?”

Ugh. Come on, dude. Give me something here.

You shrugged, tight and awkward. “Just that, well, you know. Your lifespan is near infinite right? And mine is sort of set to be…” You held up your fingers and pinched them close together. “Uhm. Not that.”

“And you think that such an inconsequential factor means that you will be leaving me?” he asked, and you blinked at him in outright confusion.

“It’s pretty consequential,” you squeaked out, and averted your gaze. “And.. and besides. I knew that from the beginning. And I just want to be able to make the best out of the time with you that I have,” you said, hoping it sounded properly reassuring and not like the start of a particularly peppy obituary.

“…I see,” the Prince said, low. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll be gone, I’m sure.”

You blinked again, owlish and slow.

“Pardon?”

“What is the human expression…?” he hummed, tucking your arm back tightly against his side and starting up your leisurely stroll once more. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Almost so much as time itself.”

Yeah, you wanted to amend. But not from beyond the grave.

“I guess so,” you shrugged.  

“Can you imagine then,” he hummed. “How much I’ll love you in a thousand years?”

“I—” you swallowed, feeling tears prick at the back of your eyes.

But rather than give your poor, fluttering soul a chance to recover, he just pushed onwards.

“I will love you forever, and when ‘forever’ ends, I suppose that I’ll just love you even more,” he said, perfectly level and serious, like he hadn’t just absolutely pulled your heart out of your chest and set the whole of you on fire.

You stared up at his regal, handsome face from beneath a soft veil of falling snow. With those cold, emerald eyes, the pointed fangs, the horns. You felt like your stomach had fallen out at your toes, like the whole of you was bound to float away like a balloon lost in the breeze. Because he’d said—he’d really—

“And of course,” the dragon shrugged. “I’ve always intended to extend your lifespan to begin with.”

You gaped at him wordlessly for a moment, before letting out a hideously embarrassed squawk and pounding at his chest with your gloved hands.

“You could’ve told me that!” you shrieked, practically steaming in the cold with the heat pulsing off your cheeks.

“I suppose,” he smirked, catching your flailing fists easily in one of his own large hands. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to see your reaction to my declarations, would I?” he cooed, all smooth, dark chocolate and smoky embers. “And I had to work so hard to memorize those lines. Fitting as they are, I was told that the moment to use them would have to be perfect, and—"

“Did Lilia set you up for this?” you choked.

Malleus snorted and turned to tug you further down the path. “Only a little.”

.

.

[evilminji]

A Moral Dilemma! Question!

Let's say there is a trucker. An average man. Kind enough, did okay in school, loves his wife and misses her like you wouldn't believe every time he has to go. Misses his little girl even more. HATES he's missing the early years of her life. First day to school, getting her up and brushing her hair into pigtails, making pancakes like his Pa used to make. The works.

But the economy is shit. Him and his wife have to work. Make ends meet. They're DESPERATE to get out of Gotham. Move somewhere boring. Safe.

But... well, places like that cost money. Kids cost money. And he did OKAY in school. Not a lot of jobs out there for "Okay" guys from Gotham.

His cousin finds him a route though. A solid job. Really pulled through when push came to shove and things were looking bad. Like he might have to take up that offer to Goon. Now he's a trucker.

And his route? Well the half way point is Amity Park. He stops to stay the night every time. Never really STAYS, has heard they got themselves a Cape and such, but? It is what it is. He's from Gotham. He minds his business. Parks on the outskirts of town to avoid getting hit.

Doesn't realize, he's getting SOAKED in Ectoplasm every time he's in town.

And this trucker? Not the healthiest man. He wishes he could be. But life on the road is not exactly conducive to fresh fruit and leafy greens. He eats more grease and sugar then his doctor would EVER recommend. In fact, has specifically warned him not too.

But some days you just need a warm meal. You miss your kid, your wife, your bed. And you know it'll be days before you can see any of them. But at least there is pancakes.

You can pretend you're eating with your family. Or at least, let the coffee be warm enough for the two of you. God, but the poor man is tired.

And as he gets close to Gotham?

Breaking News!

The Joker. AGAIN. The trucker cringes, horror filling him. What poor soul has that mad man hurt NOW? When will it end? Him and his wife are so close to getting the hell out. Thinking Kansas. His wife has been joking about pie baking competit-

No.

Oh God No.

There, on the screen, tears streaming down her beautiful face? Is the love of his life. His best friend. His EVERYTHING. And in her arms, trying so, so hard to be quiet. To muffle her terror born sobs... is his little girl. One pigtail torn from its srunchie, blood on her tiny face.

The trucker knows how this story ends.

Batman will try. He ALWAYS tries. And sometimes... sometimes that's enough. But he knows the odds here. His family are in front. Stars of this sick show. The trucker can't breathe. His heart is pounding, too hard for a man of his health.

He's not young. Should be on blood pressure meds he simply cant afford. Is panicked by a terror few should ever suffer. And? What runs in his family, strikes true. It feels so far away, the pain in his chest. He... No, he can't.

He can't.

His family.

He can't die. Leave them. They're in danger! They can't die like this. So close to freedom. Happiness. They... the..y.. ca..n..t...

.

.

THEY WON'T. HE REFUSES.

~~~

So! Here in comes the QUESTION! As you sit, watching this terrified child call for her father, ripped from her begging mothers arms, you see a green opaque man full body tackle the Joker.

You watch his eyes visible glow and change color, fight a visible STRUGGLE, like jeckle and Hyde, for control of his body. Between the monster known as Joker and what seems to be? The little girl's newly Meta father.

The Father wins.

You watch the Bat arrive with the police. Thank the man and say he can release Joker into custody. See the EXACT moment the Meta realizes something. Turns to look at his daughter, then his wife. Looks back at the commissioner.

Says "No".

Is he right to do this? To Possess the Joker, as a life sentence, to insure the safety of others? He is perfectly will to sit that life in a jail cell. Knows he will never be allowed to roam free again. But! The Joker is contained.

Is this Right? Or merely emotionally satisfying?

Discuss :3

@hypewinter @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @nerdpoe

[chaosandmarigolds]

imma request more bc that adoption one actually sent me to the heavens and back..

so i have a similar idea that i wanna throw out there but have it be Dad!simon riley and foster/adopted!reader. Have like, their interactions when reader has to first meet simon, and simon is able to bond with reader bc hes traumatized too

it can be like a headcannon style or a one shot, whatever idea striked you.

like actually can i be you? like you write SO GOOD so QUICKLY my writers block could NEVER

(I'm actually a Tomato right now I'm blushing so much in my school library what- thank you so much!! your words will live rent-free in my head for the next seven to eight weeks ngl

Ahem ahem I have a new thingy- Adoptive dad Simon! lil blurb (700-1000 words i think) & foster!care reader (i don't think I used gendered pronouns but if I did please remind me)

For the record, you never thought yourself to be a problematic child, sure you were a little unruly and you lived by your own rules but to be honest any person in your situation would be the same. A child whose childhood was ripped from you the second your father grabbed a beer bottle and the rest you preferred to keep locked away under a lock with a key you kept away. So you sat in your social workers office for what you thought was the billionth time in the month, hands mindlessly fiddling with your hoodie string and eyes staring out the window.

Birds. You always wondered what it would be like to be a bird, it must be nice, to be free like one at least- no matter how cliche the thought you enjoyed it.

Only for it to be ripped from you as you hear your named hissed from the workers, Margi's, mouth. With a grumble you turn to look at her from across the oak table, trinkets from her perfect life adorning it, and her perfect little family in a golden frame, staring at you- made you sick.

"Seventh school, seventh! Are you trying to have to move counties again?" She snipped at you, her voice dull as she typed something into her computer.

"Maybe I am."

Margi gives you a look, a frown written across her face, "What does that mean?"

"The Wilsons, Adams, Johnsons, Kievs, they all suck and they were mean."

"They were mean?" She mocked your voice and then scooted her chair to face you fully, "I'm trying here, kid, I'm trying. But you-" she shuttered a laugh as if she just found your mere presence unbearable, "You make it so hard, you're goin to Douglas county."

A look is etched across your face as you take in the news, Douglas was forty miles away, so the news was a bit shocking. "Wha-"

"There is a single man-"

"No."

"Yes. You'll sleep here and he's picking you up in the morning."

--

It was stupid, Price had told him he needed to find purpose in his life and that fostering might fulfill that- well...he didn't realize his captain meant dogs and cats and somehow he had passed to be a foster parent. For reasons that are beyond him. So there he was, four foster kids deep- all adopted within two or so months and then going to their new homes. He wouldn't lie, he didn't like any of them but he was sure to be as kind as possible, as...open as he could (which is close to none) but according to the children he did a great job.

Somehow.

There was a new one, problematic from the file, a story reading a bit too close to his own that he almost didn't want to take it up for the sake of his own mental clarity. However, it was urgent, and there was a need and the solider in him urged him to go on and fulfill it. So that is why he was now standing in the police station at six in the morning an hour away from his home.

A brief conversation with the social worker and a few police officers that had encounters with you, all warning him with the banter of your antics and that if he had any common sense he'd 'slap some sense into you' All of that he just responded with a glare and changing the topic.

Then they brought you out your lively hood packed into a small and tattered black and blue duffle bag and clothes a bit worse for wear, looking exhausted upon all of that. Simon made eye contact with you for a moment, it almost seemed like a stare-down- until the social worker cut in-between you both.

She motions to you as she introduces you to him and she then motions to him, trying to take your bag to hand to him but you had an iron grip, "Mister Riley-"

"Simon." He interjected, giving the worker a look, "Call me Simon."

You bite back a smile at how flustered Margi became by his correction and after a few more warnings of how you like to run away and skip school and everything you had a tendency to do you sit on the bench in the building. A good forty or so minutes passed and you wouldn't lie you were hungry so as soon as 'Simon' came over you chirpped up, following as he had motioned for you to do.

"Could we get some food?"

Simon stayed quiet until you reached the truck, letting you put your duffle bag into the back and then stopping you from getting in the front, checking your height against his chest and then with a breif motion of the hand told you to sit in the back.

Alright. You thought, not a big talker.

"Diner okay?"

"There's a good one down the street-"

Simon hums and grabs his phone from his pocket as he buckles up, holding it back for you to take, "Put it in the gps, yeah?"

A faltering silence as you stared at the phone, which was new, normally your foster parents wouldn't let you touch anything of theirs- much less a piece of technology. An unlocked piece of technology.

--

"Can I get juice?" You ask quietly as you look over the menu, subconsciously looking for the cheapest option.

"Mmhm, what else?"

To that you look up, "An...and pancakes?"

"An' eggs."

"What?"

"An' eggs," he said again, looking up from his menu, "Growin, need protein."

"I don't...like eggs." You see his blonde eyebrows furrow to your words and you mumble on, "Not alone, I like potatoes and eggs but eggs alone make me gag."

"Then get potatoes an' eggs."

Darn, there goes pancakes. So when the waitress comes back over she gets Simon's order and then yours, and you ask for the potatoes and eggs, only for when she left Simon to be staring you down.

"Have you ever been told you're scary?"

"All th' time. Though' you wan' pancakes."

A moment and you blink, "You said to get eggs and potatoes."

"Get al' three."

"But that's expensive."

"Ah, yea- 20 dollar's for a meal tha' gonna make you full an' happy is expensive," He dully replied, and then your expression he did his best to soften his expression, "Kid, is okay, yeah? Don' feel bad."

You sniffle as you see the waitress come over with your juice and his very boring black coffee, "Can I actually pancakes?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

(anywaaay that's it! hope you liked it! <33 ps. i love feedback and comments it truly makes my day!

[liketolovexx]

I want some drama and angst :( can you write a james x reader fic? They broke up and couple months later she find out shes pregnant? She went to tell james but then he told her he’s dating lily and thats why she didn’t tell him cause during their relationship she was always feeling insecure like she can never be lily and always felt like shes the second choice. Someone that he settles for? Then she move away?

James find out couple weeks later after she moves away that shes pregnant bcs of the potter tapestry. So he went to find her (i want him to work and grovel a bit lol)

Of course I can, lovely!! Thank u so much fir the request <3

Sorry that it isn’t the best, I’m really tired 🫶

Feel free to send in requests for me to get to though!!! Love you all

You’re pregnant? ~J.F.P

{In which you and James have broken up, and you haven’t told him you’re pregnant.}

It had been weeks since you and James had broken up, and it had left you pretty torn up. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were still in love with him. You were just as smitten as you were in the beginning, and he had, presumably, completely moved on. You hadn’t heard from him once since the breakup, and it had really ruined you.

With a little help from your friends, you eventually got back on your feet. You read, listened to music, watched movies. You were yourself again. However, your heart was still tender, and James still unknowingly held ownership over it. Things went okay, as of late. Thing we’re looking up. Until you started throwing up in the early morning, and were overcome with dizzying fatigue. When you missed your period, again, you started to worry. You decided to overcome the embarrassment of buying a test and get one from the corner shop.

That was probably the worst night of your life. Impatiently, you stared unblinkingly at the pregnancy test that lay on the table before you. When the unholy little pink cross faded into view, your heart dropped. You hadn’t had sex with anyone, not since James. Which only meant one thing. Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. Falling forward onto the table, You crept a hand up to your chest, grasping at it as choked sobs started to tear through your throat. Everything was numb, but so excruciating at the same time. Your arms wrapped around your stomach loosely, shakily. The scar of James’s old love for you engraved in your body. He could love you and decide to take it back whenever he saw fit, pretend you two never happened, but you now had the solid evidence of your love in your womb. And you had no doubt the child would look unfairly like its father. And its father had to know he was just that. A father.

The next day, face red and blotchy from crying nearly all night, you dressed in the nicest clothes you could find without being too formal, and made for your ex-lover’s house. The address you’d memorised. Cruel nostalgia threatened to kill you as you took in the painfully familiar path to the painfully familiar door. When you knocked, the door opened to reveal an agonisingly familiar man. James. His face twitched in confusion. You knew his little tics and giveaways like the back of your hand: you had all of his features and quirks tattooed into your heart. His smooth voice saying your name ripped you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing here?” He asked you, and you smiled weakly. You looked at your feet. “James, I’m sorry, I’m-“ “Jamie? Who is it?” Another voice called. A honey-sweet, beautiful voice. Lily.

Freckled arms wrapped around James’s waist. Silky red hair cascaded down his shoulder when Lily placed her head on his shoulder. His face shifted in awkward shock, as he went rigid under her touch. “Lily, Uhm.. it’s…” he mumbled, nodding his head towards you. It felt like your heart had been ruthlessly ripped from your already sore chest. You were expressionless, unable to breathe and unable to deal with the agonising aching pain that throbbed unbearably inside of you. Oh, god. You felt like you were going to throw up. You nod stiffly, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Lily.” Lily looks almost guilty, but doesn’t remove her soft arms from around James’s middle. She addressed you back, gentler than you did.

“What did you wanna say?” James asked quietly, face flushed slightly. “No. Nothing.” You murmur, turning on your heel. You needed to go home. You felt like you were about to black out. Is this what it felt like to have your heart shatter like glass in your chest, shredding up everything else? You wanted it to stop. You heard him shout your name after you, but the world around you felt muffled, and far away. It should be you with your arms around his waist, not the girl he told you not to worry about when you were dating. It should be you fixing his glasses, playing with his hair, raising his child with him. You’d always been insecure about Lily. She was beautiful. Flaming red hair, mossy green eyes, soft curves and plump lips, a kind aura and glowing smile. You knew you couldn’t compete with her. In your eyes, James would always love Lily, and you were a second choice. He couldn’t have Lily, so he settled for you. Tears had begun to drip down your cheeks, but the feeling was all too regular now, and you felt too empty to care.

James had sat on the sofa with Lily after he’d closed the door. He rested his head in his hands, visibly raging. “What the fuck was that?” He almost spat, glaring at her through his eyebrows. He’d never display this anger to you. “Sorry, James, but you were the one who broke up with her. And she deserves-“ “stop it!” James interrupted, his voice trembling. “I know! I fucking know she deserves better! But…” His lip twitched, a sign he was furious. “We’re over, mate, you know that. And you’re my friend, so I don’t know why you’d do this to me. You fucking know I love her. You know, Lily.” He says, his steady tone cracking at the end as he buries his head in his hands. He suppresses tears of his own. Lily moves over to him, trying to take him into a hug, which he accepts, always in need of physical touch while upset.

“Lily, I don’t know what to do.” She sighs, rubbing his back softly. “I won’t take back that she deserves better. Because she does. You broke up with her, James. But, I know you. And I know love when I see it.” Lily says, petting his hair. James was staring intently at the wall, frozen in place, not even sobbing anymore. “And if you really, really love her, you need to go to her, James, because-“ “Lily.”

Her eyebrows furrow, looking at James who’s still staring at the wall with wide, watery eyes. He looks fucking scarred, like a soldier in war. He looks devastated. Lily follows his gaze, and her eyes fall onto the potter tapestry which hangs pride of place above the fireplace. Her eyebrows twitch downwards as she leans forwards.

Between your full name in gorgeous italics and James’s in the same font, was another name. The name you’d planned to embellish your child with. Lily froze right beside James. She turned to him. Slowly.

“You need to go to her. Right fucking now, James.”

He turns to her, and slowly nods, wide eyes reminiscent of a terrified puppy.

You were curled up in your bed. You’d run out of tears a while ago, and so you lay there in silence. Not moving. Not sleeping. Not doing anything. You were numb and empty and so tired. You couldn’t find it in you to cry anymore. When there was a frantic rapping at your door, you couldn’t even drag yourself up to get it. Did it really matter? You felt like you were chained to the bed. You’d just rot there forever, you decided. until you heard a desperate voice screaming your name from outside. Immediately, you recognised it.

James.

Hesitantly, you crept down the stairs and clicked open the door. At the sight of how ruined you looked, James let out a pathetic whimper: his glasses were askew and his hair was messy, his face tear stained. He was beautiful even now. “What do you want, James?” You spoke blankly, not a single suggestion of emotion creasing your face. “I know you’re pregnant.” He admitted. Just when you were about to ask him ‘how?’ He dropped to his knees before you.

He was so pretty like this. James’s eyes were big and teary and betrayed what little sleep he’d been getting. His soft pink lip was wobbling like a baby’s, his glasses were seconds from falling from his nose, and his hands were clasped together as he knelt, looking up at you desperately.

“I- I’m in love with you. I need you, I fucking need you.”

He whimpered, shuffling closer to you and pressing his forehead to your legs. “Please take.. take me back.. I want to raise my baby with you.. you’re my only love, you always.. always have been…” he pleaded, his heart wrenching and his voice cracking like a teenage boy. He sounded downright pathetic.

You knelt beside him. “This time, Jamie.” You whispered, and he gasped in relief, collapsing into your arms. You let a weak smile embrace your features as you consoled him. “I love you too.” You confessed. “Only you. Only ever you.” He clung to you tighter. “I’m never leaving you again. I pinkie promise. My girl. Mine.” He promised, linking his pinkie with yours in a heart-wrenching act of childlike innocence. You were confident it would work this time. Now that you both knew how life felt without each other.

“Okay. Pinkie promise.” You replied.

[aquariiium]

Shidou Kirisaki killed for his son, not his wife

After a lot of thinking, I think I've got a solid theory for how Shidou's crime went. Stick with me here

His wife and 2 kids get into a car crash, and only his oldest child survives. He needs organ transplants, but due to the complicated perception of brain death in Japan, there's not enough organ donors.

Shidou starts trying to convince families of brain dead patients to sign them up as organ donors, but doesn't get the organs he needs for his son because he's not in control of what goes where obviously.

He gets more desperate as time goes on and his child's state worsens, and just kills braindead patients himself, making it seem like an accident. Again he's not in control of where the organs go, so he has to kill many people so that the organs can go to his surviving family.

His son dies during the organ transplant, or shortly after.

Shidou turns himself in because he has nothing to live for anymore.

Evidence & other details under the cut v

The car crash

In the intro of Triage, Shidou is walking home with groceries. By itself it's not weird or anything, but it could imply that his wife had the car to drive the kids to or from school at that moment.

In the scene of Throw Down where Shidou wakes up (alone, in a double bed), it zooms on broken glass on the floor. Glass in cars are made to break into pieces when they suffer shock.

In his T2 interrogation, Shidou is asked that question.

His wife and youngest kid die in the crash, his oldest kid is the only one that survives

In Triage, his youngest child is always clinging to their mother, implying a certain connection between them. (this is going somewhere I swear)

The theme of receipts being patient files is present in both Throw Down and Triage; so when this scene in Triage happens, it implies that he's giving those lives to his son. He does not do the same for his wife, or his youngest kid.

In the part where he puts his hand over his face in Triage, you can see that. Again with the 2 groups.

In Throw Down, 2 wilted flowers are under a glass case, while one wilted flower isn't. That could symbolize that 2 of them are enclosed in a coffin, and the last one isn't, even though he's already wilted.

The receipt/patient file that Shidou rips up at the end of Throw Down: it's hard to see what it says exactly (what organ IS that), but you can see that the XY chromosomes are ticked off. So unless his wife is trans (which would be great), the last file to expire, or be destroyed, or the life to die, is a boy's. That's why I keep referring to his oldest child as a boy (unless that child is trans which would be great again, but I doubt that milgram would do that). The name there says something like Rei/Kei/Kai Kirisaki. It would be confusing if both Shidou's son and Mu's victim are named Rei, but that might be the case.

Shidou tries to convince families to sign their braindead relatives as organ donors

Aesculapius:

Shidou stops asking and just takes the organs (or kills the braindead patients) himself, passing it off as accidents

Throw Down: You can see him reassuring a grieving family, and "sniffing out lies"

Aesculapius:

I think it would be weird if his "murder" was just convincing families to sign their relatives up as organ donors (even though that does count as medical malpractice)

His son dies during the organ transplant, or shortly after

Throw Down: His human-shaped flower abomination starts moving again, but after stepping out of the hospital bed, it crumbles into pieces, and Shidou is horrified. Flowers represent the lives he's cutting to add to it.

Shidou turns himself in

I have no evidence for that one, but what else would he even do. In the start of T1, he's asking for the death sentence.

Other Fun Facts:

Shidou used to cook pancakes for his kids. That's why he's so insistant on Amane trying them in minigram. (There are two plates of them on the floor.)

His children liked to draw. probably why he's started drawing as a hobby in milgram.

The intro of Triage where he's walking home with groceries is (according to me) a memory of the day he got the news of the car crash. You can see the groceries through the MV, discarded on the floor or rotting. They're pomegranates, whose insides look like human organs - and he gives the receipts for them to his son. At first it's just groceries, but then they're human lives.

The phone call translates to "Hi this is Kirisaki, I'm busy right now, please call later" or something like that, implying he was busy when someone called to inform him of the deaths.

[petrichormore]

(This is kind of an analysis on Q!BBH (in relation to Q!Forever’s trust issues). All of the following is about the character, not the CC)

One thing about yesterday’s stream, I know people are sad that 4halo (still don’t have a duo name) had a minor fight/falling-out due to Forever’s (JUSTIFIED) paranoia. But. I want to make one thing clear as a BBH main:

Bad did NOT mean to withhold any information from Forever. To my knowledge, he has never purposefully refused an opportunity to share important information with Forever, not even when he was worried about Forever’s mental health in the aftermath of Cellbit’s betrayal (he never got the chance to withhold anything lmao).

The problem here is not that Bad is keeping secrets from Forever, he really isn’t. Forever is being trusted more than I think he’s aware of, because he doesn’t realize that everyone else other than him knows next to nothing about Bad (with the exception of Foolish). Forever was the only person that - at least in spirit - had full, unrestrained access to Bad’s secret-est secret base up until Foolish also gained permission to enter recently. And he’s still the only person that Bad has ever allowed into Dapper’s private enderpearl stasis chamber room. Now I know that Bad broke the waystone pillar and therefore Forever lost his ability to enter, but he didn’t do it on purpose!

Bad is distracted, Bad is busy, Bad is constantly being pulled in a lot of different directions by a lot of different people a lot of the time. The only reason Forever doesn’t currently have access to Bad’s home is because he just hasn’t had a solid chance to take him there; and when he does have a chance, he doesn’t remember. Because, again, he’s kind of dealing with a lot right now please leave a message he’ll get back to you later and also did I mention he’s raising a child (and several other peoples’ children sometimes) all by himself?

Same issue today: Bad knows almost everything about almost everyone. And while part of that is because he’s prone to spying - an undeniably large part of it is also because almost everyone on the server trusts him enough to constantly drag him into lore whenever he appears. If you don’t watch Bad’s streams, you maybe wouldn’t know it - but some days it’s a fairly constant stream of “Hey Bad, can you come here?”

“Bad, we need to talk”

“Bad, I need you for something.”

“Bad, can we meet somewhere private? I have an extremely lore-heavy secret that I want to tell you - but you can’t tell anyone else or I will hate you eternally and kill you and curse your bloodline and never trust you again. Thanks, say hi to Dapper for me!” <- (that might be an exaggeration but you get my point)

Like. It’s a lot to stay on top of for one man, and sometimes Bad is gonna slip. Sometimes he’s not going to remember what information he needs to tell everyone, and what information he needs to take to his grave. Sometimes he’s gonna assume Forever already knows about a semi-well-known bit of important information. And, yes, sometimes his assumptions will be wrong; but he is being as open as he possibly can be with Forever.

Not to mention, just like Forever, Bad is also famously paranoid. He also has trust issues. It’s not exactly easy for him, either. But he’s trying, he really is trying. And Forever has a right to get upset about not being told information, but that doesn’t mean he’s right about Bad withholding information on purpose.

This is to say: Bad and Forever have a lot in common in terms of what they’ve been through and I don’t think they realize how much they trust each other.

TLDR; RIP to my man Q!Forever but Q!BBH has not done a single thing wrong in his entire life.

[redlittlefoxari]

To The Ends Of Faêrun : Chapter Twelve: Binding

This series is book two of a fanfic I have already written called Astarion Epilogue: An Adventure in Making Life

Master List Here for Books One, and Two

*List includes a prequel that is essentially one-shots of their adventures over the fifty years after the battle at the end of the game*

Warnings: Blood, Sex, Violence, NSFW 18+, Smut

Summary: Tav, Astarion, and Apple all come face-to-face with the goddess Angharrad about little Apple’s binding contract and what happens if they refuse to answer the call of adventure.

Comments are always appreciated! I always think my writing is shit.

Tav and Astarion pounded their way upstairs, Apple in his arms. She cried into his chest, not fully knowing why she was in so much trouble but just knowing that she had done something wrong. Confusion and fear rattled through her while Astarion and Tav only felt fear and anger at what had been done to their child. She had been used to satisfy Angharradh’s cruel ends and get Tav to submit to the deal by forcing her child to accept.

How Anagharradh found out what Tav’s answer would be was easy enough to guess. The tattoo acted as a conduit between her and Tav. Linking them together and allowing her to listen in on anything she wanted a lot, like the eye Wyll once wore when Mizora was his patron. She had probably been listening to Astarion and Tav's whole conversation about the deal.

They cleared the top of the stairs and made their way to the master bedroom. Not stopping, they flung open the glass doors leading out into the cool night air, and Tav held out her forearm to the moonlight. There was a hum of power as the moon's light kissed her skin, and another wave of anger washed through her.

“Angharradh!” Tav screamed her name. “Come out from wherever you are hiding!” Her chest heaved as her white-hot rage took over.

In a flash of blinding light, Angharradh appeared with a coy smirk on her face. She glanced over the three of them, taking in the rage that was flowing from Astarion and Tav. Frowning at the sobbing Apple in Astarion’s arms. Her eyes locked with Tav’s as a smile appeared back on her face.

“What have you done to sweet little Asteria?” Angharradh chided. “When I saw her earlier, she was beaming with happiness; now look at her.” She motioned towards her. “She’s a sobbing mess.”

“You son of a bitch.” Astarion put down Apple and charged towards Angharradh, stopping a few steps in front of Tav. “Let her out of whatever deal you made with her! She is too young to understand what it is that you asked of her.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Angharradh let an innocent smile spread across her face. “She already signed the contract.”

Sparks danced between Astarion’s fingers as he flexed and then closed his fist tight into a fist. “If you do not let her out of the deal this instant, I will add you to my slain gods!” His eyes darkened as he bared his fangs, ready to strike.

“A vampire, Tav?” She clicked her tongue. “Such disgusting pests.”

Astraion lunged at her, fist cocked back, ready to spring forward. Angharradh rolled her eyes at his temper getting the better of him as she raised a shield. His fist hit solid air, stopping him in place as he screamed and fought the invisible force that prevented him from connecting. With a flip of her wrist, Astarion was sent flying back his body, only stopping once it made contact with Tav’s. Knocking the wind out of her. Tav caught him before he hit the ground, his body shaking with barely contained rage. She stood behind him, as Astarion crouched, trying to get a handle on the fury that ripped through him.

“And you want to make more children with such a beast.” Angharradh looked down her nose at him. “It’s a wonder how young Astaria came out such a polite little girl.”

“Daddy!” Apple ran to Astarion, pressing her face to his chest.

“I’m alright.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her gently against her soft white curls.

Tav moved in front of Apple and Astarion, using her body as a shield. “She’s six.” Tav ground out. “You made a deal with a six-year-old.”

“She seemed more than happy to help her mother, and after what I heard last night, I’m glad I came to her when I did.” Her eyes darkened. “Before you did something you would later come to regret.”

Apple sobbed into Astarion’s chest as Angharradh fixed Tav with a cool stare. She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she took in the sight of the three of them. Tav could feel Astarion’s rage building as Apple continued to cry against him, and the goddess looked at them with disgust.

Tav’s jaw ticked with anger. “Let my daughter out of the deal.”

“No.” She gave Tav a cruel smile. “What’s done is done; the only way out of the deal is to finish it.” Angharradh looked annoyed. “Find my daughter and bring her home.”

“And what if we refuse?” Tav grasped at something to get her out of the deal. “What stops us from staying at home where we are?”

“If my request is not fulfilled, then your daughter belongs to me.”

Tav’s blood turned to ice in her veins at the Goddess's words. “What does that mean exactly?”

Astarion picked Apple up off the ground and pulled her closer to his chest, turning away slightly from the goddess. His eyes dared her to try and take Apple away from him. Eyes full of hate and murderous intent if she so much as tried.

“I mean just that.” She sounded like she was suggesting something as simple as a change in the weather. “I will take Astaria and raise her as if she was my own.” She looked to Astarion, who was glaring at her. “She signed the contract.”

Angharradh produced a scroll that glowed just as she did and unfurled it. At the bottom of the parchment was a signature written as if a child had done it. Apple’s full legal name sprawled out on the paper. Tav felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. As far as she could tell, this was binding, and Apple had sealed hers and their fates to the quest.

“What if we kill you?” Astarion spat. “Would that break the contract?”

“You could certainly try.” Angharradh leveled him with a challenging stare. “I wouldn’t recommend it, however, based on what just happened to you. I could still wipe you from the face of this planet like the leech you are.” Her voice dripped with venom as she produced a piece of parchment.

Tav shook with fury as she read the contract that was in front of her. Apple had signed her life away in order to fix her. Her sweet girl was just trying to help, and this Goddess had taken advantage of her to get what she wanted in the end. If they tried to break the deal, Apple would be taken away from them. Bile rose in Tav’s throat as she stared at her little girl's unsure signature.

I, Asteria Ancunin, hereby swear my life in service to this quest to find and return the Goddess Mielikki to her mother and, in doing so, reap the rewards requested of the Goddess Angharradh, queen of the Arvandor. These rewards are the ability to lift the limitations bestowed upon elven kind for my mother, Tav Ancunin. To produce new elven souls from her womb. If I fail in my duties, I will return to Arvandor with the Goddess Angharradh and serve her until my dying breath.

Astarion furiously read the contract, looking for any loopholes, cursing as he read every line. Reaching deep within his mind to pull out every scrap of knowledge he could remember about contracts and law from his time as a magistrate. From what he could tell, it was binding and could only be broken if the quest was completed or one of the two listed in the contract died in some way, shape, or form. Undiluted loathing bubbled up, filling Astarion with more rage than he had felt in recent years. Angharradh had trapped his child in a contract she didn’t fully understand, and he couldn’t help but remember when his old master, Cazador, had asked him to become one of his spawn. He, too, had omitted many details that, if he had known, Astarion would have never agreed.

“I’ll rip your throat out, witch.” Astarion took a step forward, and Tav stopped him. “What are you doing? We can’t let her do this?”

“We can’t win against her Astarion, not when it’s just the two of us.” Tav felt powerless. “We are unarmed.”

“We can certainly try!” Astarion snarled, leveling Angharradh with a look that could kill. “I’m not just going to lie down and submit.” Astarion snarled. ”I’m not giving up our child.”

“I never said we were going to!” Tav shouted back. “There's only one thing we can do, and I know you’re not going to like it, but if we want to get Apple out of this deal, it is our only option at the moment.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right. I don’t like it.” Astarion cradled the back of Apple’s head and kissed her on the side of the face.

“Astaria is going either on the quest or with me. The choice is yours.” Angharradh was starting to sound impatient. “Give me your answer.”

“Shut up!” Tav rolled her eyes and spat at her. “You will have your answer in a moment.” Tav took a few steps towards Astarion and closed the distance. “We have to.”

“I read the contract, and it’s binding.” Astarion blew out a breath in frustration.

“We’ll need Gale and at least Shadowheart.” Astarion frowned. “Wyll and Karlach are too old to go on adventures, and bringing Gale is pushing it.”

“He’s at least an archmage, so time works for him a bit differently.” Tav let out a heavy sigh. “So we have no choice.” She looked at him with desperation in her eyes. “Are we doing this?”

“Yes.” Astarion bit his bottom lip. “I guess we are.”

“I look forward to Mielikki's safe return.” Angharradh smiled.

“Fuck off.” Astarion cursed her.

“And with that, I will depart.” Angharradh bowed and then vanished.

They all stood in silence for several moments, processing what just happened. What Apple had just bound herself to? Tav started to think about what their next move would be where they would start with their search for Mielikki. While Astarion thought about all the ways he was going to kill Angharradh for what she had done. Apple just held her face against Astarion, waiting for the punishment she knew would be coming.

“Apple, you won’t be going to school for a while.” Tav broke the silence.

“How long?” Apple’s voice was horse as she spoke.

“Probably not for a few months,” Astarion answered. “And we are going to have a nice long chat about not accepting contracts from gods, goddesses, demons, or devils.”

“I know you were just trying to help, honey, but this is not how we help.” Tav walked over and patted her back. “Next time, maybe just do the dishes or show Mommy some magic.”

“Okay…” Apple pouted as all her tears had dried up.

“We’ll need a few days to gather supplies and ask the others to join us.” Astarion started to make his way back inside.

Tav followed close behind. “Right, let's finish dinner and then head over to Gale’s; we’ll need to tell him right away that Apple won’t be in school for a while anyway.”

“Why don’t you go talk to the old wizard while I finish dinner and talk to this one.” Astarion continued down the stairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Tav looked at him with a puzzled look.

“I’m sure.” Astarion seethed. “I’m already in a foul mood, and listening to Gale prattle on is not going to help matters.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and placed a kiss on Tav’s lips before continuing. “It will just lead to one dead wizard.”

“I can talk to him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is a Monday, and he will be busy with whatever he does regarding running that school.” He cut her off. “Go now and come back as soon as you're done. We'll be here when you get back.”

“As long as you are okay with that.” She gave him a sad smile.

“Can I go with Mom to see Uncle Gale?”

“No.” Tav and Astarion spoke at the same time.

Apple shrank down as small as she could get in Astarion’s arms. This was the first time in her life that she had indeed done something that landed her in trouble, and she had no idea what for. She didn’t understand what she had done wrong, and Tav could see that in her sad eyes. She thought she had done the right thing in accepting the quest because it would help Tav.

“Listen, honey, I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but sometimes doing the right thing and what we think is right are two completely different things.” Tav patted her on the head before waiting for her to respond.

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, you’re six, so that’s understandable.” Tav gave Astarion a kiss before moving past him towards the linen closet. “I’ll be no more than an hour any longer than that, and please come and save me from Gale’s ramblings.”

“Will do, Darling.”

Astarion carried Apple towards the kitchen, stopping to watch as Tav opened the door to Waterdeep, and purple tendrils of the weave enveloped her. Drawing her in and swallowing her into the void.

“Now, my sweet Apple.” Astarion shifted his attention towards Apple. “We are going to have a long chat about all things we do not agree to without a parent present, at least until you are no longer living under my roof.”

Apple swallowed hard as Astarion started his lecture.

Tag list:

@ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave @littlekidsteve @omnia--mea-mecum-porto porto @ayselluna @myreadingmanga123 @kismet-of-the-divine @nicalysm @justlilpeaches21 @five-salty-bitters @lenarosic88 @caydevakarian @supervrgnsokay-blog @ravenswritingroom @kalypsoox @foxiecelery @wisteriaofthegraves

[nucifraga]

So, how old are the grandpas of the apocalypse really? Ft. - Jonah Magnus - Simon Fairchild - Peter Lukas - Maxwell Rayner

I MADE A PART 2 OF MY CHARACTER AGES RESEARCH (part 1 incl. og archives crew, 3 avatars + gerry here) after a few days of really wanting to detective the ages of this lot, i finally caved and decided to dig out the magnifying glass! same disclaimers apply! including an extra disclaimer to say that I've changed the formatting for this a lil because there was a Lot More Research done compared to part 1. Necessitated bc these mfs are OLD. (except for peter lukas. peter lukas is surprisingly young??)

(All ages are as of S1 / 2016 & the highlights are in bold if you don't feel like reading my essays)

Jonah Magnus

Age: ~216 Birth Year: ~1800

There are a few landmarks we can use, but because of how shady most are (old-ass letters) I also can’t pin down any solid dates because all the characters involved are fictional ._. Basically the only clues I got were: The Magnus Institute was established in 1818, but Jonah was old enough to travel alone to Germany and exchange letters with a friend (Albrecht von Closen) by 1816. So birthdate around ~1800? 1790?

I tried to find an ‘upper limit’ by using the life expectancy of the time since he also was able to live a ‘natural’ life until the (failed) Watcher’s Crown was carried out ‘at some point closely after February 13th, 1867’, BUT the average life expectancy of men was at most 41 years. So there was some Fairchild-esque shit going on there.

Simon Fairchild

Age: 439 - 488 Birth Year: 1528 - 1577

SPEAKING OF FAIRCHILD - sky grandpa! love him, he’s such a bastard. Anyway, in his own words, he’s had ‘an absurdly long life’. In MAG151 he says he was apprenticed to the Italian artist Tintoretto. Apprenticeships in the Renaissance started at approximately 11-14 years old & lasted for 1-8 years, and I’m assuming this was the same for the 1500s. Hopefully.

Given that Tintoretto became a renowned artist in ~1542, my estimate of the oldest Simon could be would be 14 in 1542. On the other end of the scale, Wikipedia says that his last notable work was Il Paradiso, finished from 1588–1594. I can’t find any mention of works post-1588 so this puts the absolute youngest Simon could be at 11 years old in 1588. From those two estimates, it was just a matter of mathing it out :)

Note 1: Simon mentions that his Becoming was while painting a church, likely a ceiling or high wall since he ‘should have broken his neck’, which should narrow it down – except it doesn’t, because Tintoretto painted a lot of churches x_x Note 2: I’ve just spent half an hour researching an Italian painter & art conventions in the 16th Century, which is of no relevance at all to my STEM degree in the 21st century. Simon’s age doesn’t even particularly matter because it was so long ago that the centuries quite literally blur together. This rabbit hole is incredibly fascinating, but this feels so ironically pointless, which is really, really fitting. Note 3: Simon definitely deserved to get ripped apart by the mob. His time has long, long passed lmao

Peter Lukas

Age: ~49-61 (at the very youngest; 36) Birth Year: late 1950s - late 1960s

Peter appears to be the youngest of these four – surprisingly so! – which makes it a lot simpler to pin down his age. He first meets JamesWright!Jonah between 1973 and 1996 & also he was old enough to have the option of watching TV when he was a child. TV became common in UK homes in the 1960s, so his birthdate at the earliest may be in the late 1950s/1960s.

However, he’s known Jonah as ‘Elias’ for most of their acquaintance by late 2018, meaning that they met at the earliest 1975 (21 years before 1996), but was probably more like 1980ish or later. I don’t think he would have met him too long after becoming an avatar some time after he became ‘old enough to run away’, which I’m assuming means he became aware of the Lonely when teenager-ish.

But spending some time on the Tundra before meeting other avatars makes sense for the Lonely, and so my vague estimate of his birth year would be late 1950s - late 1960s. I don’t think that his birthdate was anywhere later, though it is possible that it could have been as late as 1980 (if he began running away when very young & was introduced to ‘James Wright’ very early into avatar-hood), if incredibly unlikely.

Note: My ‘very youngest’ estimate for Peter Lukas is… younger than my estimate for Mike Crew’s age. I find this inordinately funny.

Maxwell Rayner

Age: 357 Birth Date: 8 November 1658

I have excellent news for Rayner! Good ol’ Jonny has made his original body Edmond Halley. A very famous person with a wikipedia page of his own that conveniently states his date of birth :)

Thanks, Jonny.

Rayner died in February 2017 at the age of 358 years 3 months 2 days, though he did spend a decent amount of time host-less. Unlike Gerard Keay, I’m unsure of how ‘alive’ he was during this time, so I’m just going to count it as ‘alive’-time because it means I get precise numbers for the first time since I started researching character ages!

[forestryfae]

chaos lord hcs i consider canon cus thats what hc means lol

chaos lords tend to take a few traits after their familiars.

klarions pupils work the same way cats do. slits when hes relaxed, big and round when hes excited. he may purr on occasion but its usually only directed at teekl when shes snuggled into him. he likes to push things off of tables but thats not a familiar trait thing, he just saw teekl do it once and thought it looked fun.

child is cold to the touch and if the light hits her right her skin seems opalescent. her bones are partially transparent and looks like its made from opals and white quartz despite being solid bone

chaos lords need their familiars to be concious to stay properly on the mortal plane. thus, they need to sleep when their familiar is asleep. e.g. klarion wont ever discorporealize from teekl taking a catnap but he has the option of phazing in or out of the mortal plane for a while (annoying but harmless), waking her up (worse) or taking a nap w teekl (best choice)

in fact pretty much all chaos lords (and lords of order if the shoe fits) revolve their daily schedules around their familiars sleep schedules, despite familiars sleeping far less than normal animals

child cant sleep because of flaw. this does not affect her in the slightest.

sometimes klarion (specifically) will just drop dead. you know when cats loaf and suddenly their head just drops so theyre loafing face down and asleep? yeah, teekl fell asleep and klarion didnt notice and now hes fallen face first on the floor and is snoozing away. he could fall off the empire state building and not notice until after teekl wakes up

you cant wake him up. hes dead to the world until teekl wakes/is woken up and even then he might keep snoozing for a while before he wakes up on his own

vandal has, more than once, had to deal w his snoring during a meeting

his snoring isnt actually that loud if hes lying down properly. he tends to sleep like a cat tho. literally Wherever

lords of order generally dont have to be on the mortal plane very often and actively avoid it, unlike chaos lords who delight in being able to go, so its rarer for them to need anchors or familiars. nabu was basically their get out of work card

chaos/order lord language is mostly consistent of loud humming, hollow noises, and clear tones. the way electricity sounds, ice cracking, thunder rumbling, tuning forks, and so on also appear on occasion, and its easy to compare the noise they make to the sound of a planet spinning. there is a mild telepathic aspect of it used to convey mood and feelings as well. its like body language but psychich, and no actual words, thoughts or images are spoken psychically

its common to choose what noises are used based on favourite sounds and tones, hence the need for the telepathy. telempathy?? yeah thats a word now. gender is also linked to noises.

gender isnt really a thing the way it is for humans. sex as well, but genetics are. lords of whatever reproduce by deciding "i want a kid actually" and then manifesting a soul for that child. ideally you want between 2-5 lords manifesting at once so theres a variation in the powers used to bring them to life, if you only manifested a child from one lord youd just get a badly made copy of that lord.

manifesting a child is not seen as sexual, its more like witnessing a birth, so its not uncommon for children to just pop up out of nowhere in public. generally this has few reactions from others beyond congratulations. the knowledge of how to do it is still kept from children and young lords to prevent bad copies or irresponsible duplications from inexperience. not to mention that parenthood is kind of a big deal, you dont want a lord who was born last millennia try to make a shit duplicate, fail, and essentially rip themself in half, erasing them from existence

it is seen as. vulgar. to ask someone to help create a child. you generally say out loud "i want a child and need help" and suitors will offer their help. after that its pick or choose.

biological sex isnt a thing due to the way children are created, but gender still is there to some degree. some dont have one at all, while some have very strong feelings of it. its linked massively to noises and is seen as an accessory, like wearing a favourite bracelet or a cool tshirt. for some only hollow and humming tones is the perfect gender, for others low thundering rumbling with highpitched tones is excellent, and some might prefer using all the noises or stick to just one, and some may change periodically

physical bodies tend to be malleable enough to fix if they dont like what theyre given or alter if they change their mind, but they generally view genitals and sex characteristics as aestethic functions and do as they see fit based on what they feel looks nice and is more useful for them

nabu views the host body as just a host and therefore does not ever alter the host body. hes content w whatever he gets, he just lives there after all

lords of chaos and order have different dialects. its unclear to everyone else what the difference is though.

lords may take the soul of a mortal and turn it into a chaos lord/lord of order. this is called adoption :)

due to personal reasons, klarion may or may not be adopted depending on what backstory i want to use

(born as a chaoslord sometime between the beginning of the universe and roungly 5000 years before meeting vandal and was never human or anything else VS born in Limbo Town 2; The Adaption To Make It Less Lost Tribe Of Roanoke And More Homo Magi + Fae Cross Species From A Place Called Limbo Town, became a very powerful but chaotic magic user, chaos lord said "i want that one" and approaching him, klarion accepting and upon his death hell ascend, got murdered in cult ritual, became chaos lord and adopted by his mother (he has 2 now) and some time space power shit happens so he ascends into the past where his new mom who knows time chaos adopted him)

chaos lords are always red and lords of order are always yellow but the hue and saturation varies. some are more pink, some are kinda orange, some are blood colored, some have specks of different colors or ombres or stripes, some are very light or very dark, and so on etc etc

klarion has more than once refered to lords of order as "piss rocks from space"

[kindaasrikal]

“You are the controller of your own life. You lead a one man army, and you are the sole solider. It is only determined through your own actions if you will become what you want, in the end. Whether that be a tyrant or traitor, a hero or saviour, depends solely you.”

Morro, and what he wanted to be over the course of his existence. With a young sensei, a terrifying beast, and an old tyrant.

Wu looked at the small boy in front of him, so tiny and innocent, pure despite the pain he has already faced in his few short years of life. The emerald green streak tangled in his black hair as the wind swept over the two, resting from another day of training. Wu’s own golden eyes stared at the mesmerising sunset, before he turned his head to face his very first student. His very first child.

“Morro.” Teal eyes turned away from the warm tea cup wrapped in tiny hands, only to stare into the golden eyes the child finds so safe (yet one day, so painful)

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

He watches as the naive child blinked up at him, turning his eyes back to the tea cup as his brows furrowed and his mouth moved into a thoughtful pout. Wu had to contain his laughter at the child’s deep thinking over such a simple question.

(Wu did not know the true insecurities the child faces when it comes to his place in the world, when it comes to his future.)

Teal eyes glimmered in the sunset as they turned back to face the pure gold held in his father’s eyes.

With a grin, he said “Strong!”

—————————

Sitting in the flesh of a beast like no other, what were once bright teal eyes shone a dull green at the dark and moist ground of their second home.

As others like him- transparent and gone, free from the shackles of life yet chained to the horrors of death- floated around, the teen heard, more then felt, the slimy tentacle that wrapped around his arms.

The teen felt, more than heard, the beady eye that stared deep into his very soul.

A voice only he could hear echoed deep in his ears, in his brain, in his heart.

It was cold and vile, a sound no man nor women could ever escape from whilst remaining mentally sound.

“Morro…”

His own name, one he does not recall ever earning, sent shivers down his soul itself. He wished to rip the name, the title, out of his very being. So no person may ever corrupt the memory of what he once was.

“What do you wish to be, oh Child of the Wind?”

His eyes, shut to escape his new reality, peeled themselves open.

Dull green stared ahead, blank and empty at the horrors before his eyes.

“Powerful.”

—————————

The field of green tickled his cheeks as he laid on his back, the sound of children running far away.

His eyes, a dull teal, stared lazily up at the bluish sky. He could see the shades of green mixed in in harmony, as expected from a realm of eternal peace. He felt ants climb over his hands, birds tweeting sweetly in the trees surrounding him. He felt hidden away, from everyone and everything.

But what you feel cannot always be a reality, and he mourned the quiet that was lost to the sounds of footsteps, leaves crushed under their feet as they made their way over to the teen who laid on the grass.

He huffed in amusement. Funny how this man was the one to destroy his quiet, he thought, as he heard the other swiftly sit on the grass next to where his own body lay, not a sound heard.

It was silent as they both stared at the clear blue sky, contemplative and nostalgic from who they once were.

Red eyes, tinged with shades of gold, turned to stare at the teen who laid next to him. He saw the other at peace, his eyes maybe dull, but gaining the small spark they once held yet again. With a smile, the old man turned his tired eyes back to the blue sky, letting the sounds of happy souls fill his ears fully.

For hours they lay in harmony, because no words had to be exchanged between two souls so similar to one another.

“Your life is your own now, dear child. What do you wish to become, after everything you have done?”

“…kind. I wish to be kind.”

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Hesitant Affection (Bowser x TransMasc/Male Reader)

Some feel good fluff with everyone’s favorite Koopa <3 This is kinda just ramblings since I couldn’t nail down a solid plot so forgive me if it’s a little chaotic. It’s a bit short and scattered so if you’d like something more specific just send me a request! The more specific the better.

Note: For things like this, I imagine Bowser a little more humanoid than his in-game model so this may come across in my writing but I do my best to kinda leave it up to interpretation. He’s still very tall and large, but more proportionate to human standards and lizardy in my mind. Also, unrelated because it doesn’t come up here but chubby Bowser > ripped Bowser, I will take no arguments.

CW: The level of transition for this reader character is unspecified. He/him pronouns are used here and there, but it's mostly a second person POV. A small part mentions the reader’s aversion to dresses and wearing them as a child, but is never forced to wear one in the present.

Requested by: anonymous

Word count: 615

Bowser. Praised by some, feared by many, and loved by a select few that he allows. Up until recently that list included only the Koopalings and on a good day, Kamek. But then this human, how curious he’s not afraid of the cruel King of the Koopas, wanders into his life and soon, he can't imagine his castle without him.

There’s a touch more life to the place, his subjects are happier with him around. He often helps in the kitchen or tidying up a mess. He hates to admit it, but this strange human may be changing Bowser too. He feels less of an inclination to cause random havoc knowing it would upset you, both to see him hurt but also others too (curse that large, kind heart you have).

He’s quite the textbook gentleman, holding doors and pulling out your chair. But get him to engage in romance outside of what he was taught to provide and he becomes a mess. A small kiss on the nose seemed to make his fiery hair steam while his face burned with uncharacteristic sheepishness. Insist on holding his hand and he won’t even turn your way, to hide his embarrassed face of course, all while extending his grasp to your much, much smaller hand because how could he say no to his beloved? Not when he asked so sweetly, too. You’d be the death of him, he always thought to himself, but he’d die happy at least.

On one occasion, an unexpected invite to the Mushroom Kingdom for a banquet found its way to your hands, Bowser insisting it must be a mistake because why would they invite him to such a thing?

The invitation was vague. Peach’s large cursive writing, in pink pen of course, simply invited ‘The King of the Koopas and one guest to attend a banquet at my castle in the Mushroom Kingdom.’ The date and dress code were detailed at the bottom. You hadn’t been to a party like this since you were very young, forced into an itchy dress that you didn’t particularly like for many reasons, more being added on as you discovered yourself further. While you had faith Bowser wouldn’t urge any sort of similar clothing on you, he still insisted on letting you know that wasn’t happening if you wished to go and you were grateful.

That night, all eyes were on the Koopa King and the human hanging off his arm. The princess greeted you cheerfully, inviting you both in and explaining the banquet’s purpose as a celebration of peace. She was grateful to Bowser for his change in behavior, and later to you when in conversation over drinks you explained you may have been the reason for it. You were introduced to the ever famous Mario Brothers, delightful duo they were, and found amusement when you caught your date for the evening glaring daggers at the mustachioed plumber in red.

I see you helping him with the Koopalings, Bowser Jr. namely, and him swooning. Watching you hold his hand in a crowd so you don’t separate from him makes his heart flutter, letting them help you in the kitchen to make his birthday breakfast and smiling (and almost crying but he’d never admit it) when he passes the cracked kitchen door.

He sleeps on his front due to his shell and sometimes, you like to stick cotton balls on his spikes while he dozes for no real reason other than the human fascination of having the ability to do so. It entertains you and when Bowser discovers it, he finds it cute. He also can’t get them off himself so be a dear and help him, won’t you?

[mintbubbletea606]

Sharing (Carla Tsukinami x Reader x Shin Tsukinami)

Requested by: @Hanakaoni

Eyes flying open as you felt a weight crash on the bed, you tried your best to keep your breathing steady and give off the ruse that you were still asleep.

“I can hear your heart hammering, human. Don’t pretend like you’re asleep. You need to explain something to me-” Shin started as you rolled over to face the man.

“What did you wake me up for?” you asked, watching as his golden eyes slitted in response.

“Why were you cozying up with Carla earlier?” he asked as you let out a deep sigh. “Your blood belongs to me-”

“Carla practically forced me to stay with him, just as you are forcing me to be with you at this moment,” you answered, instantly regretting your agitated response when Shin moved to grab your wrist and pull you towards him.

“Shin-” you started, your eyes widening when you heard the rumbling voice of Carla calling out his brother’s name as well.

The man in question let out a snarl as his fingers unfurled from your wrist. You quickly pulled back from him and turned to face Shin’s older brother.

“We need to keep her alive long enough so that she can choose which of us she prefers. We need to keep her in good enough shape to bear a child as soon as this happens. You can’t decide to break her wrist on a whim. That won’t help anything,” Carla lectured his brother, who rolled his eyes in defeat. “Come. She needs to get her rest. Lack of sleep will cause her blood to turn bitter.”

Shin tossed you a final glance before he headed out of the room with his brother, quickly mumbling a ‘good night’ to you.

As soon as the door was shut, you hurled yourself back on the bed and rolled your eyes.

You had been snatched away from your ordinary life, and now you had to manage two vampire brothers that were both vying for your attention. If you made one wrong move, you would end up injured or even worse, dead.

Trying to rid yourself of dark thoughts, you relaxed your still tense body and curled up under the sheets. That night, you were plagued with restless slumber, broken by intense nightmares that depicted your demise.

---

From the moment that you opened your eyes, you were in the company of Carla. You were given the task of stacking up tomes in alphabetical order, only for the man to hinder your progress in some way. Hours of this tedious work continued until you finally set down the final book and gave the white-haired man a furtive glance. Carla inspected your work thoroughly, letting out an unimpressed noise upon finding that one of the books was out of order. His striking gold eyes moved to study you for a solid second before shifting back to the pile of books. He moved his foot to topple over the pile, a cruel smile turning his lips up when he saw the shocked expression that crossed over your face.

“You’ve displeased me,” he simply said, lifting you up in his arms. His mouth found its way on your neck, a soft breath leaving your lips, before his fangs tore through your flesh, causing you to cry out in pain. “And yet, I’ll still reward you for the time you’ve spent on it. How does that sound, hmm?”

You let out another small whimper as his arms tightened around your frame.

---

“You smell almost exactly like Carla,” the younger brother complained as his eyes studied you. “I’m being completely honest when I say that you absolutely reek-”

“I’ve got it!” you exclaimed, watching as his eyes crept over your neck.

“And what’s with that damn turtleneck?”

“It’s cold,” you tried, only for Shin to snort at your response.

“For a human like yourself, it’s hot.” His mouth turned down as he added, “Aren’t you smart enough to come up with a better answer than that?”

Shin sat up from his seat and stalked over to where you sat. His fingers tugged at your collar, the neck of your turtleneck ripping off.

“Hey-!” you exclaimed, your eyebrows shooting up. “You’re paying for that-”

“Oh, shut up! Damn, what the hell did he do to you?” Shin interrupted, his irritated eyes scanning the bites that covered the expanse of your neck. “How dare he touch what’s rightfully mine?!”

In a second, you were roughly thrown over Shin’s shoulder, and the First Blood was storming down the hallways before any word could leave your mouth. In a whirl of noises and movement, you heard a door open and before you knew it, you were dropped to the floor. A knife of pain sliced through your body as you shakily propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Shin, what is the meaning of this?” came Carla's voice, which was faint since your ears were pounding with blood.

“That’s what I was about to say-”

“You could have hurt her, and that would not have helped our mission-”

“You bit near her arteries. That could have ended her in an instant.”

“If you had been the one doing so, she would have surely died. I was mindful of her every move and breath, however. I would have known if something was wrong. Everything was under control.” The room was filled with silence as you realized that Shin, for once, had nothing to retort back. Was he like this with his brother all of the time?

“Was there anything else?”

“Yeah, wasn’t she supposed to choose or something like that? You’re already marking her as yours.”

“I’m simply making my presence known.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shin muttered, echoing your thoughts perfectly. He gathered you into his arms and walked you back to your room, throwing you on your bed and going to sit on a nearby chair.

“Where else did he touch you?” he immediately asked, causing you to fall into a stunned silence. “Did you hear me?”

“N-nowhere else,” you got out as Shin’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re not lying?” As soon as he saw you shake his head, his lips cracked open to reveal his fangs. “Good, now I can go even farther with you than he has.”

“Wha-” you started, silenced by his hand curing around your neck. His fangs sunk down into your revealed shoulder as his hands trailed down your back. He pulled back to mutter, “You’re mine, got it?” before biting back down.

---

Your eyes opened to the darkness of your bedroom, your body enveloped by an arm slung around you. You peeked back at Shin and moved to get out of the bed. However, you were roughly pulled back and he opened his eyes, annoyance evident in them.

“Were you going off to be with Carla?”

“N-no…” you answered, waiting as his suspicion grew. “I just needed water.”

“Ugh, humans with their needs. I’ll get you some. Don’t dare you move!” He moved out, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes passed before someone knocked against the door.

“Thank you!” you called out as the door opened. You barely got out the words before you noticed that the person was Carla.

“O-oh….” you trailed off as you peeked around the man, in time to see his younger brother returning to your bedroom.

A stagnant silence filled the room upon Shin noticing that Carla had made his way into the room. After a few minutes of silence, Shin seemed to gain his bearings and he moved around his brother to give you the glass of water.

“Oi, what are you doing here?” he asked, moving to sit beside you and throwing an arm around your shoulder.

Eyebrows creasing, you noticed how Carla’s eyes moved to look over the position you two were in. Deciding not to question it, you took an experimental sip of the water and waited for the event to unfold. Hopefully, you would manage to see another day after this altercation was over.

“I was trying to make sure that she was okay,” Carla answered as he moved to cross his arms in front of his chest.

“She’s completely fine. I was with her all night long,” Shin quickly responded, pulling you closer to him. “I thought that you had everything under control.”

“From the way that you were carrying on, I thought that something was wrong with her, something that I couldn’t catch.” Carla paused to study you intently before continuing, “After all, we must keep her at peak condition until she makes her decision.”

“I would have thought that she had made her decision. She’s obviously picked me-”

“I wouldn’t say that so easily, brother. She has spent most of her time working with me. She must favor my companionship.”

The two boys continued with their rebuttals until you let out a heavy sigh and broke free from Shin’s grasp. The two watched you closely as you moved to a corner of the room, safe way from the two of them.

“How am I supposed to pick either of you when I hardly know either of you?”

“We can solve this easily. Just pick me-” started Shin as his gaze shifted over to his brother’s calculating face.

“Would it be easier for you to choose if you were able to be in a relationship with the both of us?”

You tilted your head as you mulled over his suggestion, finally coming to your answer. Though you did not know the two as much as you would like, you knew that you were interested in both of them.

“Yes, I would like that…” you answered as you watched Carla nod in response.

“Then it’s a plan, my dear…” he murmured before moving forward to grab your hand.

“I’m good with the idea. Heh, you’ll like me more, won’t you?” Shin let out as your eyes shifted over to the man, whose lips were spread in a teasing smile. “Get ready. You have no idea what you signed up for, love.”

[rotworld]

5: Bitter Cold

(previous)

trouble follows your unwanted passenger.

->suggestive but not explicit. contains gore, body horror, child in peril, descriptions of a car accident, mentions of human trafficking.

.

.

.

The Drift is not kind to time. Its cruelties depend on local attitudes. There are stretches of highway that stutter and repeat themselves, cities that are occasionally shunted into another week. There are ways to adapt and compensate. Most municipal governments have an anchorware budget, constantly constructing, updating and repairing temperamental shielding technologies to keep reality stable for another day. That’s why the shifts juggle whole cities instead of ripping them apart, limb from steel and concrete limb.

Like most children of the road, your circadian rhythm follows an alien tempo. The gloom is perpetual, day only ever so slightly lighter than night through the eternal fog of the road. Time is slippery. If the digital clock in your car didn’t have anchorware components, you would struggle to know whether you should be looking for somewhere to rest. Even still, the sudden deepening of the shadows catches you by surprise. The sky darkens, a chilled haze hanging in the air. 

Your unwanted passenger digs his fingers into your headrest. He’s eaten everything you had, two boxes of eggs and your entire stash of snack food, and now he’s eyeing you hungrily. Talking to him, telling him about yourself, your interests, your favorite places you’ve been, has not softened him. Those are, of course, human strategies. Ways to elicit consideration from a human. It doesn’t help when he’s only wearing one.

“We’ll have to stop eventually,” you tell him. “For gas, or for food.” 

You see that slender, spiny appendage squirming in his eye socket. The thing is big, whatever it is. Parts of it press up against his skin from beneath all around his eyes and temples, undulating in his throat. You noticed it in his hands earlier; long tendrils threaded over the sinew, pulling and pushing each finger like a puppet’s strings. “Not yet,” he says.

“We can’t keep going forever.” 

He clicks rapidly. It’s not a sound produced with a tongue but something sharper. Stridulation. Chitinous limbs rubbing against each other. “When we stop,” he growls, “I’m going. To leave this shell. And take yours instead.” The clench of your jaw seems to amuse him. “Hhhhaaaahgh. But. We’re not stopping yet. Are we?” 

“No, we’re not,” you say quietly. 

The girl has managed to slowly scoot away from him, pressing herself against the window. She slumps against it, her breath fogging up the glass. You try to catch her eye in the rearview mirror sometimes. “We’re going to get through this,” you want to say, but she looks at you less and less. 

Something catches her eye that makes her sit up slowly. She’s staring outside intently. You see all four of her eyes widen, mouth open in a little, startled circle. “Ooooh,” she whispers. You look out the window and don’t see anything, but then—

It’s only one at first. Small, stark white, fluttering into your windshield and melting away just as quickly. Then another, just as fleeting. Then more. You can hardly believe your eyes. You’ve read about it, of course. You’ve seen it in movies. But not once in your entire life have you seen real snow in the Drift. Here it is, silent and silvery, falling soundlessly to earth. You watch in quiet awe and delight. 

But the wind picks up. The snow comes slowly at first and then faster, thicker, gathering at the roadside and crunching beneath your tires. Your windshield wipers struggle with the weight of it. Blowing sheets of it, solid white and howling, erase the lane markings and solid yellow dividing line. Your headlights shine uselessly into the storm, engulfed in endless white. Your heart pounds with newfound fear.

You think they call this a blizzard.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: DESTROYER BY RUBY HAUNT]

“You need. To drive faster.” 

It’s difficult to ignore the thing breathing down your neck, but you do your best. The road is gone. You wouldn’t recognize the edge if the trees weren’t there to catch you, and even their dark trunks are sometimes swallowed by a rippling veil of snow. A sharp chill seeps inside and cranking the heat does little to thaw it. Your fingers are getting stiff and numb. Your breath comes from your lips in shaky puffs of smoky vapor. 

The girl is curled up and shaking. You shrug off your jacket the best you can, looping the sleeves out from underneath your seatbelt, and pass it into the backseat. She takes it from you, her small fingers freezing when they brush against your hand. You hear her crying very quietly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.” 

The hitchhiker’s throat rattles. There’s a flash of something sharp in his mouth, a curved hook peeking out at the corner before it slithers back inside. He’s getting agitated again, glancing restlessly from you to the back window as if there’s anything to see. You get the feeling that this tenuous peace you’ve managed so far is about to fall apart. “Not fast enough,” he hisses.  

“You can see this, right?” you ask, gesturing ahead where the road used to be. The wind screams and there’s a moment where everything, sky and earth and even the treeline, vanishes into bright, blinding white. When you slow the car to a steady trudge, he lets out a guttural hiss. “I can go this speed, or I can get in a wreck and then we won’t be going anywhere.” 

The cold is worse now. Deeper, more biting. Numbness shivers up your spine and you can’t feel your toes. Ice crystals snake and spiral across the inside of the windshield. There’s a soft, golden glow behind you like headlights, steady and constant. You can hardly believe someone else is trying to drive in this.

There’s a scuffle in the backseat, clicks and chitters and the girl whimpering. You look back and he has the knife at her throat again. His chest heaves and shudders, not with deep breaths but with the squirming motion of something too big to fit behind his ribs, churning restlessly. His jaw cracks and that thing, thin and segmented with a needle-sharp point, comes snaking out of an eye socket. It unspools like thread, pricking her shoulder. “I’ll kill her,” he threatens, head twitching, thick, vein-like protrusions bulging in his neck. “Kill you both—”

The girl makes a keening noise so shrill your ears ring, flailing and kicking and slamming her small fists against him. He isn’t expecting it, so stunned that he drops the knife in the scuffle, and you yank on his hood to drag him halfway into the front seat. You have no plan, no room to work with, wincing when more of those thorny pincers slip out of his eyes and mouth, ripping at your hands. 

It’s at that moment, half-twisted around in your seat, arms up to protect yourself, the thing snapping and screeching and all over you, that your foot slips and slams on the gas. The car lurches. The tires slip. You hit the brakes and then you’re veering hard left, screeching too far right when you try to straighten out. The world spins, a blur of snow banks and half-buried trees streaking by the windows, your heart in your throat and a scream caught behind your teeth, and then—

a crunching, violent stop. Something rams into you, or do you ram into it? Your head slams into the driver’s side window and you feel like you’re moving even when everything stops, dizzy and floating. There’s a tree, you can see it, brown bark speckled with snow. Close, too close. You must have hit it. Spun in a circle, slammed into it sideways. Blood trickles down the side of your face and smears on the glass. You don’t know where you are, why you’re here.

There’s a wheeze. Pitter-pattering. Click-click-click-click in your ear. A hand seizes your arm, turns you in your chair. Your vision swims but you see him, the man. No eyes. Little things coming out of the empty spaces, twig-thin and dexterous. They scrape your chin and pull you closer. They chitter, pricking your lips. 

A door opens somewhere. The cold howls. There’s wordless animal screaming, thoughtless terror, and scratching-scraping-squeezing, something trying not to let you go. But it’s gone, and the snow fills its place, sparkling flakes melting on your cheeks. You blink them out of your lashes. The screaming is outside now, echoing in the open air. There’s lights—headlights. Blinking brake lights. Someone pulled over. To help? 

You try to speak but all you do is groan. Your vision swims, doubles, slowly adjusts. Your blink away the fog and you see red, a trail of it, something heavy dragged kicking and screaming through the snow. The man is outside, lying on the ground between your car and a silver SUV, nearly invisible in the blowing snow. Someone is there with him. Someone is standing over him. A red padded coat and bristling fur-lined hood. Ski goggles. Black pants, bright yellow snow boots. A large, bulky silhouette. A man? He grips a tire iron in one of his gloved hands. 

The voice of your instincts screams in the back of your mind. This is wrong. There is danger. You lean over, fumbling for the passenger side door. Keep the cold out, that primal survival urge tells you. Keep the cold out. Stay safe. Your hand is numb and prickly all at once. It feels like you’re groping at the door handle for an hour, for an eternity, sore and light-headed, wanting to shut your eyes, but you manage to slam it shut. The man struggles to his knees and tries to get up, tries to run.

You see the stranger raise the tire iron over his head and bring it down. Swift. Merciless. The sound it makes is muffled through the car but the wet crunch of fractured skull is unmistakable. There’s a pause then, long enough for your sluggish mind to start again and start to understand what you’re seeing. The man makes a strangled sound. The stranger hits him again. And again. And again. Blood and paler, pink fluid streak the snow. Gummy, pulverized tissue coats the tire iron. You see an oozing gash, a dent in the side of the man’s head. He falls face-first into the snow, twitching, limbs all twisted up. The thing under his skin lurches away from the wound. The stranger stops again for a moment as if to watch.

“Go,” comes a miserable whimper from behind you. The girl is wearing your jacket, clinging to it. Tears dribble down her chin from her primary eyes, the secondary ones scrunched shut. “Go! Go!�� 

You’re in full agreement, but it takes you a second longer to remember what you need to do. Reverse. Hands on the wheel. You close your eyes—home is northeast. The world makes sense again. You push the gas and the tires spin, catch, just barely make it over a mound of snow. In front of you, the stranger is beating the man again and you hear the awful sounds of bones breaking and flesh splitting and something that isn’t human let out a warbling cry. 

The stranger kneels. Sticks his hands in the yawning maw of split scalp and ground meat insides and impacted skull, more of a bruised lump of meat than a human head. Straining and pulling, snapping vertebrae, pulling stringy muscle fiber and tissue taut until it snaps, ripping and shredding and splitting the body open like he’s cracking an oyster. You see the thing inside the man for only a moment, coiled tight and contorted into the cramped insides of a corpse, smooth, slick and shiny, uncountable long limbs and segmented body squirming, terrified, screaming and screaming and screaming—

Your tires find asphalt somewhere beneath the snow and you screech backwards, lunging away from the gruesome scene. For the briefest of moments, barely a heartbeat, you saw the stranger bathed in your headlights and fresh, steaming gore and you truly believed that he paused again, that his attention was briefly torn from his prey. That he lifted his gaze and looked back at you. 

You drive and you do not look back, clutching the steering wheel with shaking hands. It could be minutes or hours that pass in tense, anticipating silence. You say nothing, listening to the wind and the gravelly churn of snow. The girl sniffles and whimpers. She cries quietly at first and then she wails, head thrown back against the seat. “It’s okay,” you say hoarsely. “We’re…okay.” There’s an exit sign you can’t read, frozen solid and covered in snow, but you take it anyway, needing to stop. 

You’re mere minutes from the highway when the snow stops. No slow, trickling fall, no gentling wind; it all just stops. The haze clears. The roads are dry. The oppressive darkness of the storm scatters into softer twilight. The temperature shoots back up and suddenly you’re sweltering, flicking the heat off. Your windshield wipers scrape off a sheet of snow that’s gone light and powdery in the warm air. The first thing you see is a tall red sign for a roadside diner. You take a parking spot around back.

The girl throws herself at you when you open the door, sobbing into your shirt. You sit on the concrete with her, rocking gently back and forth. You feel her palms pushing at you like a kitten, bunching up the folds of your shirt. She cries until she’s got nothing left, her voice hoarse and her sobs turned to little hiccups. “I think it’s time for some food,” you say. She nods wordlessly. There’s no courier sign on the door, but you’ll wash dishes or trade something if you have to. 

You’re greeted by the smell of food frying. It’s busy, maybe dinnertime. Most of the booths are occupied but there are a few red leather stools open at the counter. You notice missing tiles interrupting the checkerboard floor pattern, small tufts of greenery growing in the dirt underneath. There’s an orange tree growing out of the floor in the corner and climbing ivy snaking up the wall. 

A cheerful waitress comes over with menus, a little notepad tucked into the pocket of her apron. She smiles, then blinks, her expression slowly morphing into one of apprehension. You remember the blood smeared down the side of your face, but it’s not you she’s looking at. The girl stares back at her, frowning. The waitress looks at you and smiles tightly. “I’ll be with you in just a minute,” she says, rushing off. There’s a man a few seats down without food or drink in front of him. The waitress whispers something that makes him sit up straight and glance over at you. The next thing you know, he’s sauntering closer, taking the stool on the girl’s other side. 

“How’re you folks doing tonight?” he says conversationally. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing off distinct clavicles and a necklace of bone fragments. Wavy red hair, long enough to tie in a ponytail, drapes over his shoulder.

“Is there a problem?” you ask.

He grins. He’s got jagged teeth. “Well, that depends. You headed west with the little one? Compass Hill, by any chance?” He hooks his thumb under her chin and turns her head from side to side, inspecting. “What kinda silk does she make?” 

You grab his wrist. The girl scurries onto the stool behind you, glaring at the man. “That’s her business. Not yours or mine,” you tell him.

He surprises you when he smiles, warm and gentle. “Good answer,” he says. “Get whatever you want, I’ll pay.” The stunned look on your face makes him snicker and sling an arm around your shoulder, opening your menu across the counter.  “C’mon, sweetpea, whaddya like? They do breakfast for dinner here, best pancakes you’ll ever have.” 

The waitress comes back looking sheepish, setting a glass of water down in front of you. “I’m real sorry about that,” she says. “I always assume the worst. But it happens, more often than you think. We’re not always close to Compass Hill, but whenever we are, people come through here all the time with kids that aren’t theirs.” She slides a chocolate bar across the counter and the girl stares at it suspiciously. It clicks for you then. 

“You thought I was selling her,” you say. “But they don’t…things changed there, didn’t they?” Your voice wavers. They must have. You were there when it happened. 

The man nods. “Changed a while back. But news goes slow around here. Some folks haven’t heard.” He smiles. “They’re in for a surprise if they make it all the way out there, but we like to nip it in the bud if we can.” 

The girl tugs on your shirt, looking at you nervously. You nod at her, smiling. No danger here after all. She nods and starts looking at the menu, noticeably intrigued by pictures of cherry-topped milkshakes. 

The man holds out his hand. “Let’s start fresh, yeah? I’m Glenn.” He’s warm, small but muscular with an athletic build, the veins on his bony hands prominent. “You come from very far away?” 

“Prismville. Wasn’t that far, but it’s been a long day.” You glance back and the girl is nibbling at the chocolate bar. All four of her eyes go wide and she makes a delighted sound. “I’m taking her home. I figured it’d be Compass Hill, but I wasn’t sure. She’s never been.” 

“You’ve got a day’s drive ahead of you,” Glenn says. “Might as well stay the night.” 

“If I can find a place—” 

His thigh brushes against yours. You feel his hand graze your thigh just lightly before he moves it away. He looks almost embarrassed, clearing his throat. “I’ve got room at my place, if you’d like. It’s no five star hotel or anything. I’ve got a few kits of my own about her age. Just…don’t want you driving around all night. Better to stay off the roads after dark around here.” You know the look he’s giving you. You’re not entirely opposed, you decide. “We’ll send you off with home-cooked breakfast,” he adds, grinning. “Or, well, my husband will. I’d burn water if I tried.” 

“Your husband?” you echo, raising a brow. “He wouldn’t mind?” 

Glenn’s gaze wanders down to your hips, your ass and thighs, before wandering slowly back up to your face. He licks his lips. “Nope. Not at all.”

(next)

[ystrike1]

Seifuku No Joou-sama - By Hanamatsu Ayaka (7.5/10)

Controversy and ped*******. It doesn't get much worse or more gross than this. I avoided this one for a long time, but then I finally bit the bullet and read the ending. It's good. This isn't just a weird fetish story. It's a solid warning. There are bad adults in the world. Some people don't care if they ruin your life, even if you're a child.

Futaba is a high school boy who developed a leg fetish, and masochistic desires, when he was fairly young. His childhood was ok. He's a happy boy, most of the time. He feels guilty about being different. He wants to talk about girls with his classmates, but his classmates want kisses, and he wants to be stepped on.

He gets lost in the internet. He joins BDSM chat rooms. He starts lying about his age and he infiltrates adult spaces. He's got nowhere else to go. Nowhere to vent. Nobody who understands him. He goes through an unhealthy amount of teen angst. He's angry and he looks down on his fellow students.

Nako is a side character in his life. She's a boring girl. She confesses but he rejects her, because he's too wrapped up in his identity as a masochist to think about dating. Casual dating is too boring for him. Futaba rushes. He throws himself into the ideal relationship he's been fantasizing about. It's not healthy. He has a BDSM partner. A twenty five year old office worker. Akane is one of the most evil characters I've seen in a shoujo manga. She knows Futaba is a minor. She knows he is obsessed with her, because she encouraged said obsession, but she says he's too high maintenance for her. She isn't nice about it either. She says there's no chance for romance between them, and she just wanted a cute pet.

Sick.

Nako, the girl he rejected, is actually our main heroine. She's a normal teenage girl, who is willing to change to make her crush happy.

She gets more than she bargained for.

Nako sees Futaba begging. He cries and kisses Akane's feet, but she refuses to keep him as her pet.

Nako kinda snaps, and she goes down a toxic path for a while.

She works hard to be a good and dedicated BDSM mistress. At first she doesn't even enjoy it. She just wants to change. She doesn't want to be quiet and boring, but then Futaba is actually helpful. He's a very courteous and enthusiastic submissive partner. His playful attitude sucks her in, and she falls for him all over again.

She's clingy too.

She doesn't mind.

This sums up their relationship pretty well. Nako isn't a cute, innocent girl. She's very repressed, and she enjoys having power over her crush. He's all about consent and he gives it to her, so that's totally fine.

Akane is going to hell.

I would rip this woman to shreds if I saw her in public in real life.

She doesn't completely cut contact with Futaba. She even has the audacity to hang out with his new girlfriend, Nako. Like it's normal to hang out with highschoolers. She even flirts with Nako it's slimy. She acts like a knowledgeable senior, but she is an actual predator who should be in jail. The author does not shy away from this. Akane says manipulative bullshit to mess with the new relationship. Nako becomes more confident, so her "aren't you jealous?" crap doesn't work, but Akane does not stop acting like a douche. Every time she's on screen she's openly horrid. It's nauseating.

Nako gets better at BDSM play, and Futaba starts to doubt his own happiness. He's in a real, consenal relationship with someone his age. She's affectionate when they're not doing BDSM. She tries to make him feel better when he puts himself down. It's really obvious that his one-sided relationship with Akane killed his confidence.

He tries to break up with her, because she's too good for him. He can't. Nako filmed him while he was licking Akane in public. She uses it to blackmail him. This actually works quite well.

Nako isn't an innocent child in need of protection. She does actually want to be his mistress. Her boldness shows him he's scared of nothing. Nako wants to date him, unlike Akane. It's really that simple.

School life goes pretty well for them. Everybody knows they're a BDSM couple. Some people don't approve, but really, it's none of their business.

The ending is pretty dumb though. Nako unbuttons her school uniform to reveal leather clothes, in front of a bunch of their classmates, to prove she's ready to commit. She says she was embarrassed before, but she never thought Futaba was disgusting. Not once.

She shows off her mistress outfit to prove it.

(Akane cheated on Futaba by the way. She had another man while she was playing with a high schooler. She also doesn't stop asking Nako "why aren't you jealous???" until the bitter end. Well, I'll tell you why fuckface. "Dating" you sucked. Dating Nako for real is awesome, so forgetting about your toxic pedo ass didn't take long. Get. Over. It.)

[custer-mp3]

wasn't gonna bother bringing my clean laundry upstairs tonight but it turns out dead bird stink is a fantastic motivator

thinking about how bad my ex-husband hated this desk when i bought it. cuz it was at the thrift store two blocks from our house & it was the same one as i had in my room at my gramma & grampa's house when i was a kid except Not Avocado Green, and i didn't get to keep the one from my room at gramma & grampa's house cuz they sold it to one of my shitty cousins whose room it was most definitely NOT without ever asking me when they went to downsize, so i had to have it. it was like eighty bucks or something which was steep but i paid for it with my own money. or maybe it was sixty and i had to go get a $20 home depot truck to get it home. it was $80 in the end. and he HAAAATED it even though it was going in the guest room, a room he was never in, cuz i knew in my heart that Someday i was gonna have a new house & Someday this desk would feature in so i couldn't not have it and we could park it in the guest room for now. for guests. i didn't tell him the part about Someday when i had a new house--when i had a new house--cuz obviously that was none of his business, and i was still trying to make it work. see, honey, i picked up this desk for the guest room cuz it's the same one i had when i was a kid. isn't it beautiful.

no, he said, it's not beautiful. it's got sticker residue. it's the wrong size. the trim nails are coming loose. nobody would want that. you fucked up. you overpaid. you couldn'tve waited til its tag color came up?? i wouldn't pay ten dollars for that thing, much less eighty or sixty plus a twenty or whatever it was.

darling. sweetheart. this is the same one i had at gramma & grampa's when i was a kid except that one was avocado green cuz it was my mom & auntie's when they were kids in the 60s and 70s. i could sand this down & refinish it, paint it avocado green. i'll probably just leave it as it is though, the lacquer stain is really nice. it's in really solid condition. see?

no, he said. it's not even old anyway. there's crayon marks. it's from the 90s, 2000s. you got ripped off. you're stupid with money. you buy so much dumb shit. the guest room doesn't need a desk.

i couldn't just leave it there. i had the same one at my gramma & grampa's when i was a kid & i'd sit at it & draw & write & play with paper for hours. it was my favorite thing. but that one's gone now, so there's this one, and it matches my style now. i couldn't just leave it.

and i hauled it downstairs by myself when i left, and that staircase was so narrow with the hairpin turns at top and bottom so idk how i did it but i did, and then i left it at my dad's for almost four years with the sticker residue still on it cuz i never got time to clean it up, and after all the fuss B had kicked up about it i didn't much see the point and i knew where i was going there wouldn't be room for such things so i'd come get it when i had my life in order

and i came back for it but my life's definitely still not in order, cuz i got this stupid court case and the squatters and these idiots in my apartment and every other goddamn thing so i'm hanging in stasis but i did get some goo-gone and get the sticker residue off, and i tapped all the trim nails back in square and polished it up and got all the cobwebs out. inside the drawer there's graffiti from march 7, 1969 and while i guess, yeah, that somebody could've backdated their graffiti in the 90s i don't see the point cuz that kind of recordkeeping is an extremely honest medium, and they have nothing to gain by lying to me like that

and anyway i use that desk in a way child-me never could've conceived of. it's a good desk, and it makes me feel good to have.