#the future art seems very grim

[good-guy-2006]

Man being an artist at this time fucking sucks what with the uprise in AI-generated images, animators being written off as tax benefits, and people throwing soupy foods at paintings in museums.

[prince-kallisto]

An official introduction to my TWST “Yuu” OC: Viktor (*´∀`)♪ He’s a 42 year old man who was accidentally hit by the black carriage instead of the “real” Yuu. Now stuck in Twisted Wonderland, he makes do by working as NRC’s janitor and general handyman. He lives in Ramshackle Dorm and is assigned as Grim’s caretaker. Ramshackle is even less of a dorm now since no one’s the prefect haha, but Grim was allowed to take some limited classes under strict supervision of the teachers. Viktor is fairly indifferent to being in a new world because working for survival remains the same- and so do the stingy employers! (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

Although Viktor seems stand-offish at first, he’s a friendly person who likes listening to people and giving advice when they need it. The troubled kids at NRC reminds him a lot of himself in his youth and he helps them out a lot- which make the sudden Overblots even stranger…However, he isn’t afraid to put his foot down, which he unfortunately has to do a lot at NRC. Crowley’s threats of withholding food, money, or the dorm don’t work on him at all. Whether by eating free leftovers from the cafeteria, haggling over prices with Sam, or just sleeping in Main Street or in front of Crowley’s office…Viktor can become quite the annoying enemy when necessary haha.

Can you guess who he’s (loosely) twisted from? -v-

Cinderella! \(//∇//)\ His color palette is meant to be a mixture of Cinderella’s and Grim’s lol. For months he wasn’t based off anyone, but I recently thought of this and it clicked perfectly in my head. He works, works, and works, but has his own wishes and dreams kept deep inside his heart. That, and I think it’s funny. Surprisingly though, he gets along really well with Trein.

With this in mind, he has a blessing cast upon him- although he doesn’t know it yet. Whenever the clock strikes twelve, any magic cast on him (minus the blessing itself), no matter how powerful, will break. For example, if Riddle casted “Off with Your Head” on him, the collar would magically disappear by midnight. Malleus having the ability to stop time is scary though ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

I was racking my brain to think of how I could fit a glass slipper reference. His initial job title in his world was vaguely a handyman or tradesman, but then I thought about it some more- a glazier! A tradesman that works with installing glass like windows and mirrors. Not only did it have a slight glass reference and give him the physical work I imagined, I think the mirror connection is fun 👀 (even my OC isn’t immune to my theories 🔫)

He is very much a “homebody” type person, with his interest in flower arranging and baking (bread specifically). He also likes collecting silly and unique knickknacks- but has a growing collection of bottle caps and shiny trinkets from Crowley haha.

I think some parts of the main story would change with him as the MC since he’s street smart, extremely stubborn, and is willing to put his life on the line to protect the students. What immediately comes to mind is Book 3. Viktor vs the Leech twins would be so chaotically violent haha. Maybe I’ll make separate posts detailing how I think each book would go down with him as MC

He’s my first OC I’ve ever made for a fandom…I feel a little embarrassed but the TWST fandom makes a lot of OCs so I feel better about it -v- I have a lot more I want to say and talk about character relationships, his origin story to NRC, and how Viktor affects the main story… but I’ll be saving it for future posts and art \(//∇//)\ I hope the more I draw him, the more I can improve!

[cuffmeinblack]

Andrew Larson headcanons

General & SFW romantic

⤍ Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

General

💙 Andrew is quiet and reserved by nature, as well as friendly, honest and loyal.

💙 In many ways a typical Ravenclaw with a thirst for knowledge, he's a bookworm but also has an adventurous spirit and is also very creative.

💙 He enjoys travelling to sate his curiosity but isn't much of a duellist and has no desire to endanger himself or others. You're more likely to find him in a museum or art gallery than chasing down hidden relics.

💙 He finds 'forbidden' knowledge and darker forms of magic fascinating but as a pretty straight-laced guy he's terrified of being found out or people getting the wrong impression. His interest really is purely academic. Luckily, he had no problems gaining access to the forbidden section of the library at Hogwarts due to his stellar reputation.

💙 Picked as a prefect in sixth year and Head Boy in seventh. For the most part enforced the school rules, though he was known for being soft on those he liked.

💙 There weren't many classes he didn't like at Hogwarts but never saw the appeal of Divination like many of his other classmates. He says this was because it's such an inaccurate branch of magic but it's actually because he saw the Grim in a teacup and decided he didn't want to know anymore about his fate.

💙 After Hogwarts I can see him going into research or maybe becoming a healer; anything that requires constantly bettering himself and acquiring knew knowledge.

💙 He would need some form of creativity in his chosen career, whether creating art or applying it to problem solving.

💙 He wears reading glasses and is slightly self conscious about it.

💙 He's a cat person.

SFW romantic

💙 He'd be a wreck for days before working up the courage to tell you how he feels. An admission of his feelings would be a big deal, requiring a romantic and private location, a gift or thoughtful gesture to accompany it.

💙 Andrew is very much a gentleman when it comes to romance. He insists on traditionally courting, hand-holding and chaste kisses for your first few dates.

💙 When it comes to a romantic partner, he wants to know the real you. A pretty face isn't all he's interested in; he prioritises kindness, empathy and a curiosity to match his own.

💙 He isn't likely to be intimate with someone he doesn't know. He needs an emotional connection with the person before pursuing anything physical.

💙 His primary love languages are acts of service and quality time.

💙 He enjoys giving gifts more than receiving them, putting thoughtful touches into every birthday and special occasion, or giving you a bunch of your favourite flowers or a book he thinks you'd like for no other reason than to see you smile.

💙 He's a romantic and sees the beauty in the word.

💙 When dating Andrew, you can expect quiet days curled up with a pot of tea and a stack of books, art galleries and exhibitions, exploring hidden parts of whatever place you happen to be in.

💙 He can be a little insecure which can lead to jealousy but he won't show it. He's got a level head on his shoulders and good emotional maturity, so he'll sit you down and talk to you if something is bothering him.

💙 His partner is the most important person in his life and he's very loyal. He expects the same in return.

💙 As for future plans, he wants to spend his youth travelling and focusing on his career but will eventually want to settle down to build a stable home life.

💙 Andrew comes from a small family himself so one or two children seem like a manageable amount to him. He'd equally be happy with none, if that's what his partner wanted.

[paperback-rascal]

From the outside Calm and Rascal appear to know each-other very well - some even assume they are batchmates.

They are not.

For most of their lives they didn't know the other even existed just to meet each-other few weeks before they were transferred to the regiment.

Calm was a hematologist at Kamino cloning facility. His work there was extremely mentally taxing - he was forced not only to work very long, irregular shifts back to back but also had to falsify many results and rapports so the data would look presentable not only for Kaminoans but for current and future investors.

Since Calm has OCD tendencies, the hectic, extremely long schedules, working under pressure, cutting corners during testing and being forced to outward lie in the rapports made him have a breakdown at the mess hall where he met Rascal.

Surprisingly working at 347th with all risks and chaos involved with post-battle environment is less stressful for Calm than the "cushy" job with state of the art equipment at the Kaminoan cloning facility. If anyone ask Calm about it, it's mostly due to fact that at 347th there is a sizable hematologist team (mostly thanks to Mercy having a soft spot for them as his first master, Hypatia, was a hematologist alongside being a healer) but also that at 347th properly done testing is more valued as it's a matter of life or death.

Not to mention, Mercy understands the gist of the lab work flow thus allows 347th specialists to arrange their schedules to be the most effective in such harsh environment,resulting with them rarely having to rush things unless the situation is extremely dire.

As for Rascal, just before he was about to be deployed from Kamino, Kaminoans re-arranged whole training structure and chunk of clones were given non-combatant, almost administrative roles. Due to the restructuring he was "demoted" (in his mind) to an instructor position. On top of that he was also tasked with more of a "home-room teacher"-type of task: He was given a quite sizable group of adolescent cadets to supervise. He handled rapports from other instructors, tracked his charges' progress, resolved issues within the group and listen to complains more than praises about the cadets under him. All of that equaled to insane amount of paperwork - space!Excels, tables, lists - you name it, Rascal had to fill it at some point or the other.

Rascal came to loath his position which gave him a lot of anxiety. When he asked about the transfer or at least, change of responsibility he was threatened with decommissioning.

When he finally was transferred and joined 347th, 40 suggested he'd be perfect to take care of kids/orphans when stationed at war torn areas, Rascal almost broke down, begging the major to give him ANY job but that. Flabbergasted by such a visceral reaction, 40 promised it won't be his main job but in dire situation he won't hesitate to use Rascal's skillset and experience.

However Rascal's issues are not with kids/teens themselves - working with his younger brothers was the best part of his instructor job (also that's when he got his nickname - "Rascal") but the fact that he is afraid to be potentially forced back to all the paperwork and responsibility that comes with taking care of underage people that crushed his soul the first time around. Also he hates to admit it, but despite clones views on death for Republic/at the battlefield as anything but heroic, he is aware that some deaths are more heroic than others and hearing stories how troopers that just few weeks before were under his care succumbed to their injuries, made his chest tight and his task seem more grim and daunting.

At 347th, Rascal mainly does odd jobs that require to be taken care of at night, as he prefers to be a part of the "graveyard shift crew". He also prepares and gives (mandatory) lectures about variety of topics because well... he WAS an instructor at some point so he knows how to prepare and pass on information in a cohesive way.

TL;DR: Calm's and Rascal's issues weren't combat-related. Both of then suffer severe burn-out at their respective jobs at Kamino training/cloning facilities.

---

See more posts about 347th regiment here -> [LINK] <-

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[ystrike1]

Only Hope - By Choseung (7/10)

Time travel is a hard concept to work with. It sounds easy and simple to understand on paper, but it's boring and the incoming twist here isn't enough. The art is wonderful. I like the two main characters, but the plot is sub-par. Sadly, that's the most important component.

The first three chapters are incredible. Eunhye is the unhappy daughter of a wealthy man. She's an adult with her own life. Her father hates her for unknown reasons, and her stepmother is a stereotypical jealous hag.

Her father is dying, and he still wants nothing to do with her. Eunhye has never had a normal family, and now she never will. Her own father doesn't want her to come to his funeral. Her husband, Dojin, gets hit by the evil stepmother character when he tries to pay his respects.

Eunhye defends her husband. She's not a spineless little girl. She lived in an abusive household, and now that she's out she has healthy boundaries. It was incredibly refreshing to see. It is sad that Eunhye will never have a relationship with her father, but we get to see how she became a strong adult in her introductory scene.

Dojin is a doctor. He's successful. It's implied that she is too. Their marriage is perfect. They get along great, and Dojin is very attractive on top of being a doctor. The beginning of their romance was like the first chapter of a novel.

Dojin seems too perfect.

Eunhye goes to their cabin. Dojin is late. She finds a basement room full of criminal things, and a horrible video. It's a man, begging for his life, before someone off screen sets him on fire. She knew nothing. Dojin made the secret basement without her knowledge. Then, fire burns their romantic cabin to the ground. Then, a masked man slashes Eunhye open. Eunhye grabs his pant leg and demands to know who he is, before she dies.

She fights until she can't move anymore.

I was hyped. Absolutely loved Eunhye as the main character at this point.

Eunhye wakes up. It's the one year anniversary of her mother's death. It's also the day she met Dojin. He's sweet and kind, and he helps her. Their romantic meeting is the same as before, but she's afraid. Dojin is somehow involved with her death. The evidence in the basement points to that. Especially the video, which proves that Dojin is somehow connected to gang related crime.

I think Dojin is a great potential villain. It kind of doesn't matter if he killed his wife. What does matter is his true self. Is Dojin a criminal? A serial killer? Does he enjoy his grim work? Why did he marry someone outside of his world? Was Eunhye just a paycheck? Did he put a ring on it to get cash? Is she a target? How does his career as a doctor fit into his daily life?

Fascinating questions. So many of them too. I expected Eunhye to start fake dating Dojin, who was clearly interested in her.

She doesn't.

Eunhye stalks Dojin, even though she knows he's dangerous. He catches her, which is a given because SHE already knows he's not a normal guy! Not normal guys notice when they're being tailed! Ugh. It gets worse. Within the first ten chapters Eunhye tells him, to his face, that she had a prophetic dream about him. One where he dies, and she wants to protect him, even though they are complete strangers in this timeline.

Eunhye KNOWS that telling him she knows the future is stupid. The idea is presented as a joke at first....but then she does it...and Dojin goes along with it. This plot direction kills alot of the tension.

Most of the plot becomes:

"I know what will happen today and I have to stop it."

Not:

"Did my husband kill me or cause my death with his shady business?"

Dojin has a sad past. His house was set on fire and his mother was killed maybe? He ended up in the hospital as a kid. He's a jaded and violent guy, but he's also a doctor with a good personality. We still don't know what parts of him are real.

Eunhye comforted him when he lost everything. This points towards the yandere route. Dojin can't remember her well, because he was traumatized, but it was definitely her. The timeline is confusing and not in a fun way. Dojin doesn't recognize Eunhye yet. We only get hints, but how did any of this kill Eunhye? It's interesting, but the fake dating route would have been a million times better. It's cute that Eunhye wants to trust her loving husband, but the plot is alot less thrilling...because most of the scenes are just Eunhye waiting for something interesting to happen.

[bcbdrums]

Event Horizon

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Monthly OTP prompt fills from this list for Spirit and Stein, because I cannot stop writing about them. I’m happy to hear recommendations each month for which prompt to write next. February’s chosen prompt is: 2. Fear Gas I had ideas for most of February's prompts in my head, but, this one grabbed my attention the most after chatting with some people and mulling over ideas. I took some extreme liberties on how it's interpreted, but gotta follow the muse. And, this fic is late because the muse has been drained. Too much has happened in the last month for me. But! Writing this story is seeming to revive me, so, we shall see what the future holds. Sometimes...the OTP goes through some...tough times... Spirit is 18 years old. Stein is 15. Maka is not yet one. Manga or anime canon, leaning heavily into my headcanons regardless. Also, this lovely art is referenced. And lastly, this is a gift for @cannibal-nightmares, whose art, kindness, and cleverness inspire me...constantly. Do check out their art! Uh...sorry for this one? I guess. Enjoy.

Event Horizon

Spirit stopped short as the book atop the stack in his arms began to slide away. He lifted his shoulder to adjust the balance of the stack, using gravity to shift the heavy volume back into position.

"Hurry up, Death Scythe."

"Y-Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir," Spirit said as he hefted the stack higher and hurried after Lord Death. He realized he probably could have checked out fewer books—especially with his propensity to speed through them—but every topic had him practically salivating with curiosity. From the history of demon weapon kind to the very first death scythe, Spirit's mind was alight with thoughts of battle and honing his skills.

They left the library and turned the first corner, Spirit still trailing a few paces behind as he bore the burden of too many books. But as academy students passed in the other direction Spirit held his head higher. He still felt a swelling of pride each time people paused to stare or whisper about him, the newest personal weapon of the Grim Reaper.

To that end, a couple of younger girls caught his attention by their giggling, and he wished he had a hand free to wave or make some other gesture of acknowledgement besides his million-dollar smile. But it wasn't needed as the two took a few hesitant steps in his direction, hands shyly lifted to wave.

"Hi Mr. Death Scythe!" one said too-loudly, and Spirit felt a flush of pride rise under his collar.

It would be too much to toss his hair, not to mention the risk in dropping the books, which would negate any air of prestige he was trying to effect. He merely met their eyes in response, held their gaze as he maintained his smile while he passed, and another thrill rose from somewhere in the pit of his belly as he listened to their giggles all the way around the corner.

"Spirit Albarn."

Spirit startled at Lord Death's address; he'd only called him by his title ever since becoming his weapon.

The reaper had stopped and turned slightly, and Spirit hurried to catch up. Lord Death didn't move again until Spirit had reached his side and then matched his pace as they continued down the hall. He felt rather than saw Lord Death's slight turn, the white mask looking down at him in a way that dampened Spirit's former rush of pride.

"You're a married man."

The last of the pride shriveled up until his throat felt tight, and his cheeks were flushing in embarrassment now. The reaper's discreet reprimand had been unexpected and brought every thought in Spirit's mind to a halt as he mechanically followed his newest meister through the twists and turns of the academy's halls.

He hadn't been thinking of his wife...which, was apparently the problem. He hadn't really been flirting with those girls...students...had he?

Spirit frowned as a gloom started to sink over him while he trailed after the reaper, through another set of heavy doors and down some stairs. Those girls were students. He was their superior. And he'd been thinking of them like classmates.

He was Death Scythe. He needed to get the real meaning of that into his oblivious skull, and not be worried about the attention he might get from girls.

That had been the start of his problems in the first place.

"Death Scythe, are you listening?"

"Wha? Oh... Sorry, Sir."

Spirit blinked into sudden awareness as he realized they had left the brightly painted academy halls and descended into a place more broad, dark, and foreboding. Lord Death had stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Spirit continued his descent more slowly as he took better stock of his surroundings.

A chill in the air told him they had gone underground, and the architecture was similar to that above but looked as if it had been constructed in a past age. There was also stonework among the wood, and an eerie painting of an inverted trio of eyes on the floor at Lord Death's feet. The gloom he had been feeling turned to a sickness as he arrived at the landing and looked up to the black holes in the white mask that were studying him.

"Oh well. I suppose you can read about it in all of those books and then ask me questions later," the Grim Reaper stated, and shifted his gaze toward a door ahead of them.

Spirit looked at the door where the inverted eyes were painted again, just visible on the dark wood framed by a square of red stone. Two gray statues stood on each side the door, oddly shapen and with their arms raised as if holding up the ceiling. They each had one large eye, oriented properly this time, taking up the whole of their misshapen heads.

As Spirit stared at the strange artwork, he felt a sudden pressing of darkness against his soul. The sick feeling rose from his stomach up to his mind and swirled into fear that froze him in place as solidly as if he had fallen helpless in his weapon form. Blackness filled his vision, and with it came a sudden onslaught of thoughts, all crashing over his mind at once and twisting and overlapping and confusing him such that he was barely aware of his feet on the ground.

Who was this old deity telling him what to do anyway? He had never seen the masked figure so much as leave Death City let alone fight, so why should he feel guilt for whatever he might do that displeases him?

And why shouldn't he flirt with those girls, or anyone he wanted to? He was Death Scythe after all and could do anything he wanted. It wasn't like his wife ever stayed home at nights when he finally clocked out anyway.

They were supposed to be a happy family but she never acted like it. He should teach her a lesson for her taking off at every opportunity when they had a daughter to raise. Leaving him all alone to deal with bottle feeding and diapers and the crying and what had he wanted that baby for anyway?

Spirit gasped.

Shuddering breaths racked his frame as his eyes pierced the darkness swirling through his mind, fixing on the door in front of him as he tried to will away the sickness that had his legs shaking.

Was he standing still? Or was he moving? He couldn't tell for the way the room seemed to rise and fall on waves and his body with it. He was certain he would fall at any moment and that if he did he would never be able to get up again.

"Spirit."

A great hand, heavy on his shoulder, was turning him around carefully to face the stairs again. Spirit blinked repeatedly as the spinning of the room slowly began to subside. The darkness started to move away, touching only the corners of his eyes.

He sucked in air and fell to his hands and knees, and the impact of an elbow on stone stairs jarred him further into the present and out of the evil place his mind had been fast going.

"Spirit," Lord Death repeated gently, and the young weapon let the familiarity of the voice be an anchor, hearing it again and again in his mind until the darkness had faded from his vision and before his eyes was only dust-covered stone.

"M-Maka..."

He shivered as tears fell from his eyes and mingled with the dust.

He didn't mean it. He would never mean anything like that. Maka was the most important person in his life. He didn't want to breathe if her perfect face wasn't the first thing he saw each morning and the last thing he saw each night. He would do anything and everything for his daughter.

So where had that horrid thought come from?

He shivered again, more from the anxiety than the chill around him, and slowly started to right himself. Never-mind the books scattered on the floor behind him. He needed to get home to his daughter.

"Spirit?"

"Maka..." he repeated, his breaths quick.

He felt the hand squeeze his shoulder and he looked up. Worry exuded from the Grim Reaper, and it was a further anchor to reality bringing Spirit back from... From...?

"What...what was that?" he asked, his voice sounding small to his ears. As if Lord Death could somehow know what had happened that caused his mind to flood with more disturbing thoughts and feelings than he had ever experienced in his life.

"That...was the kishin's madness," Lord Death said gravely.

Spirit's eyes widened and he whirled around to face the door again. The trio of inverted eyes, a mere painting, seemed to stare through him, and he felt a fresh wave of fear penetrate him like daggers.

"Asura?"

Lord Death bent down to gather the dropped books.

"Yes. Through those doors is the path to where the kishin is imprisoned."

Spirit shuddered again as the sensations lingered in his mind and left his wavelength feeling ill and out of balance. Lord Death offered him the stack of books, and Spirit swallowed nervously as he took them, and then turned to follow the reaper back up the stairs.

"After you read about it in detail, we'll talk," Lord Death said.

Spirit looked down, and it took several attempts before his eyes would focus on the title of the book at the top of the stack. Kishin it read simply, with no author listed like a great many of the books on the fourth level of the library, and Spirit wondered if Lord Death himself had penned it.

"Ah... Lord Death, Sir?" Spirit ventured cautiously as they reached the landing.

"Yes?"

"Can...can I go home?"

Lord Death paused, but Spirit slowly released the breath he'd been holding as he felt the understanding and almost-warmth coming off of his new meister.

"Yes."

Spirit felt unsteady on his feet again despite the relief in his soul as he strode forward with single-minded purpose, hefting the books higher in his arms. He knew any fear was irrational, but he couldn't rest until he saw for himself that Maka was okay.

"See you tomorrow, Death Scythe," Lord Death called after him, and Spirit paused to turn and nod acknowledgement even as he sighed silently. He would make sure Maka was fine, but...he still had his new job to do.

---------------

Spirit opened his eyes to a blinding light that obscured his surroundings. When he tried to lift his hand to block it out, it wouldn't move, and testing each limb one at a time revealed the same immobility for each. His head felt as heavy as lead when he peered down to try to find the source of whatever was restricting him, but he was only able to move just enough to see a gray strap tight on his wrist, restraining him where he lie.

"Awake, I see," a familiar voice intoned flatly, and a shock of fear ran across Spirit's nervous system like electricity.

"S...Stein?" he said weakly, his mouth sluggish in response to his brain's command to speak. "What's...happening?"

"It's time for your punishment," the voice said from a distance. Spirit tried to look around for its source, but he was still being blinded by the overhead light.

"Punishment? Stein, what... What are you talking about? Where are we?"

Spirit pulled against the strap at one wrist, but it had no give whatsoever. He lifted his head to look around again and discovered he was without his shirt, wherever he was, and a large gray strap was around his waist as well as his ankles and wrists.

"For entertaining madness. It's the ultimate crime."

"What? But I... I didn't—"

"Evil desires entered your mind. And you...a death weapon. There's no coming back from that."

Stein's voice was growing nearer, but Spirit still couldn't see the teen. Cold fear swept him at the harsh edge of judgment in his former meister's voice, and he pulled at his wrists and ankles again but found the effort as futile as before.

"It wasn't my fault! I would never...I wouldn't act on those things!"

"But you've already flirted with other women," Stein reminded him.

Spirit choked, his next protest dying on his lips. It was true... And that had been before the encounter with the madness below the academy.

"But I... I didn't mean..."

"What you intended doesn't matter. Idle thoughts and mindless errors are as criminal as deliberate intent."

Spirit shook his head violently as finally, the familiar form of Stein appeared above him, blocking out some of the light.

"But that's not true! You don't believe that anymore than...than Lord Death does!"

Spirit ceased his useless thrashing when Stein didn't respond, and he blinked the dark silhouette above him into focus. The young eyes, so familiar to him, were now distant—sad and cold as he gazed down at the weapon with his mouth fixed into a frown.

"What matters is that you believe it," Stein said.

Something prickled at the back of Spirit's mind as he turned over the strange words. He had never believed any such thing. Stein had to know that. And why was he looking at him that way?

"So, it's time to cut out your soul."

A hoarse cry left Spirit's throat as Stein slowly lifted a massive cleaver, its sharp edge gleaming in the bright light.

"What!? No, what are you thinking!? Stein, stop!"

"Goodbye, Senpai."

The blade came down.

---------------

"Stein!"

Spirit sat up so fast his vision swam, the nightmare still vivid in his mind as the brightness of the laboratory contrasted the dark of his bedroom. He blinked repeatedly until the texture of the blanket came into focus in front of him, the way it sagged between his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Finally, he groaned and fell back against sweat-stained sheets, letting the blanket fall away. He could hear the rapid pounding of his heart in the silence of his bedroom as he let the cool night air tend to the moisture on his chest, slowly wicking it away and soothing the tension that had coiled in his body.

After a moment he let his arm stretch out and feel in the empty space at his side, the sheets dry and crisp for their lack of any recent occupancy.

Spirit sighed through his nose and shifted to squint at his alarm clock. Nearly two-thirty in the morning and his wife wasn't home.

She'd not been home that afternoon either when he'd arrived back early from work. Finding his home empty had only increased his residual horror from the experience underground, and he was grateful that his first call to the academy had located his daughter, safe in their daycare. What had surprised Spirit was to learn that she had been there all day, and was there most days.

This had been the catalyst for the argument when his wife had arrived home that evening, already spitting fire due to Spirit's discovery of her ongoing deception. It wasn't fair, she had seethed, that she stayed at home all day every day with dirty diapers as her only company, unable to live her life, while he lived out his dream.

Spirit only grew more bewildered at these claims, as his dream was two honey-haired girls in the cheap apartment they shared together.

Perhaps due to the terrifying experience he'd had that afternoon he wasn't as discerning or eloquent in his choice of words as he could have been. Fear was speaking for him when he ordered his wife to stay at home where she belonged, caring for their daughter and not leaving her in the hands of academy students while she went gallivanting off to Death knows where.

Her response had been another departure. But at least this time...Spirit had Maka.

He slowly turned his silver wedding ring around his finger as he rolled over in the bed to face the crib. He could see Maka's sleeping form within, still snuggled beneath her blanket and with her stuffed puppy tucked in next to her.

He wanted to get up, gather her in his arms and hold her until every memory of madness left him. But it wouldn't be right to disturb her precious sleep. So instead he simply watched her. How her tiny, delicate eyelashes rested upon her face. How her impossibly soft hair fell over her forehead and atop her ears. How even at less than a year of age, she was starting to look like his wife.

He turned the ring one last time before moving his hand up under his pillow to be more comfortable. The day had taken a greater toll on him than he realized, for the way his eyes kept dropping closed. His breathing had calmed, and the fear of the nightmare had faded. But the images returned as he let himself attempt to return to sleep, and his brow pinched together as he tried to analyze them.

The bright light, the restraints, and even the cleaver were no doubt due to the horrors his wife had verbally painted for him so many months ago with the discovery of an unremembered scar as they lie in bed. But the look in Stein's eyes... That sadness wasn't anything Spirit ever remembered seeing from the meister in their five years as partners.

And, why had he dreamed of Stein at all?

Spirit's eyes opened as he tried to recall the last time he'd spoken with Stein, and he could feel an ache with the further creasing of his brow when he couldn't place a date.

He slowly sat back up as realization struck... When had he last seen Stein?

Between the busy hours of learning the ropes as Lord Death's personal weapon, the sleepless nights when Maka wouldn't keep a schedule, and the growing number of unresolved arguments with his wife... He simply hadn't had time.

In fact, the last time he could remember seeing Stein, the meister had come there to his apartment, and he'd fallen asleep with Maka on his chest after a round of complaints about his life. He couldn't remember what, if anything, the two of them had talked about. And Stein had been gone when he'd woken up.

Spirit rose from the bed and glanced in the crib once more before moving to his closet. Despite his wife's protests, next to his blazer hung a long white coat that had been cut apart and reassembled with stitches to match an aesthetic that Stein had started adopting heavily in their last year as partners.

That day when Spirit had woken with the sunset in his eyes and Stein gone, the coat remained, draped over he and Maka to keep them warm while they slept.

Spirit pulled the coat from the hanger that had been its home for months, remembering the repeated insistence to his wife that he was just keeping it for Stein and would give it back the next time he saw him.

That had been months ago.

Whether it was residual madness or something else, a sudden urgency had Spirit pulling his clothes from the day back over his limbs, moving quickly but quietly lest Maka wake.

He had been Stein's weapon partner for five years. Even after his sins caught up to him and his life started to shift drastically off the course the two of them had planned, they had still been inseparable.

How could he go months without speaking to him and not realize it?

Once his shoes were tied, he folded the white coat carefully and then stepped up to the large standing mirror on his wife's side of the bed, and with his finger, drew the familiar number into the glass.

"Death Scythe," was Lord Death's unsurprised greeting, but absent his usual flurry of cheerful pleasantries. "Any residual effects of the kishin's madness?"

Spirit blinked in surprise at the reaper's cutting right to the chase, but he supposed he shouldn't have. He knew that he had only been touched by the mere edge of that wavelength, but the impact it had had was profound. He was certain it was the ultimate cause of his nightmare too, even if the subject had been a surprise.

"Ah...about that. I was wondering if...you could send someone to watch Maka for me? For just...just an hour, maybe less. I need to do something."

"Shouldn't your wife watch her?"

Spirit looked down at the coat in his hands, tightened his fists into the fabric.

"I...don't know where she is right now."

Spirit was still looking down when he felt a sudden wave of power and then his bedroom was filled with the imposing presence of the Grim Reaper.

"L-Lord Death! Sir!" he stammered as he moved back until his legs hit the bed, and he fell back to sit on the pile of tangled blankets.

"I'll watch her for you," Lord Death said, and Spirit's eyes widened as the imposing form of the reaper glided over to the crib and reached a huge hand down inside. Spirit's breath caught as one massive fingertip that dwarfed Maka's tiny body tickled lightly at her shoulder. "Oochie-coochie coo!"

"Uhh..."

Lord Death turned back to peer at him through the dark of the room. "It's the least I can do, after exposing you to that. Although, you would have been more prepared had you been listening."

Spirit blushed, and then quickly rose to his feet and tried to throw the bed into a semblance of order. He was glad there was no dirty laundry lying around and that he had taken out the trash bag of dirty diapers earlier that evening.

"Madness is nothing to take lightly," Lord Death continued. Spirit finished arranging the blankets and looked up to see Lord Death nod at the folded white coat. "Just consider your former partner."

Spirit swallowed slowly as he picked up the coat again. He thought of the fear he'd felt, the invasion of thoughts not his own and yet that had seemed to come from someplace within his soul.

Was that what Stein struggled with every day?

He considered the times he had touched the madness in Stein's wavelength when they resonated, the fear and violent desires that while objectively worse than what he had experienced, hadn't remotely carried the terror or dark lust that the wavelength underground had momentarily instilled in him.

Stein had been shielding him all along, he realized, even when he couldn't hold it back entirely. He hadn't wanted Spirit to know the depths of what he battled against. Who would, after all?

And...this was what Stein went through all the time?

Spirit's heart had begun racing again. He clutched the white coat tight to his chest as he began backing toward the door.

"Thank you, Sir, for watching Maka. I, ah... I shouldn't be gone long. The apartment is close. And..."

"Spirit."

Spirit stopped mid-step and looked up at the impassive mask of the Grim Reaper.

"He isn't at your old apartment anymore."

"...What?"

---------------

Spirit's pace had been hurried the entire journey to the city's outskirts, but he slowed when he approached the old, abandoned warehouse that he had passed so many times before without taking any notice. It was the same as always from the outside, but knowing his former meister was within made it feel different somehow; no longer part of the scenery, but something living. And yet for some reason, Spirit felt a heavy foreboding as he approached.

Stein had asked for and been given the building as a home months ago, according to Lord Death, and had hardly been heard from since except to request and take missions. He only showed his face in classes to take tests, which he passed, and would then vanish again.

When Spirit asked why Lord Death had accommodated these eccentricities, the Grim Reaper had been silent. He also hadn't answered any of Spirit's questions about the missions Stein took, except to say that he had recently taken their friend Marie Mjolnir as his new weapon.

Spirit had bristled at the designation, even though he knew he shouldn't. He had left Stein, after all. How could the meister be expected to continue his studies without a weapon partner? And yet for some reason, Spirit had never conceived of Stein working with anyone but him.

This and other thoughts had his head swimming as he propelled his feet down the sidewalk toward the warehouse, his heart rate seeming to increase with each step. He clutched the folded coat tightly to his chest and tried to will away the strange dread that had arrested his mind ever since the realization he'd not seen Stein in months.

He tried to tell himself it was just a product of the residual madness, or something brought on by the bizarre nightmare. It would all go away once he saw Stein again. He would knock on the door, and Stein would answer because the younger teen kept atypical hours. Spirit would apologize for not having seen him in so long and plan a day, maybe two, for them to catch up very soon. Then everything could go back to the strange, evolving normal his life had become ever since the day he'd learned of the pregnancy.

He held his breath when he knocked on the large double doors and then fidgeted with the fabric of the folded coat as he waited. Stein would be glad to see him, surely? But, Spirit suddenly wondered... Why hadn't he come around in months?

Spirit knocked a second time, louder. Perhaps Stein really was asleep, if he was even there.

Spirit counted the seconds until another two minutes had passed, and then with a shaky breath fit his hand to the doorknob. It turned without resistance, and he paused. Perhaps he could just quietly leave the coat and a note for Stein to stop by or perhaps call him when he could.

He pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the way it creaked on its hinges, and stepped into a broad, dark hallway. The walls on either side of him were gray and nondescript, just like the building's exterior, and all was silent as he cautiously started forward.

His brow rose when he heard what sounded like a voice muttering somewhere ahead of him, beyond another set of doors. He strained to listen and soon felt the tension drain from his body when he recognized the voice. Stein was awake after all, probably busy with some experiment, and simply hadn't heard his knock.

A smile was on Spirit's face when he pulled open the next door and passed into a large room lit dimly from a single standing lamp and the light of a computer monitor. Then, he saw Stein. And his expression dropped into horror.

Stein was seated on a rolling chair pushed back from the computer desk, and the whole of his shirt that Spirit could see was stained with layered drippings of what could only be blood. On the desk on either side of the computer were two large mirrors, propped against stacks of books and angled to the forty-five, and atop the monitor was a cracked mirror that appeared to have been bolted to the monitor's plastic frame.

All around Stein on the desk and floor were scattered papers and open books, and the computer screen was displaying some lines of text too small for Spirit to read. But his attention was fixed on the blood, his gaze rising up past where it clung to Stein's neck and soaked his silver hair. Both of Stein's hands were raised and fidgeting with something just as bloody at the sides of his head, fingers slick with the bright red substance, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained as well.

Spirit's eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, unable to process the sight before him. And that's when he saw the screw.

"S...Stein!?" Spirit gasped in disbelief, his voice shrill. He looked past what Stein was fidgeting with to his countenance reflected darkly in the mirrors. His pupils were mere pinpricks in his wide eyes, and his skin was paler than usual under the streams of blood that ran down his face, even over his lips and staining his teeth where he was smiling broadly between incoherent mutters and soft, manic laughter.

"Stein!" Spirit repeated, taking an instinctive step forward. The folded coat fell from shaking hands as he looked around, searching for some enemy or any explanation for the horror that sat before him other than his ex-partner's own nimble hands.

The second cry seemed to get the teen's attention, and his laughter halted abruptly as he looked in one angled mirror first, seeming to stare in confusion at something in the corner of the room before shifting his eyes to the mirror atop the monitor until his gaze rested upon Spirit.

"Spirit."

Spirit glanced at the corner that Stein had focused on and found it bare, and then took another hesitant step forward. The blood dripping from Stein's stilled hands had his heart racing in a panic, but not more than the long object with which Stein appeared to have just impaled his skull.

"Stein, what... What... What's going on? What are you doing!?"

Stein slowly spun around in the chair and stared blankly at Spirit until his brow knitted very slightly.

"Hm. There's not usually two of you. Are you going to play the angel on my other shoulder?"

"I... I don't... Stein," Spirit stammered breathlessly. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, harder than it even had when he and his wife had battled the witch.

The faint look of scorn slowly left Stein's face to be replaced by the glassy-eyed expression and toothy smile he'd worn when Spirit first entered. His bloody hands had fallen to his lap when he turned, but he slowly raised one again to left side of his head where the larger end of the object protruded from Stein's head just above his ear.

Spirit's initial, instinctive assessment of the object as a screw seemed to be confirmed as Stein set his fingers around the flat, round end of it, gripped firmly, and twisted it backwards. A ratcheting sound came from the object and Spirit flinched away at the same time he took another step forward, the desire to stop Stein, to help him, and to just understand what was happening at war with the horror that had him nearly paralyzed.

"Stop!" he cried. "What...what is that? What did you do!?"

Stein adjusted his grip and turned the object again rapidly. His face contorted in pain as the ratcheting sound echoed through the large room, and the young meister began to laugh. The sound started low in his chest and then rose higher than the usual timbre of his voice as he doubled over and turned the screw a third time.

Spirit didn't know when he'd started crying, but tears streamed down his face as he forced himself forward on legs that felt as stable as jelly. He fell to his knees in front of Stein and reached up, set trembling hands on his shoulders and gripped the blood-soaked shirt.

"Stein."

The action arrested Stein's attention, his laughter ending as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped. He looked down at Spirit as if seeing him for the first time, hand frozen on the screw. Then he looked over to the corner that had stolen his focus before. Spirit glanced over his shoulder; the corner was still bare.

"I don't know if it's working."

It was the closest to sane Stein had sounded since Spirit had entered, but the meister's eyes were still glazed and didn't seem to see him. Spirit watched his face as he continued staring at the corner, could almost see the calculations working behind his eyes.

"This... Stein... Can you fix this?" Spirit said desperately, finally daring to look at the screw that Stein still held onto almost protectively. He leaned left to peer at where the smaller end of the object was protruding above Stein's other ear. He couldn't tell if it was truly impaled through his friend's head, or if some other mechanism was at work; it was impossible to tell through the matted, bloody hair that fell over the dark metal.

Stein blinked, and Spirit's breath caught as the meister's gaze suddenly narrowed on him.

"Don't you see? I am. Fixing this," he hissed cruelly.

Spirit shook his head. "Stein."

"If this doesn't work..."

Spirit listened to the frightened words, low and hoarse as Stein adjusted his grip, turned his hand, and the ratcheting sound echoed through the room again.

"Why would you do this?" Spirit pleaded, still not believing what he was seeing. If it wasn't for his fingers digging tight into Stein's shoulders he would think it was another delusion of madness.

Suddenly, Stein's eyes truly focused on his for the first time, and his face fell into a terrifying frown. It was just enough warning, and Spirit was able to lean back fractionally as Stein's free arm swept up harshly into both of his, knocking him away and barely missing hitting his face.

Spirit fell back onto his rear, caught himself harshly on his already-sore elbow, and gazed up at Stein in disbelief. The action seemed to startle the meister as well, his anger fading as rapidly as it had come. He stared at Spirit with something of confusion, and then looked up at the corner again. A sound of surprise fell from his lips, and Spirit watched as his eyes darted around the room rapidly as if searching for something, until finally settling on Spirit with another frown.

Spirit was frozen by the bitter look of betrayal that suddenly filled his friends eyes, and all he could do was watch as Stein started to shift his hand upward again. But then, apparently catching sight of the blood on his hand, the meister refocused his attention and a placid smile replaced everything else that had been twisting his features into something beyond recognition.

Spirit's tears fell freely as he stared at his friend and the massive object protruding from his head, blood still dripping down the sides of his neck. His thoughts were finally catching up to his horror, and he knew he should probably call someone for help, get Stein medical attention before he lost too much blood, and see if anything could be done about the metal rod that was apparently set straight through his brain. It shouldn't even be possible, Spirit thought, as he felt he would choke for how his heart pounded in his throat. That he had found Stein alive after his self-mutilation was nothing short of miraculous.

"Stein," he began carefully, his voice broken apart for his fear. "You... We need to..."

Stein stared at him with an unsettling calm, and Spirit's mind recalled every time he had had seen that expression before—all the times he'd had to hold Stein back, either physically or mentally, from some terrible desire borne of madness.

Spirit bit down on his words as he felt bile begin to rise in his throat. He shifted to sit upright, but his muscles felt useless under the weight of guilt that was suddenly bearing down on him as heavily as had the darkness underground.

Who had Stein had, to help him fight his madness...in all those months Spirit had forgotten him?

"Stein..." he tried again. He reached up to his eyes, closed them as he wiped away tears that kept flowing. Stein lifted an eyebrow, and Spirit realized his face was likely now streaked with Stein's blood from his fingertips. "Please, I... I should have... I don't... Stein, why?"

He blinked in attempt to clear his vision, gazed pleadingly up at the meister who sat so calmly, as if half his body wasn't stained in red and the air around them didn't taste of iron.

"Senpai," Stein said, his voice finally something familiar. Spirit watched his friend's hand slowly fall, rest limply upon his knee. But the calm ended once more as a wild, toothy smile bisected the meister's face, and something like the distant sadness from the nightmare filled his eyes. "You know better than anyone that I have a screw loose."

Spirit choked on a sob, shook his head as Stein began to laugh. It started low as it had before, but rapidly rose into uncontrolled shrieks that tore from his throat and racked Stein's body in the chair, rolling it back and forth through the drippings of blood on the cement beneath.

Spirit wept.

It was his fault. If only he hadn't forgotten Stein... No, if he hadn't left him to begin with. Then he wouldn't be seated at his friend's feet, watching him possibly bleed to death and collapse fully into the madness he'd fought so hard for years to protect him from.

He let his tears fall freely as memories raced across his mind, questions and possibilities and denials he had replayed countless times before, and conclusions drawn from the voice he had chosen to believe. It was too much happening too fast, all over again. And as over a year's worth of confusion and fear joined with the present and tangled into an unsalvageable mess in his mind, two words slowly formed and found their way to Spirit's tongue.

"I'm sorry."

It was time to rise out of his denial. He needed to ask Stein... To hear everything from his lips, find out what was true and what wasn't... Learn his side of the story. And no matter what, Spirit realized he didn't care; that in his soul the decision had already been made, and all that was left was to come back. To offer to fix what he had broken. It was all his fault, and couldn't they just erase the past, and please...wouldn't Stein forgive him?

"Stein, I... I..."

The shifting of plastic wheels on the floor stopped, and the laughter faded to hiccuped chuckling. Spirit wiped his tears again with the sides of his thumbs, brushed his hair from his face, and looked up.

Stein appeared frozen above him, grin still manic and eyes not quite seeing him even as he stared straight at him.

Stein's shoes pushed on the floor and the chair slowly rolled back and hit the edge of the desk. His gaze remained on Spirit, unblinking. A bloody hand reached back, felt blindly on the desk and knocked a few previously unseen surgical instruments to the floor. And then Stein's hand returned, rose up between them, his fingers delicately holding a scalpel.

"It's about time I gave you some new parts as well."

Spirit's breath hitched. Stein's shoes pushed down, and the chair started rolling forward.

Spirit let out an involuntary cry as instinct had him roll backward and away, far out of Stein's reach, and then he was on his feet and backing toward the door.

"No! Stein, no, listen to me!"

"Hm, but Senpai... Don't you think you could do with a new liver? I have one in my freezer," Stein said, jerking his head toward another door that Spirit hadn't noticed.

The simple movement of his head seemed to cause him pain, and Spirit watched as Stein winced, his fingers tightening on the scalpel even as both his hands quickly raised to grip the ends of the screw.

"Stein, I... Don't... Stay here. I'm going to get help. I'll get..." he stammered as he continued backing toward the door.

Stein's face settled back into the mad grin, the hand holding the scalpel lowering as the other turned the screw.

Spirit flinched at the sound it made, at the tiny laughs that seemed to slip involuntarily from his friend's lips. He shook his head in terrified disbelief as he felt behind him blindly until he found the doorknob.

"I'll get help. Stay here! I... I'm so sorry, Stein."

Spirit turned, away from the horror and the sight and scent of blood, and the echoing crank of metal mixed with laughter as he fled the warehouse and ran as fast as he could ever remember moving. Maybe...maybe if only he could reach some help...there was still time.

--------------

In the warehouse, Stein blinked at the metal door until it drifted shut, closing into position with a soft click. Then, all was quiet.

He blinked, slowly turning and glancing all around the room, into every corner and next to every haphazard stack of books, seeking any movement or sign of life.

"Spirit?"

Stein waited. But silence was the only reply he received.

He slowly turned back toward the computer, the feeling of moving his feet foreign as if he hadn't walked in an age. He was going to attempt to analyze that sensation, and why his body suddenly felt as though it wasn't his, when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirrors.

He took a few steps forward, not quite believing he was looking at himself. He noted the blood, both the dried and the wet still seeping from his flesh. And then he studied the screw, tilting his head slowly to each side and evaluating its appearance and placement.

Then he glanced around the room again.

"Huh. I guess it works."

Stein reached up to the screw, turned it once. Hissed at the excruciating pain it caused. And then he laughed.

---------------

Spirit was breathless and his limbs ached as he sprinted down the sidewalk to his first-floor apartment. He was so panicked and intent on his goal that he didn't notice his wife approaching the door at the same time until he nearly crashed into her.

"Spirit?" she said in surprise. He stopped, doubled over to his knees for a moment, and then stood again as his entire frame shook from exertion. His wife had looked confused and deeply annoyed at first, but she must have noted the blood on his face, he realized, as her expression dropped to fear. "What's going on? Where's Maka? Where have you been?"

Spirit ignored her questions as he wrenched the doorknob open and darted through the familiar halls to his bedroom.

"Lord Death!" he gasped upon entering, and the Grim Reaper turned from his faithful vigil next to Maka's sleeping form and tilted his great, curious masked expression down to the weapon and took in his appearance.

"Oh, my. What's happened?"

Spirit sucked in air and looked over his shoulder as his wife followed him into the room. She looked properly shocked by the presence of the Grim Reaper in her home and quickly schooled her appearance into something of respect as she dropped her purse on the dresser, glanced at Maka in the crib, and then turned her wide eyes to Spirit and waited.

Spirit took a few more breaths, looked back to Lord Death, and wiped his eyes again. He forced his tears into compliance before launching into a hurried explanation of what he'd found at the warehouse—of the screw, of Stein's mad behavior, and of the supposed threat at the last when he'd made to leave. He stole glances at his wife throughout, noted her astonishment, suspicion, and ultimately, anger.

"Oh, my," Lord Death repeated when Spirit had finished, his words slow and grave. "You stay here and look after yourself. I'll see to Stein."

"Yes... Yes, Sir," Spirit breathed, his lungs still aching in pain for the sprint back through town.

With that, the reaper vanished, using his mirror as a portal in the same way he had entered, and left Spirit alone with Maka and his wife.

With the promise of the best help for his meister possible, Spirit collapsed. He sank heavily to the floor between the bed and crib and let his head fall back against the edge of the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his breathing and bring his body back to some semblance of normalcy. But unbeckoned, the horrors from the warehouse flooded his vision behind his eyelids, and he blinked repeatedly to banish the experience worse than any nightmare he had ever had.

He lifted a shaking hand and tried to wipe the salt from his cheeks, feeling the flaky, dried residue of the blood that he knew he would need to wash before Maka woke up. And then he suddenly realized how overheated and sticky with sweat he was from the run, and achingly peeled himself out of his jacket.

"You...went to see Stein?" his wife's voice broke through his thoughts.

He rolled his head sideways on the edge of the mattress until her scowling face filled his vision.

"After everything he did to you!? I thought you were smarter than this!"

Spirit's brow furrowed. "I don't think—"

"You told Lord Death yourself, he threatened to cut you up again tonight! And he's gone totally mad! How could you do this to me? To Maka?"

Spirit shifted, started to push himself to his knees. "Angel, I—"

"Don't 'angel' me anything! What if he'd killed you? Your stupidity would have left me a widow and Maka fatherless!"

Spirit stared dumbly up into his wife's furious face. He wanted to argue that she'd hardly been a mother or wife, with her lying almost every day about where she was and leaving Maka in daycare, and then heading off again at nights when Spirit got home. But he was too exhausted, too overwhelmed by the horrors he'd experienced, and too worried about Stein to even begin to put any of those thoughts into useful words.

"He's my meister," was what finally escaped Spirit's lips, though he knew the argument was already lost. Even when he held the higher position, somehow with his wife, he always wrong.

Her eyes widened. "What?" she seethed.

Spirit realized his error as her face reddened further in anger, even though technically she couldn't claim to be his meister anymore either. Lord Death was the only one who would wield him now.

He was expecting an explosion, like usual. Words of censure and revulsion, to remind him that he was a dreadful husband and only Death's weapon because of her, and what thanks did she ever get for it?

But none of that came, as her feet padded softly between he and the crib, and then Spirit stumbled to his feet as he heard Maka's soft whimpers of distress as she was lifted out of her bed and into her mother's arms.

"What are you doing?" he said anxiously, a panic that was becoming too familiar racing across his nervous system.

"I'm going to Azusa's. Have your head on straight by tomorrow night, Death Scythe," she fairly spat, tucking Maka against her chest as she turned on her heel to leave.

"But... Kami!" he cried, stepping after her. But the door had already slammed shut.

He stumbled back against the bed, fell seated to the mattress as he heard Maka begin to cry from the sudden and startling sound. He listened to the second slam of the front door and Maka's cries growing distant as she was carried away from him, away from the home that suddenly didn't feel like it deserved the name.

Spirit's bloodied fingers found his wedding ring and twisted it slowly around his finger.

How, in just one day, had everything fallen apart so completely?

Spirit took a few breaths and then pushed himself to his feet. He walked on shaking legs into the bathroom, turned on the light and blinked against its harshness. His stomach turned as he stared at the red streaks on his face and that had matted some of his hair. He felt the prickling of tears in his eyes again, but with effort he swallowed them down.

His wife was right about at least one thing. He was Death Scythe. And he needed to be prepared for whatever he may need to face.

Maka would be fine, if they were going to be at Azusa's. Marie was still her roommate, unless something had changed, and often all the young weapon would talk about was the day she too had the privilege of being a wife and a mother. Maka was in good hands. And tomorrow, after some rest, he would deal with the issue of his wife's deception and leaving their daughter at daycare all the time.

That left the more urgent issue of Stein.

Spirit wanted to go back. He wanted to find out just what Lord Death would do to help his friend, to see for himself that Stein was going to survive the horrible self-mutilation, and could it even be undone? And, what of his madness?

Spirit thought again of what he'd experienced underground, the terror of those invasive thoughts, and how real and demanding they had been. Was that truly what it was like in Stein's mind? All those years that Spirit had felt the bristling, violent edge of his thoughts whenever he and Stein resonated... How Stein must have been holding it back, protecting him from the worst of it...preventing him from seeing the true depths of the madness.

Spirit took a slow, deep breath to hold the tears at bay again.

How could he have believed his wife? When she insisted Stein had been conducting illicit experiments on him, convinced him that the younger teen couldn't be trusted. Stein's refusal to offer either affirmation or denial was all the proof she had needed, and it had seemed the easiest way to ease hostilities to simply accept her word.

To abandon his partner.

And now, Stein may die because of him.

What kind of death weapon was he?

Spirit splashed water on his face and ran it through his hair, scrubbed at the blood until his skin felt raw and his scalp ached. Fresh tears mingled hot on his cheeks with the cool of the water, and when the only red left on his cheeks was the flush he felt from humiliation, he turned off the light and stumbled back into the bedroom.

He was no one anybody should be looking up to, or offering flirty waves in the academy's halls. He was an idiot and a failure, and everything his wife always accused him of being. He was probably a bad father, too.

He sniffled as his gaze locked onto the empty crib while he stumbled across the carpet, hoping that his wife would bring Maka back to him soon the next day. So focused was he, that his foot caught on something just under the bed and he tripped, falling so that his knee grazed the hard item when he hit the floor, and he hissed against the pain.

He felt in the dark for the offending object and soon pulled out a small, forgotten lock-box. His eyes widened on the sight, and familiar warnings rose in the back of his mind with too many words to form into coherent thought as he looked at the small, combination lock, the number sequence easily called into memory.

His thumb began turning the dials.

He had promised to stop drinking the day he found out about the pregnancy, and he had been true to his word. The box of expensive liquors was just for very special occasions, like the night after he and his wife had defeated the witch, and the day that Maka was born. And just a single shot those times, he had insisted, because it wasn't worth the risk to have more. Not when he was Death Scythe. Not when he was a father.

Stein's expression had been bittersweet when he told Spirit he was proud of him. Spirit had never understood that look.

He flipped the lid of the box open and lifted out one of the bottles, and his brow furrowed in confusion. It was nearly empty.

He considered for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding.

So, his wife had other secrets she had been keeping from him besides her daily excursions.

Spirit slowly turned the bottle over in his hand. He felt the warnings prickling all the way up his spine. He heard the echoes of his promises. He heard Stein's kind but melancholy praise.

And then he thought of his wife's lies. And the blood dripping down the sides of his friend's head. And the mad, defeated laughter as Stein had looked at him like he was a stranger.

Spirit replaced the nearly empty bottle, and then lifted a full one out of the box. He took a long, slow breath as he leaned back against the side of the bed. Felt every one of his nerve endings tingle in fierce opposition. And then he twisted open the cap.

He could keep some secrets, too.

[ashanimus]

For those adults left behind...

The closer we get to For the Future, the more I find myself thinking about the adults left behind in the Boiling Isles. We obviously have no idea what's going on with the right now, or how much damage control poor King has been able to swing with the Collector. But I still find myself wondering how the CATs and the parents of the kids have been coping.

One of the major selling points I've mentioned when recommending this show to older audiences has gone along the lines of: The Owl House has a really strong, multi-generational cast where the middle-aged adults are doing most of the heavy lifting when it comes to the actual business of political rebellion, as well as trying--and naturally failing--to shield their kids from its effects.

It still floors me that our adult heroes general intent going into S2 finale was to proceed with a damn near suicidal plot--and also to remove their kids from the thick of the fighting as gently as they could. Everything is on fire at this point. The plan they have is Rough. Everyone knows this. The anxiety and grim reality of it all was the major point of contention for Oh Titan Where Art Though with Eda and Luz--but that doesn't really prevent the fact that Eda gently encourages Luz to go to rescue Amity from the latter's parents in Clouds on the Horizon.

Re: Luz didn't really have a planned, direct part in what would have been the adult's sabotage of the draining spell. I definitely got the impression of a lot of relief from Eda here.

And it works. Between this moment and when Luz and King are dropped off, Darius also has an opportunity to shift Hunter. It's unclear at this point how much contact the Darius and Hunter had post Hollow Mind (there are a lot of headcannons out there that suggest they've at least spoken a little over their scrolls, which make sense, given his interest in Hunter's well being?), but he's gone out of his way to contact a known fugitive and send him off with Eda's kids, AWAY from ground zero.

Eda and Darius' motivations here seem like they're rooted in harm reduction. Anything to get the kids away from the worst of it. But, knowing them, and the sort of lives they've been shown to lead, they're probably expecting something messy to happen regardless--although at least this way they know they did their best.

But how is that sitting with them now? Willow and Gus' parents (who probably had way less of an idea of what as happening at any given moment? I'd be amazed if Willow and Gus hadn't had to sneak off with Hunter to go with Luz but of course that's just speculation on my part). The last Eda and Darius knew, they sent their kids off to Blight Manor, and after everything exploded they have NO way to know what happened. Only that they're not able to answer their phones. They have no way to put together the possibility that the kids miraculously made it to the Human Realm. Last they knew, the kids where nowhere near the Head of the Titan.

Do they still have hope, after all this time, that the kids made it? Have any of them given up? Have they had any opportunities in the wake of whatever the Collector is doing to the BI? It's possible King's survival has been made clear to everyone, but there's no real way to know until we get a new promo or trailer or the thing airs.

As I've gotten older, it's naturally shifted how I relate to shows like this. However, Owl House is one of the few I can name with adult characters whose struggles are emotionally very grounded in reality, which makes the fear and horror of surviving a fantasy apocalypse so much heavier...since these are the sort of fears and horrors parents and caregivers experience all the time. Where are my kids? Are they okay? Have I failed them, even when I did my best?

[mirrormazeworld]

Hello! You can either call me Ayu or MirrorMaze. As I was searching for Crowley's identity by solving all the riddles of Alice in Wonderland, I was encountering a lot of hidden information that eerily and unexpectedly explain some odd things in Twisted Wonderland and that's the reason why I made this blog (apart from seeing beautiful fanarts and sometimes doing yume) I'm more specialized in doing analysis based on literatures that were used in the making of Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, and since from my latest votes everyone seems to be interested in it, I decided to create a masterlist for my analysis and theories. This blog is dedicated to twst theories/analysis based on Lewis Carroll's famous works, Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, which is a time capsule of the Victorian era that has been studied throughout centuries from many disciplines and becomes one of all-time best selling books.

You can also send me questions, as long as it's still related to twst theories.

Twst Theory/Analysis Masterlist :

Alice in Wonderland is a book full of satire in Lewis Carroll's lifetime which can be related to cultures, politics, arts and so on in that time period. So if you do find something rather "disturbing" in my twst theories that are based on the original book of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, please just treat it as if you are reading an academic paper or historical literatures.

[Status: Unfinished] means that the theory will be rewritten in the future as I gather more information, and [Status : Completed] means that it's finished. If the title doesn't have a link it just means that I'm still gathering information on it and is not starting on it yet.

The Story Concept of Twisted Wonderland : Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass [Status : Unfinished]

Ace's Hidden Character Concept : "Ace in Alice" [Status: Completed]

Deuce's Hidden Character Concept : "A Trump Card Equivalent to Ace" [Status: Unfinished]

Grim The Jabberwocky [Status : Completed]

Something about the egg (Humpty Dumpty riddle) [Status: Completed]

Malleus's character overview part 1 [Status: Completed]

Malleus character overview part 2 (Diasomnia chapter analysis based on Brothers Grimm version and Charles Perrault version of Sleeping Beauty) [Status: Completed]

Grim and Malleus

Crowley's Key and Grim : Why Grim can open the coffin that can only be opened by Crowley (Rabbit Hole riddle)

Crowley's Hidden Character Concept : "Nevar Raven, Mad as a Hatter" (Mad Hatter's riddle from Mathematical perspective) [Status : Completed]

Crowley's Hidden Character Concept : The Man Who Knows "Time" Better Than Anyone (Mad Hatter's riddle)

Why Crowley isn't Levan (Malleus's dad) : Some things to be considered - Part 1 [Status : Completed]

Why Crowley isn't Levan (Malleus's dad) : Some things to be considered - Part 2 [Status : Completed]

Crowley who might be Levan's nephew : analysis from Lewis Carroll's diary about Alice Liddell's family [Status : Completed]

A Way for Yuu to go Home : The 4 Terms of Timespace Equation (Mad Hatter's Riddle) [Status : Unfinished]

NRC's long time tradition - The student admission ceremony : Something better in Crowley's possession that's better than S.T.Y.X. Lethe (Dormouse riddle)

The Looping Dream : everything is not real [Status : Unfinished]

Journey through Memories

Disney's very first work older than Mickey and any other Disney's fairytale : Alice's comedy

The Mirroring World [Status: Unfinished]

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 4 - A quick fix

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 3 -- Part 5

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x OFC (Genevieve Lennox)

Summary: When the Econ professor finds out about Napoleon and Walker's illegal side hustle, someone has to fix this mess...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ , Minors DNI! Age gap (Leon is in his 20s and Gen is in her 40s), a very much NOT OK teacher-student relationship, blackmail (100% definitely. Bad Leon. Bad.), p-in-v (they use a condom though, so that's one redeeming factor, maybe...), fingering, semi-publix sex (? It's a locked office, but it's still an office...), Do I need to make it clear again that he fucks a teacher? I think it's clear at this point.

Word count: 3.1 k

A/N: In case you skipped the warnings; Leon fucks a teacher. Now that's not okay - he knows that, that's why he does it. Lots of questionable things going on here. I'm trying to reason with Leon that this shouldn't be the beginning of a very wrong affair, but these characters live rent free in my head and I just write out their shenanigans. There really isn't much I can do. I'm sorry...

“Solo.” Gruff, annoyed and typically Walker. Napoleon looked up from the pile of books and documents that were fanned out on the desk in front of him at the man who casually stood in the doorway of his room, leaning against the frame as the embodiment of indifference. “We have a problem.” He stepped into the room and shut the heavy wooden door behind him a little harder than strictly necessary.

“Sounds serious,” Napoleon faked a yawn and turned his attention back to whatever he’d been doing. 

“It is serious,” Walker growled. It didn’t seem to impress the man at the desk much. August found himself seething at the nonchalance of his associate. “Could you tear your eyes away from your naked ladies for a second and fucking listen, please.” Napoleon looked up at him with raised eyebrows and scoffed. While shaking his head, he turned back to the painting he had been looking at. 

“I think reducing Baroque art to ‘naked ladies’ is below even you, Walker,” he slammed the book shut and picked it up to put it back on the shelf behind him. “But I’m curious to find out what has you so desperate for my attention.”

“Marshall.” August snarled through clenched teeth. “He snitched.” The heavy book slipped from Napoleon’s fingers and fell. 

“Motherf…” He caught it in the nick of time and slammed it down on the desk so hard he actually startled August. “Next time, lead with that, would you?” 

“Next time? Let’s make sure there is no next time, Solo.” Napoleon wasn’t quite sure whether Walker meant they should go about their efforts more carefully in the future, or if he was suggesting murder, but right now, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. 

“What do you know?” Napoleon asked, running a hand through his hair, voice dripping with desolation. He groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “What does he know?” He started clearing away papers and gestured to the armchair that stood on the other side of the desk. 

“Sit, would you?” It was an instruction rather than an invitation, which August would have found annoying, had it come from anyone other than Leon. The thought made him chuckle. 

“Did you just laugh?” Napoleon asked in disbelief. 

“Hardly.” August scowled. “Maybe after rearranging Marshall’s face.” His voice was too light for such a grim message. 

“We can get back to that, later.” Though violence wasn’t his preferred modus operandi, Napoleon couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming urge to knock Marshall down a peg. “I’m going to need some more information.”

“Econ,” Walker groaned. “Fucker talked to Lennox. No idea what he told her. Or how much.”

“Lennox,” Napoleon pondered, “could be worse. Do you know if he named us?” He liked to think Marshall wouldn’t go that far, they were friends after all. Walker shrugged: he didn’t know either. 

“This may sound like a radical idea, but what if we just ask him?” Napoleon said. “Provided you can manage to not punch him in the dick.” 

“I can promise I’ll try.” This time, Walker did laugh. 

“Take your fucking hands off me, Walker, or so help me God!” 

“Fucking hell, August, that lasted all of two seconds.” Deep down, Napoleon had known he should be the one doing the talking. August Walker did not deal in subtlety. It usually didn’t matter: he had plenty of other qualities that had been invaluable for keeping their little operation in business. He shared Napoleon’s keen mind - though perhaps a bit more insidious - and his creativity, stealth and, if need be, his charm, but damn it, was he quick to fly off the handle. “Let go, Walker. Listen, Marshall, we’re not looking for a fight…” 

“Have you told him that?” Marshall asked while straightening his sweater. 

“Just tell us what you told Lennox, Marshall.” August said gruffly. 

“Told Lennox about what, Walker?” It was hardly a provocation, but Walker had Marshall pinned back against the wall within seconds. 

“August!” It was as if the clouds broke and the sun shone down upon them once more, so angelic was that voice and so heavenly the timing of its owner. “Let go.” She said it in a tone so icy that it could have frozen the pits of hell. Marshall, who had enough experience with Walker to know not to provoke him and enough experience with the irate woman who now stormed up the stairs to know that August might actually listen to her, made every effort to stand still and do nothing. Sure enough, Walker’s grip on Marshall’s sweater once again loosened. 

“So, now that no one is in any mortal danger,” Napoleon said casually, “my office, Marshall, please.” He gestured to his room. Marshall heeded the request without further complaints. Walker followed the both of them, leaning against the wall next to the door, seemingly unable to calm down.

“It appears Lennox knows more than she should, and Walker seems convinced you’re involved in that, somehow.” Leon said with a vague gesture to August.

“Liz Keene came over to ask me about a term paper for econ, in the hallway. Lennox must have overheard. That’s the only thing I can think of.” His answer seemed genuine, so Leon decided to believe him.

“Am I free to go?” Marshall growled, his voice drenched with - arguably justifiable - hostility and signature British sarcasm, before rising from his seat. Napoleon mouthed a silent apology to Walter, who just nodded in reply. He knew August, and he’d forgive him - eventually. Leon got up and pulled his coat off the hook by the door.  

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Solo?” Walker asked in disbelief.

“I’m going to fix this, Walker,” he snapped back, “Don’t wait up.” 

"Professor Lennox, allow me!" Leon opened the door. Genevieve Lennox’ head peeked from behind a large stack of papers. "Can I help you with those?" Without waiting for an answer, he took some of the papers off the top. 

"Thank you, mister Solo," she said ungratefully, "but I am more than capable of carrying those myself." This was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. 

"I don't doubt it," he said, showing no intention of putting the papers back, "but please, humor me, miss Lennox."

"That's doctor Lennox to you, mister Solo."

"Call me Leon, doctor Lennox." He said with a sly smile on his face. The pair resumed Lennox' earlier route to her office.

"After you, doctor," Napoleon said, gesturing at the professor to step into her office. 

"How kind of you to invite me into my own office, Leon," professor Lennox said through gritted teeth. Despite her objections, she stepped into the room and placed the papers on the file cabinet. Napoleon followed her in, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. 

"Now that I have you here," Genevieve said as she sat down in the chair behind her desk, "what is this I hear about your... extracurricular endeavors?"

Here we go, he thought. From the way she spoke, he could tell that there was a possibility that she would be harder to sway than he had initially expected. He walked over to the side of the desk and half-sat on it. She looked up at him with one cocked eyebrow; Napoleon’s reputation preceded him, yet she’d never expected this level of insolence. 

"Whatever are you referring to, professor?" Napoleon could feign innocence the way a fish could feign the ability to fly: not at all. Genevieve didn't believe a word the man was saying. Besides, she had clearly overheard the conversation between Walter Marshall and Elizabeth Keene. No, she most definitely wasn't intent on swaying on the matter, no matter his devilish tactics. He, on the other hand, had to get to the bottom of this, and he really didn’t consider a recent divorcée much of an obstacle.

Genevieve looked up at the charming young man who sat so boldly on her desk. She swallowed hard, in an attempt to calm her heart. This man, with his charming ways and effortlessly seductive smile, had the expected effect on most of the female staff - though most of them were easily twenty years his senior. It was the university’s worst kept secret that a fair amount of faculty members would spread their legs for the man without a second thought - and rumor had it that some of them had. Genevieve had never considered herself one of those ladies. But now that he was here, leaning against her desk with his thigh slung so haphazardly over it - a strong, thick thigh that made her mind run wild... 

"Mister Solo, please sit down." She gestured to an empty chair in the office. He sunk down in it, and before Genevieve could be glad to be rid of his thigh in her near vicinity, he allowed his knees to fall to the sides slightly, which drew her attention to even more inappropriate places. 

"Now, doctor Lennox, what exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I am not accusing you of anything, mister Solo," Genevieve managed to choke out despite being otherwise engaged, "I am only relaying what I have heard."

"Gossip, miss Lennox, is hardly evidence for any illicit activity." He got up and leaned over her desk, eyes locked on hers. "I doubt anyone will take such accusations seriously. Perhaps they will not be without consequences, either."

"Are you threatening me, Napoleon?"

"Nothing of the sort, Genevieve," Napoleon said, the grin on his face widening. "I am simply pointing out that hearsay is never as good as firsthand experience." Everything about that sentence was dripping with innuendo. He could almost hear her heart pound in her chest from where he was standing. He walked around the desk, slowly, watching her turn her chair to follow him. She got up before he got to her, almost falling back into the chair as she hit it when she took a step back - Napoleon settled on standing just that little bit too close to her. 

"Mister Solo, this is entirely inappropriate." She pushed the chair out of the way while taking another step back. Step by step, he backed her against the wall of her office. 

When his name left her lips once again, it was no more than a whisper. "Napoleon..." Their bodies were almost touching, she had no prayer of escaping him: if he wanted her, she was his, though she doubted he was that brutish. It was a matter of seconds before their lips touched - he could have sworn she was the one who kissed him. Near-immediately, she pulled away. 

"Napoleon, we can't." She whispered before he pressed his lips against hers again. 

"We shouldn't." This time, it was a moan rather than a whisper. 

"Tell me to stop," Napoleon said softly in her ear, "ask me to leave, and I will." She couldn't bring herself to do it no matter how much she knew she should. With every passing second the heat between her legs grew and she longed for the touch of the young man before her more and more. This time, she pressed her lips to his, and it was her who trailed her tongue along his lips, begging for entrance. He let her in, and as the passion in their kisses grew, so did her arousal - and his, though he wasn't one to let that be known too easily. His hands found her waist and held her firmly against the wall, his lips sought out her neck. She moaned with pleasure as he traced soft kisses from her neck to her collarbone. A strong hand kneaded her ass while the other opened the buttons of her blouse, revealing a sheer lace bra. Her nipples poked through the fabric; she winced when he ran a thumb over one. Soft kisses and licks created a wet trail down her chest to her generous cleavage, where they were replaced by sucking and nibbling - sometimes gentle but more often enticingly rough. The hand on her behind began to push her skirt up until it sat around her hips before reaching between their bodies and slipping into her underwear. She pressed her mound against his hand, wanting nothing more than for him to continue exploring her body in the most intimate ways. She whimpered when his fingers slid down, parting her folds, granting him access to her wet slit. The fabric of her bra got pushed down so his mouth could envelop her nipple, and Napoleon relished her whines and moans as he circled it with his tongue. Every fiber in her body screamed at her that they should stop, that this was wrong - she was a teacher, for crying out loud - but she couldn't bring herself to break away from his touch.

Never before had any man made her feel like this - least of all her son of a bitch ex-husband. Hell, she was just taking a page from his playbook. He'd gone public with that little skank of his the day after her graduation - their divorce hadn't even been finalized! It was obvious they'd been having an affair while she was still his student, and yet he had still managed to get tenure. The little bitch had even had the audacity to apply for a post-graduate position with hér research team! She…

Napoleon's teeth clamped around her nipple, which dragged her away from her thoughts. Slowly, so incredibly slowly that she thought she might pass out from eagerness, two of his fingers worked their way inside her core and sought out that precious spot inside of her that made her squirm. It took him seconds - séconds! Her ex-h... 

"Stop thinking about him," Napoleon hummed against her chest as he lifted her leg to his hip to give him easier access. From his tone sprang amusement, so too from his eyes and devilish smile. His fingers worked her drenched cunt furiously while his thumb rolled over her clit. When she reached her peak, she pulled his face to hers - a wise choice, as it muffled the sounds of her ecstasy just enough to not be audible from outside the office. 

When he pulled away, she stopped him and trailed a long nail down his chest, over his stomach and down to his hips before cupping the bulge in his trousers with her hand. 

"What about you?" She asked, with the most suggestive of looks in her dark eyes. 

"It's alright, you deserved that." He couldn't help but play with her a little, though his words weren't completely insincere. 

"I want you, Leon," her words were music to his ears, but he pretended to hesitate for a second. It was more than enough. 

"Please, take me," she panted. This was exactly how he liked them; desperate and begging - and she'd been halfway there when he got here. He sighed. 

"Lock the door." He watched as Lennox pulled her skirt down and her blouse so that it looked somewhat decent and hurried to the door to turn the lock. Meanwhile, he rummaged around in his bag for a condom - this woman may have been over forty, he wasn't taking any chances. When he got up, she immediately took his face in her hands and shoved her mouth against his, kissing him frantically as she pushed him into her desk. Her neediness was almost funny to him, but he felt bad for her at the same time. He banned those thoughts from his head; he wasn't here to convince himself that he was doing this for her. He was here because it was his ass - and Walker's, though he wasn’t particularly keen on thinking about him too much right now - on the line. She sucked on his bottom lip while her hands were busy with his belt. When she finally pulled his trousers and underwear down, and his cock sprang free, she gasped. It was a familiar reaction; most women responded this way - except the ones who later turned out to have already had a run-in with Charles, and that was a surprisingly large category. Rumor had it that he was blessed with similar equipment, though Napoleon couldn't testify to that. He took advantage of her stupor to turn both of them around and put her up on the edge of the desk. Genevieve tried to pull him against her as soon as he let go of her, but he held her off, nonchalantly waving the condom in front of her. 

"I don't think we need a scandal," he chuckled at her. He put it on like he'd done it a hundred times before - he had - and teased her cunt with his tip. 

"Please," she mouthed, barely able to produce a sound. Leon raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. "Fuck me." He didn't make her ask a second time. He pulled her panties to the side with one hand and guided his cock to her throbbing core with the other. He covered her mouth with his hand as a precaution - a sound choice, because when he slid into her, she couldn't stifle a cry. To his surprise, he had quite a lot of trouble keeping quiet himself. 

"Fuck, that's good," he groaned as he sank into her with ease, using one hand to push his trousers further down his thighs to prevent her soaking pussy from making a mess of them. He started off slow, but soon found that there was no need to - other than the wish to drag this out, but given the precariousness of the situation, he couldn't wait for it to be over no matter how good it was. He kept his hand on her mouth as she squealed every time he thrust deep into her dripping core. She shot him a guilty look when her hand moved in between their bodies to relieve the ever growing ache between her legs. 

"Go ahead, help yourself," he moaned into her ear. As her fingers began to draw swift circles around her swollen clit, he picked up his pace, driving himself deep into her with every thrust of his hips. Her hand, his cock and those perfect lips latched onto her nipple were the perfect recipe for a swift and easy journey to heavenly bliss. She tumbled down as he continued his relentless pace, allowing the clenching of her walls to guide him to his own climax. He finished just as she was about to beg him to stop because she simply couldn’t take any more, allowing himself a swift moment to catch his breath before the both of them got caught up in hastily tucking in and buttoning all the things that had been untucked and unbuttoned.  “I trust we can keep this between us, doctor Lennox,” and with a wink, he disappeared.

-> Part 5

[merakiui]

For character bingo, Grim or Ruggie!

I really like Grim! He’s a fun, silly companion to have in a situation in which you are brought into an unfamiliar world. I know some companions in video games can become boring or annoying when they're with you so constantly, but I never feel that way with Grim. I like that he genuinely cares for his kobun hehe. <3 even if it never seems that way, there are lots of moments in the game where Grim shows he cares in his own ways and I like how his friendship with the MC (as well as ADeuce and other characters) has developed throughout the main storyline. :D also in book six where MC is so concerned about finding Grim??? That broke my heart omg!! T_T they just want to make sure he's safe aaaaaa!!!!!! And Grim crying in his cell about how he wants to see MC... (or something like that; admittedly, that scene in book 6 is foggy. ^^;;;)

Also, the tiny sprinkles of Grim lore we get!!!!! It makes me so curious to learn more about him and his (what I'm assuming is potentially) sad past. I think Grim deserves lots of happiness and premium tuna, and I hope only good things are in his future. He's a lovable gremlin who grows on you over time. :D

As for Mr. Ruggie...

OH RUGS!!!!! I love Ruggie!!!! <3 he's just like me fr. I hope for his success every day because he deserves only good things and no suffering whatsoever!!! I also really like his hair??? The colors and the style itself are just so satisfying to look at, if that makes any sense. orz his laugh is really cute, too. T_T every time he does that signature laugh of his, I find myself smiling because it's so fun to listen to.

When I'm not simping for Octavinelle or Heartslabyul, Ruggie is one of my favorites. He was the second character who caught my eye back in 2020 and I still love him dearly!!! I really would like to get some of his cards, but I can't lose sight of the inevitable Glorious Masquerade release (and Riddle's birthday in August). One day I will have a Ruggie SSR... one day....... >_< the way that this card art had me a vise when I first saw it in 2020:

Ruggie's backstory is so heartbreaking. It's another reason why I love him because, along with that circumstance and the circumstances he grew up with, it forced him to become more resourceful and cunning to survive. He may be another character who schemes and is always trying to make money, sometimes in less-than-shiny ways, but he's very hardworking! Ruggie working many part-times is so real. T_T I understand that grind and I hope he continues to do his best. <3 I want him to always be happy no matter what.

ALSO HIM BEING RAISED BY HIS GRANDMOTHER AAAAAAAA it makes me feel so fluffy because he is a really good guy underneath his sneakiness. Like when he brings leftovers and such home for the winter break to share with the other children in the slums!!! He has a very good heart!!! His grandmother raised him to be so sweet and caring. orz I love him too much.... Rugs, you're perfect in every single way hehe. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

His UM is also very cool!!!! It has a lot of potential (sk!Ruggie) and the way it was utilized in book 2 was so terrifying. ;;;;; not being able to control your own movements because someone else is controlling them and your body is forced to follow every movement they make!!!!! Aaaaaa it's scary to imagine what a yandere!Ruggie might do if he ever needed to rely on his UM for help in getting darling...

[littlebluebarista]

I'd love to ask about your OCs but I have zero context sooo

Tell me what your WIP and OCs are about

*So for honesty's sake I have to say this does take place in the same universe as an old 1998 point-and-click adventure game. However you don't need any knowledge of it whatsoever to understand the story. The plot and characters and even some settings are written entirely by me but this is in fact a Grim Fandango Tale.*

Everyone is dead. When people die they are reduced to bone and wrapped up in a husk, patiently awaiting whatever reaper is assigned to them to venture back to the Land of the Living and cut them free. But that's only the beginning, as once they are brought to the Land of the Dead they are faced with a treacherous and perilous land filled with dangers and disasters and monsters and jazz and art deco and so much walking!

See, each grim reaper has two jobs. Not only do they go and reap souls into the Land of the Dead, but they also double as travel agents to aid in the Four-Year Journey of the Soul from the Land of the Dead to the 9th Underworld, otherwise refered to as the Land of Eternal Rest. Depending on how virtuous a life you lead (and how much money you were buried with), you could qualify for better travel experiences besides walking the whole way on-foot; from sports cars, to ocean liners, or even a ticket on an express train that takes you across the Land of the Dead in 4 minutes instead of 4 years!

Enter Béla Balogh!

Petulant, terrible at sales, and most assuredly not named Bella, Béla trudges through his everyday life (death?) with a commonly mispronounced name, a misunderstood passion for painting flowers, and a misplaced hatred for a job he knows he never should have taken. He was offered the robe and scythe as a means to redeem himself, slowly working his way out of the Department of Death and into the 9th Underworld via railway, but it's kind of difficult for reapers to make commission when none of their clients ever seem to qualify for anything good. And as the days turned to weeks, and eventually years, with no end in sight, Béla began to wonder whether or not the clients he was receiving really were as sinful as their files made them out to be. After all, there had been whisperings around the office about a certain level of corruption beginning to take root in the Department of Death. But why was it somehow only Béla who ended up assigned to the ones who only ever qualified for walking sticks and hiking boots? He had many times considered abandoning the office and striking out to take on the Land of the Dead himself. But even among reapers, it was widely understood that an entire 4-year journey across the Land of the Dead on-foot was akin to a second death wish, especially if ventured alone. And so Béla stayed, disgruntled and yearning for a chance to one day finally break out of his prison of pencils and paperclips. Until along came Loca.

Enter Loca Servantes!

Soft-spoken, freshly dead, and scared out of her skin (literally), this poor woman assumed she would finally find the peace that came with the sweet release of death and instead was reaped by Béla to a cold, cruel, unfamiliar land that supposedly wanted to kill her again. It was bad enough that she was matched with a travel agent indifferent to his clients' well-being, but when her file somehow reported her to be a mob hitman in her previous life, she was left with no choice but to be turned away and face the Land of the Dead alone.

But could this little woman be the very thing Béla needs to finally get out? Would they each take the risk of seeking Heaven through a violent and unforgiving world in the company of a complete stranger?

Secrets will be unveiled, flowers will bloom, bones will shatter, and hearts will mend

-in-

[ REDACTED*]: A Grim Fandango Tale!

~Coming at some point in the distant future to a dashboard near you!~

*comic still undergoing a proper title search

[darkstarbureau]

茶番カプリシオ (chaban kapurishio, Capriccio Farce (Clockwork Lullaby VI)) singable translyrics (the saga continues)

i may or may not have accidentally put some words multiple times a little too close to eachother but it shouldnt be noticable i think

also used actual names for characters instead of titles because im odd like that

-------------------------

-------------------------

ARTE & POLLO: The judge waiting to bring 'pon her seize Riddled with such junk that'll all but gleam Come, now, their ashes fall like snow This irregularity is justice, no?

IRINA: With this gavel I will carry the search still going through The divine ordered us to keep collecting their remains If somehow you have an idea where they're to be found Come to the stand and continue to testify, "Sorceress of Time"!

MA: Epochs still continue to pass as an heirloom of their time Coming and going their masters, but one's to walk the line Even if the future still herds its feigning uncertainty I have an intuition that she is the one to blame

ARTE & POLLO: Take a look, take a look, go and look high and low Left, right, left right, ebb their disguises She has the key to all you could ever know Look for "The Master of the Hellish Yard"!

ADAM: In duration of this farce dragging through, it'll soon get to you All will be pointless when the gear stagnates

BANICA: Her brother who fell down into the earth, to which dreams won't concern She's too far gone and you know that your mother was the one to blame

POLLO: Justice keeps ringing scenarios of dissarray Vessels that've known no peace for all of their lives

ARTE: Each doting upon their very own ostinato Discordant, they sing a capriccio

MA: They've already written stories of depravity in the stars They walk alone on their path of all too destined parts

BANICA: If they were to ever see avarices' cold design They would certainly make a statement deep in blame:

ADAM: What really scared my pity into shame—

IRINA: Were the vices of humanity

Let's take a look at what we have and address all the facts This man who stands here is the child of lust itself I give you my special permission; come up to the stand Inform us of when you first arrived to this cursed forest

GAMMON: There's a feeling deep inside that I just cannot shake This urge that I need to seek the katana of violet Seeming its necessary to solve my mystery I trekked on into this wood solemn all by myself

ARTE & POLLO: Kill and devour, if it's grim, prowl anyway Such a lack of dignity really cannot be helped

IRINA: Conviction, conviction, at the rate of our mission Perjury! Conviction! Execution!

GAMMON: When I put on that sharp facade of no mercy to the gods The girl in front of me who changed her wits and lent me her hand

LILITH: I wanted the victim to be charged right since I am of employ

GAMMON: As of my release they've called me "Cursed Gardener"

MA: "Sorceress of Time" and also the "Cursed Gardener" are Harbingers for the awakening of them Each embracing their objectives, held up high and to the chest Ephemerally keeping invaders at bay

ARTE & POLLO:

"Master of the Court" and the "Master of the Graveyard" too Ticking gears, mopping tears "Master of the Hellish Yard" When the atonement of this theater will go to waste Who will be amused at the end of all things?

ADAM (2): Lulila lulila luli luli la… The first beating heart of the irregular

BANICA: Friends along the way farcically paining us

ADAM: Hopes and loves coinciding with losses deep in debt

IRINA: All continues to fuse with the turning of the clocktower

LILITH: The clockwork lullaby continually rings out a cry

ADAM (2): Right before the "Collector" took a bullet to the head

GAMMON: He constructed a theater that would contain the dead

MA: Will the paradise that he wished for his oh so dear Michelle

GUMILLIA: Ever come to its decided fruition?

ARTE & POLLO: Come, now, let us coincide With our own eyes this farce we call life

-------------------------

-------------------------

man.

anyway you know the drill i WILL be back

[ultimate-tragic-couples-showdown]

2 things:

1) Apparently I got Marvin Falsettos name wrong. this’ll change in future rounds if they win

2) I understand that using a story about aids for a poll can seem weird. You’re perfectly entitled to that opinion, I very much understand it. However, as a fag who tries to listen to queer elders as much as possible, I don’t think it’s bad to appreciate queer art that covers important topics in non serious fashions. Interacting with a musical about aids doesn’t only have to be in grim way. I can celebrate the characters for who they are.

3) These polls are polls for your favorite tragic couple. The level of tragedy factors into it, but I’m intentionally leaving it ambiguous as to whether you’re voting off of tragedy or enjoyment. This is so either side can win, even in less serious media.

[acapelladitty]

Gonna ramble about fandom for a bit below the cut because I'm thinking thoughts.

One thing I genuinely miss about fandom is the sense of community and fun correspondence between folks who put out fanworks and those who consume them.

I've had many folk find a fic, like it, reblog it without any tags, and then immediately ask for a different prompt. Which is great tbh, and fuck knows that having someone actually reblog something in these stingy times is a miracle in itself, but there's something quite clinical about the whole process. Like, obviously they've enjoyed it enough to reblog and ask for more but it still leaves me a little cold because I have no idea what they actually liked about it and how I can keep that in mind for the future.

^ These were my last two published fics and I'm truly thankful that so many people have enjoyed them enough to like and/or reblog them. However, even if we ignore the grim like to reblog ratio, the overwhelming majority of those reblogs are blank. They're fully devoid of any kind of interaction or critique which shows how people are regarding the works which they're consuming.

If I like a piece of fanwork, then I'll usually like it, reblog it with complimentary tags, and then sent the work to the OP with another comment (usually along the lines of "OP this is incredible! Thanks for sharing and kudos on the skill!" just because I liked it that much. And I think that stems from how much I crave community and I know I'm not the only one because I DO have some small communities like that, they're just much much rarer than they should be.

Blank consumption of all fanworks, be it art, writing, audio, edits etc has led to a decay in relationships and it can make fandom, a place built on people sharing a common love for a specific property, a very lonely place indeed. We live in a consumer age and fandom has also fallen victim to that due to the volume of available works and the rapid ways in which they can be interacted with and moved on from.

If i'm totally honest, I don't think fandom will ever go back to being relationship driven and that's okay, if maybe a little sad, because that's the way that everything is going these days where all things seem to be much more vapid and alogrithm based.

Fandom will always exist because people will always find inspiration and joy in the things they love, but it just won't ever be as rich as it could be.

[mrratcardici]

WIP Game!

thank you for tagging me! @blackbird5154 @grim-kazoo-player

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Fanfiction.

Well, I have a very large batch of works planned, and I think I’ll definitely try to translate one of them in the future. Most of the works are in the spirit of reader/Copia or reader/any Pope. Several works on Pairing Copiiia or Copiia.

Eclipse.

Evening silhouette.

Rat hunger.

Say it again.

Cradle.

Death.

Never forget my name.

The smell of your skin.

Prequel.

You are my reflection.

Art.

I usually don’t name my art anything, because inspiration comes spontaneously. In most cases I have a ton of pictures with my oc/cardinal or Nsfw. But I make notes to myself about what I would like to draw more. For example.

The cardinal is on his knees.

A little erotica on the sofa with terzopia. The sinister cardinal.

Kink on the strip plastic cardinal. (Sorry, but I came to the conclusion that Copia would be good at striptease on a pole. You can throw a slipper at me ))

December challenge.

And that seems to be all, perhaps I could still draw comics and commission, but provided that the work is really interesting and you are satisfied with my slightly crooked drawings hehe.✨ I tag people.💜@gerdi-ringbell @ophelia-markov @vulpica (I love everyone terribly✨))

[just-puddding]

So! I have decided to participate in @kakashiweek this year, way late but still!

Kakashi week day 1, Elemental/Library

"OVERDUE"

The library's bell rings, Eiko slowly turns her head upwards to squint at the newcomer but when she looks at the door there isn't anyone there

She frowns, softly muttering under her breath as she rummages for her glasses under the counter so she can take a better look, but there really isn't anyone.

How odd, Eiko thinks, thankful that her eyesight hadn't failed her badly enough that she'd missed an entire person, at least. Shrugging at the odd occurrence, she goes back to looking at the donations receipts– only for a flash of silver passing through her desk to call her attention back up.

Oh. Eiko realizes, leaning to look over the counter. It's the boy again.

She watches, a slight frown in her face as Kakashi once more begins walking through the endless sea of shelves of the library. This time the boy clearly has a goal in mind as he goes directly to the 'chakra' section, instead of walking around every single one in search of something that interests him.

A small smile forms in Eiko's face, the boy is one of their most common regulars– a lot of the books in this library have to do with basic level Shinobi skills and Most Shinobi Don't have the time to do leisure reading, so they will only seek out books for really important information– which is usually kept in the archives of the Hokage tower. So they don't get a lot of regulars, which makes Kakashi stand out

The thing that bothers her, though, is the type of book he picks. Last week was, if she's remembering correctly, poisons and antidotes and this week it'll probably be some form of chakra molding.

Once or twice every week he will come by, choose one, or more rarely a few, books and then return them in a few days– taking another one in its place. He always does both the drop in and the pick up at the same time, supposedly to limit their interactions.

A Shinobi in the making, she could easily tell, the boy didn't speak much and when she asked him about joining the academy the boy had explicitly confirmed it

"I'm already enrolled" he responded flatly, as if offended by Eiko's simple question "and I'll be graduating this year"

She smiled, readjusting her glasses as she stamped her approval to the borrowing of Hi-no-Kuni's fauna: a Shinobi's guide to hunting in the lands of fire "will you?"

The boy nodded sternly, evidently annoyed by her mild disbelief. If he did as he said, he might just be the youngest Shinobi ever since the academy was founded– he can't be older than six at the very most.

But the certainty in his face, as if he truly believed in what he was saying, coupled with the looming threat of war over their backs…

Eiko worries, not for the first time, for the future of Konoha's young.

It's a grim reality, Eiko knows, but it's the only thing that could have been expected. Seeing as the name he always signed was Kakashi Hatake.

Eiko doesn't know much about the white fang, but she does know enough to discern a child of his could only go on to become a Shinobi.

Well, that, And to know that he was absent most of the time. Not once had Kakashi come in accompanied and not once had she heard of him going back home to his father

As if hearing her thoughts, the boy appeared out of nowhere, placing a book over the counter with a heavy 'thump'

"Water chakra: the art of water jutsu" she read out loud, picking it up in her hands "learning chakra molding now, boy?"

He leveled her with an unamused look, "I'm learning a new chakra nature. My natural ones are earth and lighting but i thought–" Kakashi seems to catch himself in something, embarrassedly looking to the side and lifting his scarf to cover his face– even more than the mask already does "that it'd be useful" he finishes

The boy furrows his brow, sizing her up and down before asking "you never made Jounin?" Eiko sighed "quit before I could" not that she really wanted to, nothing good happens to jounin, really.

Eiko smiled, wondering what he actually wanted to say but not prying "and I'm sure it will be," she assured, handing the boy back the book and taking the returned one to stamp at the same time "I'll let you in on a secret– I used to be a Chunnin, way back when my body was still in one piece. I primarily used water-jutsu and it always did me right" except on the very mission she lost her leg, and Kaoru, but that's a whole different thing

Kakashi nods slowly at her, then safely tucks his book under his arm and takes off from the library

One day the boy who Eiko believed would be one of her longest lasting regular borrows a book, which one exactly Eiko can't even remember– she could just check, but it isn't important, anyways– and then doesn't come back for a month.

Then two, then three, at some point half a year has passed and Kakashi still hasn't come back with the book– Eiko honestly expects that she will never see him again, until she does.

It had been three years by now, The very sight makes Eiko adjust her glasses to confirm she was seeing right. It's the same fluffy silver hair, the same mask and the same bored stare– albeit now a little embarrassed.

She mutters something under her breath, quickly reaching for her borrowing documents and looking for his entry as Kakashi walks up to the counter.

He's taller now, kids his age grow fast, and he looks much more like a kid than an overgrown toddler than he did before– Eiko indiscriminately eyes his headband.

Wordlessly, not looking her in the eyes, Kakashi places the book on the counter and slides it to her. Eiko takes it, she scans over the book– nothing crazy, the history of Kunai production through the ages, and looks for its entry.

They remain in perfect silence while Eiko searches for her files, slowly takes out the forms and stamps it. She places it on the tray and turns to look at Kakashi, who's still embarrassedly eyeing the floor.

Eiko laughs airily "going to borrow a new one, boy?" Kakashi lifts his head up quickly, narrowing his eyes at her "you're not going to fine me? It expired years ago!"

Eiko laughs again, shaking her head and she thinks.

She thinks about the days following the borrowing of the book, Of catching winds of rumors, of going to confirm it by herself, Of stories of a man that couldn't live with the weight of the scorn and left his child by himself.

She just couldn't bring herself to get on his case, so she let it slide– not planning to search him down for it, Eiko knew she could have helped but, well, Eiko wasn't sure it was her place. But she can understand forgetting things in grief, and soon after she started hearing about his promotions. She figured he was too busy.

She remained smiling, the boy eyeing her distrusting, then he huffed and looked away again "thank you" he murmurs under his breath

"Why, you're very welcome! Feel free to borrow a new book, if you'd like, as long as you return that one on time"

He looked back at her, paused for a few seconds, Then wordlessly delved back into the library just like he used to back when he came here often.

They might just get back their little regular