#was going to murder him. but he copes by being more obnoxious than ever and pretending like he's not at all bothered

[lctibule]

ngl to this day i still want an au where overwatch gets to genji before hanzo kills him, where he gets recruited into blackwatch without becoming a cyborg, bc it'd be such a fucking disaster. smelly privileged playboy bastard who's too cocky for his own good and doesn't take anything seriously and keeps buying expensive food, drink, and luxury goods with overwatch's money... that's what you want in your black ops division, right? surely that won't inevitably cause any problems.

[fraugwinska]

I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''

WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!

Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Mother O'Mine

Not the kitchen. Not the lobby. Not the bar. Not the radio tower. Not his room.

You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.

If Angel had just shut his damn mouth. Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.

Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.

Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.

Alastor's mom.

"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."

The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.

Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.

It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night. Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing. But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses. When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.

"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."

He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep. Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.

And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.

Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...

A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.

"Is this seat taken?"

The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking. A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude. You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.

Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.

It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.

"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"

"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.

Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise. "Then you may sit, darling."

After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.

"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength." He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.

"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white. “But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself." He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."

You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.

"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.

"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."

"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"

His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.

You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.

"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"

"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."

"Then, I'll recite it for you."

"Why?"

You gave him a sad smile.

"Because I want to."

He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.

The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.

"If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.

"If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."

His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.

"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."

Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.

"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."

You held him tighter.

"I know, Al... I know."

You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.

It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken. He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."

You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.

[vampismm]

Ticci Toby General Headcanons

(srry its so long i have a lot of thoughts about him... probably will rewrite later

) ---------------------------------------- - toby rogers is a small kid, around 5'6-5'7 with messy, shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes. his hair is choppy and uneven from having to cut it himself and his eyes lack any true life behind them - to be fair, the guy himself lacks any life in him in general. he lost it all when he destroyed his life and became a proxy - but theres nothing he can do now. he knows this, and he copes hard. in ways that are less than ideal - fighting, outbursts, temper tantrums, drinking, smoking, murder - toby thinks with his fists more than he does his brain. he always has been and always will be a fighter, thats one thing he got from his father for better or for worse - he's just generally an insensitive prick - the kid doesn't care one bit about anybody but himself. its a dog eat dog world, right? every man for himself. - besides the lack of empathy, and the callousness, toby is also a weird kid in all. he crosses lines and disrespects boundaries, and is very vulgar and crude - very loud and immature. just an obnoxious prick - he does what he wants and god forbid anybody tries to assert authority over him - this is why he tends to have issues with tim. he cant stand the thought of some random guy going around acting like he knows him, or telling him what to do - nobody knows toby, not truly. he overshares and he talks a lot, but he doesnt really say much. the kid would rather kick, fight and scream than let anybody close to him - theres not a single soul on earth that toby trusts enough to rely on, in his mind all he has is himself now. especially after everything with his sister. he barely remembers it, but god does it follow him - he was never incredibly close with his sister, they just stuck by each other while dealing with their father. they bonded over the abuse in a subtle, sick way - she would stand up for him while he was being bullied in middle school, not knowing that toby would often instigate the fights. he was a violent kid projecting the violence at home onto kids on the playground - he wasnt just bullied, he was a bully too - to this day, people will often avoid him or feel uncomfortable around him. toby is just an antisocial asshole who pushes people away - despite this, he can be rather friendly at times. he's a very charismatic person when he wants to be and is scarily good at getting people to like him. - its only when they really get to know him that they run for the hills. he's nothing but a wolf in sheeps clothing and he pulls off the "troubled teen" act very well - when it comes to his 'job', he doesn't really follow through in the way he's supposed to - unless of course he's being directly controlled by Him - sometimes toby will wake up in the forest, covered in blood that isnt his and having no recollection of the past week or month - so much time has been taken from him, and so much more - theres not much he can do though. he has a job and He wont let him stop until the boy is useless. then he'll be discarded - until then, toby will continue to destroy himself just like he destroys everything around him. he will continue to be a fighter until he cant anymore. he'll continue to take and ruin lives - because honestly, thats all toby rogers has become and ever will be

[llycaons]

hello!! as someone who loves cql wwx, i really love how you defend wwx’s canon characterizarion vs his fanon one. it’s all so good to read like that’s our boy!! so i wanted to ask as someone who wants to write fic from wwx’s pov, do you have any tips or advice? thank you! 💕

hello, anon! thank you! I'm not a writer, but I'm certainly happy to list some things that bother me in fics from a characterization standpoint (1/2)

sense of self-worth: in canon, flashback arc wwx thinks he's hot shit. he is slightly less obnoxious about it postres, but still has a lot of confidence and knows he's an incredibly skilled (and handsome) cultivator. I see a lot of fics where wwx has a super low sense of self-worth - he verbally talks about how he doesn't deserve another chance, how lwj is better than him, how he deserves punishment, etc. and it ends up with lwj needing to constantly reassure him that he's 'good enough' when in reality that's not their dynamic. wwx doesn't want platitudes, he wants tangible emotional and mental support from someone who believes him and has his back and will commit to him even though his reputation is in tatters. he does make enormous sacrifices, but it's less that he doesn't think he's worth anything and more that he considers his moral or familial obligations to be of higher importance. and he does have regrets but postres he truly doesn't want to suffer any more (dying was punishment enough!), and he certainly doesn't think he deserves more. he doesn't like to dwell on the past since it's so painful and he's rather move on but in theory this should wreak havoc on his mental health since he never actually deals with it? this is something canon doesn't explore as much as I'd want it to but I love reading about him coping with the trauma of his entire life after decades of ignoring it.

...and general emotional state wrt lwj: postres his behavior and dynamic with lwj is a little confusing, so honestly I kind of go with whatever the author's interpretation is. personally I see him in the flashback having a big crush, picking up a similar vibe from lwj after a few mishaps and being excited about it, then BAM the war happens, innocence is lost, and he realizes 1. he can't hope to live as a cultivator alongside lwj, ever and 2. lwj will probably reject him for using DC (which...he does), so he takes control and decides to be the one who cuts off that relationship before lwj can, bc having control over the terrible things that happen in his life is that important to him. but ofc they still stay close and I think by BM it's more like "we know how we feel but neither of us can do anything besides what we're doing' and then wwx loses it a bit and can't focus on anything besides the wens and his sister etc. and THEN postres his reluctance to involve himself with lwj is more due to being unsure about how lwj 16 yrs in the future would treat him, his habitual self-reliance and slight mistrust, and a desire to keep lwj safe and his reputation intact. wwx knows that lwj didn't do everything he could have back then, so he's still a little wary until lwj proves himself, AND he's worried lwj will be ruined bc of being associated with the yllz, famously hated mass murderer/heretic

dynamic with jc: hoo boy. I have seen so many authors screw this one up because they're biased towards jc never having done anything wrong, or the yunmeng sibling bond being sacred and unbreakable and or something. people love to write jc being verbally aggressive and even physically abusive to wwx, and wwx being happy because 'it means he cares' or some shit. drives me up a wall. jc is deeply insecure, chronically contemptuous, violently lashes out when angry, and has steeped in bitterness to cope with grief for decades. he has THE most rancid vibes and nobody likes him and wwx is very rightfully sick of his shit, especially postres. and their story is such a crucial example of how the people we're close to can badly hurt us, and the fact that they love us doesn't mean they're not hurting us or that it's okay. the drama softened jc a bit, but canonically to the novel AND the drama, jc and wwx have always had a rocky relationship. recall jc choking him nearly to unconsciousness after the LP attack, for one. the cracks started showing during the wen indoctrination camp, in which wwx wanted to help lwj, his personal friend and another high-ranking sect heir, during the hunt, potentially saving his life, and jc told him repeatedly to leave him behind since he's not family. and jc hunkers down and tries to protect his people alone, while wwx is fundamentally incapable of abandoning people who he could help. this ideological split between them continued through his (mutually agreed-upon) defection from the jiang sect, and came to a head during nightless city. you may recall that jc told wwx to go to hell while wwx was actively in the middle of committing suicide. based on this, the fact that jc then raised jin ling to hate DCers and wwx specifically, the fact that jc tried to immediately kill wwx when he came back, and the fact that he then tortured wwx psychologically using insider knowledge of his fear of dogs, indicates pretty clearly to me that this man is um. not really a safe person for wwx to be around mentally, emotionally, or physically. and wwx himself knows this! he stands up for himself when being tortured, he accuses jc of never changing, he compares jin ling unfavorably to jc, and he complains about jc's juvenile and cruel behavior frequently there are so many jc defenders in this fandom that interpret his behavior and actions as love or trust or simple ignorance, but the fact is that there is a long-established and extremely serious pattern of jc hurting wwx to vent his own anger, frustration, or pain, whether wwx had anything to do with it or not. and ppl talk about him like he's a defenseless victim even when he's a nearly forty-year old sect leader 🤡. not that he hasn't had his own tragedies or his own reasons for acting as he did, and I do see him as a very tragic figure, but the facts are that he's terrible to wwx and wwx knows that, and responds to it. wwx doesn't hate jc but he doesn't want to be hurt by him anymore and after the age of like 15 he would never respond positively to jc treating him like shit. if he was wary around lwj, you can imagine how nervous he is around jc. please, PLEASE if you're writing wwx, don't let this all be forgotten. I do think there's a way for jc and wwx to become close again, and I do think wwx has forgiven jc if not forgotten the hurt he's caused him, but a HUGE part of wwx's journey is finding and staying with someone he loves who's safe, who cares about him and will prioritize him and won't hurt him.

part two coming up!

[tsukasageorge]

char ask meme for whichever oc you think ill like most. all numbers minus any you dont feel like answering

fukc yeah thanks nico. idk which oc you'd like though... personally i like nyx bc theyre silly but saturn and ben are emo. you like illumi so maybe jol or kanz.... ill just answer with whoever lol

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

i'll go with joel & kanz for this one bc they have a very big 'family' (its a cult, they are part of a cult). kanzy has a biological sister who's about 3-4 years younger than them?? but i believe the closest ages are lizzy and jolzy, they're like 22-25 i dont remember What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

an time i hear the word 'mother' + 'oc' i think of stella. her relationship with her mother is literally so bad lmao What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

i'll go with saturn for this! his father choked him to death lol In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

i can't decide of a character for this one but half of them are dead so like. probably when they were dying Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

ben: success

stella: she used to prioritize success but she kinda figured that was never gonna happen so now its happiness

nyx: happiness

kanz: happiness

jol: success

saturn: justice Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

ben: wisdom

lyra: ambition

kanz: probabl wisdom What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

oh hell yeah

ben: he's ridiculously self-sacrifical. he's always looking for validation and will give up his own comfort and sanity to appear 'perfect'. so he seems obnoxious & he also will shoulder every single bit of despair by himself

nyx: they just do whatever the fuck they want. like they disappeared for 3 years, didn't leave a note or anything, just said Fuck This Shit Im Out. they let their whole kingdom believe they were dead bc why would they deal with that shit when there are literally dragons. also they're irresponsible as hell

jol: he's a clown. also he's in a cult In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

ben tries to make sure he's better than everyone so it's both If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

i know i have at least one cahracter who is guilty as hell but i cant remember who What does your character like in other people?

stella like girls What does your character dislike in other people?

nyx hates people who are uptight/rule based, anyone who will yell at them for being an impulsive shithead How quick is your character to trust someone else?

jol can't trust anyone outside of his gotdamn cult. kanz got out of the cult and decided to room with the first 3 people they found, so i guess they're pretty trusting... lyra i feel is pretty trusting as well. she doesn't have many friends, but the ones she does have are cool.

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

im treating this as a 'there's a murder mystery, who figures out the killer first' question. nyx is probably the victim. lyra is coping with nyx's murder by writing a real life fanfic in the basement. stella's distraught as hell but she's leading the investigation & trying to make sure no one else gets hurt. ben is in his room crying. he is not involved in the murders because he is locked in his room lol. kanz suspects jol from the moment they find the body. the murderer is jol. he runs away to new york and saturn hunts him for sport How does your character behave around children?

joel would be popular with children ebcause he's a clown How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

joel likes to kill people How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

joel likes to kill people What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

stella wanted to be straight. she is not What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

their own families probably In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

ben: he fucking dies

stella: she doestn give a shit anymore

joel: he does not get criticism he is moms baby boy. but he likes being berated bc he aspires to be a piece of shit

kanz: 'oh my god you're so right' How does your character behave around people they dislike?

at the beginning stella just plays along with them but she learns how to properly reject middle aged men :) Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

they are the problem How does your character treat people in service jobs?

all of them are nice except for jol who is just annoying Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

ben does not have 'wants' he has a kingdom to rule. stella is beginning to realize she is deserving of cool shit. nyx thinks they are deserving of cool shit bc the shits cool. jol has no cool shit. kanz needs to earn their place. lyra doesnt think about that stuff. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

depends. jol can say 'i love you' to anyone because he was raised in Manipulation Central and they manipulate people. stella cannot say 'i love you' to your face but she will admit it while crying in nyx's arms. nyx doesn't say 'i love you' they let you cry about some hot girl in their arms. kanz can say i love you easily. ben does not say 'i love you' ever, except maybe to stella once. oh ben and stella are siblings btw What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

stella: i am going 2 hell

nnyx: if i die i die like who cares lmfao

lyra: death is terrifying to me. it doesn't matter where i go because the idea of being trapped somewhere for eternity is hell either way. i wont be able to control it. i'll leave my loved ones behind. i'll just waste away in a cage. if nothing happens after i die and i just cease to exist i'll be grateful

jol: if i die i die like who cares lmfao

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 6

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 6

Chapter Summary: More of a filler chapter, not much Henry, I’m sorry.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pregnancy, poor self image, bad coping mechanisms, low self esteem.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5}

"I already told you, Faye! I don't want anything to do with this!"

"So because I want to keep my babies, you're leaving me? Is that what you're trying to tell me, David?"

"Yes! Shit, I knew you were dumb, but seriously!"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf too, whore? How do you even know I'm the one that knocked you up? You've slept with just about every guy in town!"

"Get the fuck out."

"Don't come crying to me later! You're nothing without me! No one is ever going to want you. Especially once you have kids. Who the hell wants used goods? Have fun living a life of regret!"

Faye jerked awake, her head spinning as she tried to catch her bearings. Did David really leave her just like that? Sure he wasn't the greatest, but he had never lashed out like that before. At least not where anyone else could witness it.

No. David's gone. He has been gone for almost four years now. New life. Starting over. It's all in the past now.

Have to get the baby up before the sitter comes. Work is coming up soon. Life goes on.

"Briar, what are you doing on the floor?" Faye chuckled, crouching down next to her daughter, curled up on her pillow by her bed.

"I'm a puppy." Briar yawned in explanation, holding her arms up to be lifted, promptly licking her mother's cheek as soon as she was up.

"Briar, we talked about licking people."

"I'm not Briar, I'm puppy."

"Ok then, puppy, no licking people. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Puppy food."

"Cereal it is."

Feed the toddler, quick shower, get dressed, throw her hair up away from her face, wait for the baby sitter, hugs and kisses goodbye, then off to work. The usual routine she had settled herself into.

Feed the baby, because she's hungry and she comes first.

Shower, because she probably has some sort of mystery goo on her from the toddler.

Get dressed, avoid the mirror.  No one wants to be reminded of how much they've changed. The softness she wasn't used to around her lower stomach, hips and thighs. Her breasts no longer as perky as they used to be. The stretchmarks competing with her tattoo's for attention.

Then, the hardest part of the day. "Ok, Briar, Mrs. Anderson is here. Mommy has to go to work. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy." Briar responded, hugging her mother tight and kissing her cheek before she was sat back down.

"Have a nice day, Miss Warren."

"I hope she's not too much to handle."

"Never is."

Some days, Faye likes to pretend she's ok. Like she has a handle on things. Like she knows what she's doing and not just blindly stumbling through her life while trying to do right by her daughter.

Other days, she would absently push her sleeves up and her eye would catch on the black lines decorating her forearm, just below her elbow. Some days she's reminded that life is a bitch, and you can't always get what you want. On those days she tried to stay out of her own head, though that rarely worked.

She could slap on a smile with the best of them, but she could never force it to reach her eyes. Her face always remained an open book, free for anyone to read. The past creeps up on you. There's nothing you can do to stop it some days. On a bad day, the ghosts of the past will haunt your mind, echoing the worst days of your life into the void of your shattered heart.

"No one is ever going to want you!"

"You're nothing without me!"

"Who wants used goods?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Warren. There was nothing we could do."

Over and over on a seemingly never ending loop, reminding her of the darkest times in her life.

Why would anyone want her? She's not the same hot twenty six year old she used to be. She was soft. She was saggy. She would never be as attractive as she used to be. Anyone in their right mind would turn around and run once they realized how much she had let herself go.

Days like today were best spent keeping people at a distance. Tell them some story about being tired. Avoid anyone that is going to call her out on her obvious lie. Therein lies the problem with dying your hair obnoxious colors. Among a sea of blonde and brunette, powder blue tends to stick out and make it almost impossible to vanish.

Lie your way out of it. Survive another day. Tomorrow might not be better, but at least it won't be the same.

"Mommy, you're back!" The sweetest sound she could hear all day.

"I always come back, my little love." Faye assured, kissing her daughter's head.

Need to care for the baby. She comes first. She deserves the world. Play time. Dinner time. Bath time. Story time. Bed time. The same after work routine she had established months ago when she decided to drop everything and run.

Her daughter thought the world of her. She would do anything to see her smile. She would wear the stupid costume. She would pretend to be a horsey. She would let her daughter use her as a jungle gym. She would make the same dinner again for the third night in a row for her.  So what if she soaked the bathroom floor during bath time? She was a mermaid, and she wanted to show off her tail. Story time, always an adventure with her imaginative little girl. What world would they find themselves in today? Dinosaurs? Princesses? Mythology? A rhyming book?

Ah, yes of course. Her current favorite, the book about the dinosaur cleaning his room. She was a girl obsessed with dinosaurs at the moment.

"Mommy, where's my Papa?" Briar asked, staring intently down at the page depicting a mother and father watching the dinosaur throw away paper scraps.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. He wasn't a nice man." Faye explained, resting her cheek on her daughter's head.

"Can I have a new Papa?"

"Maybe someday, sweetheart."

"Can Spider-man be my new Papa?"

"Why do you want Spider-man to be your new Papa?"

"He's my boyfriend!"

"That's not how it works, silly. If he's your boyfriend, he can't also be by boyfriend! Pick another hero!"

"Batman!"

"Well, he is rich." Faye mused, Briar giggling happily. "Now it's time for bed, my love."

"Ok, Mommy. I love you!"

"I love you too, Briar." Faye whispered, kissing her forehead. The nightlight was switched on and the door was left cracked open, just in case. Now for her seldom used free time.

Should she sketch some more? Finish that painting she started forever ago? Ever since she started a "real" job, her art had fallen by the wayside. She was too drained to do much after work and caring of her daughter.

Maybe some drawing will lift her spirits and keep the nightmares at bay tonight. But what to draw? Not in the mood for still life. Brain too fried for something straight from her imagination. Her usual model was sleeping, and her last few self portraits had been a serious blow to her ego. She just drew what she saw in the mirror. Then, when she was finished, she decided she should have worn more clothing before she drew herself. What was supposed to boost her confidence and empower her as a woman instead left her wondering when exactly she developed that roll when sitting in that position.

"Fuck it. I'm drawing a moose." Faye grumbled to herself, turning the page from her self portrait to a blank sheet. Half an hour later when she was trying to remember what a moose's antlers looked like, she finally picked up her phone. Seven unread messages? That seems like a lot. When was the last time she looked at her phone? Oh yeah, when she got home, five hours ago.

All from one person. So she wasn't ignoring everyone at least. Seven messages, all from Henry. Shit. That's not good.

Are you ok?

You seemed off on set today

You didn't even talk to me

Did you at least make it home alright?

Can you send me a sign of life?

I'm sorry if I upset you or something. Can you please talk to me? I'm genuinely worried.

Please?

Well, fuck. Here she was playing unicorn apocalypse with her daughter, and this poor guy was worrying himself to death.

Sorry, I was drawing a moose

Perfect way of saying "I wasn't ignoring you" while also avoiding his persistent questions about her wellbeing. The good old 'drawing a moose' excuse. Works every time.

I think your moose aged me by ten years. Are you ok?

Just had a bad day

Anything I can do to help?

Squeeze me until I stop struggling and my spine snaps

That's called 'murder' Miss Warren

I knew there was a name for it

Is there anything I can do for you that involves less prison?

Nah, if you're not going to take me out, then I'm not interested

I'm not going to take you out by murder. I will take you out on a date.

Faye froze, staring at her phone. He was just playing around, like he always did. No way he was serious. Henry liked to flirt, and she wasn't about to throw herself at him over a joke. She had more dignity than that. So how does she respond? She can't just ignore him, and taking forever to respond is going to give the impression that she was freaking out over what he said.

She was completely freaking out over what he had said, but he didn't need to know that. Was he just looking to get laid or something? Probably. He had gotten pretty close the last time he had been over. There's a difference between dating and screwing, though. He was probably just looking for someone to fuck while waiting for a woman worth his time to come along. Faye was broken out of her thoughts by her phone going off again, alerting her to a new message. Didn't he know she was busy having an existential crisis?

If you're free on Sunday you can come over and show me that moose your working on

*you're

Smart ass

Sunday?

I'll have to see if Mrs. Anderson can watch Briar

Bring her along. She keeps asking me about Kal

Pretty on brand for her

Sunday?

Sunday.

Sunday. What to wear on Sunday? He was probably looking for a little something something for his time, so something slutty? She got rid of all her slutty clothes after she had Briar in a fit of self hatred toward her new mom bod, so that was out. Besides, he wouldn't have invited Briar over too if he was looking to get laid.

So what does one wear on a casual 'date' these days? She had until Sunday to figure that out.

Tag List:  @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny

[queenlua]

Ace Attorney case tier list

so, in the past year, i finished replaying games 1 through 5 for the first time in forever, and also played game 6 for the first time ever

so here’s where i ruthlessly rank each of the cases based on that most scientific metric of all, My Opinions:

OPENING CASES

S-tier: Turnabout Trump (4-1).  I already knew this case, and I still gasped with surprise when Phoenix showed up, and when Kristoph showed his true colors, and when Apollo realized OH SHIT OH FUCK I REALLY AM ACCUSING MY BOSS OF MURDER HUH... what a wonderful, splashy, shockingly concise case to open up the post-O.G. trilogy world.  Marvelous.

A-tier: Turnabout Memories (3-1).  Seeing Mia Fey (finally!) in action is a long-awaited delight; seeing Phoenix being a total dumbass was an unexpected-yet-perfect and fitting delight.

B-tier: The First Turnabout (1-1).  Solid lil’ case with some conventional-but-well-executed humor.  I’ve got a soft spot for Larry Butz.

C-tier: The Lost Turnabout (2-1), The Foreign Turnabout (6-1).  The former’s fine but a little forgettable; the latter has some fun gags (Payne’s ridiculous new outfit, dude absolutely shredding on the mandolin, etc) but is marred by how uh... kinda silly the game’s core conceit is, lol

E-tier: Turnabout Countdown (5-1).  The context surrounding this introduction is just sloppy (badly handled in media res + let’s lowkey retcon game 4 isn’t a great setup), and also the case itself is just. irksome. ted tonate is just fundamentally irritating to look at

FINALE CASES

S-tier: Bridge to the Turnabout (3-5), Turnabout Goodbyes (1-4).  No explanation needed.  God they fuck so hard

A-tier: The Cosmic Turnabout + Turnabout for Tomorrow (5-4 + 5-5), Turnabout Succession (4-4).

The former two cases are what makes AA5 worth it, and they make for a tremendously fun ride.  It fumbles the execution in some notable ways (Apollo’s sudden j’accuse moment feels a little forced/awkward/inadequately foreshadowed, and damn it sure would’ve been nice to know Clay Terran at all before he died, and also The Phantom’s final meltdown could’ve used a bit more emotional heft)... but okay let’s be real, I’m here for Simon Blackquill, and this case gives me so much of him so who gives a shit.  (And Aura!  Condescending obnoxious engineering queen!  I love her!)  

As for Turnabout Succession... while I earnestly wish the game had explored more of Klavier’s feelings about this whole setup, and some more emotional beats for Apollo, the case still makes for such a satisfyingly twisty and fun investigation overall (the poison stamp! what a ridiculous murder method! I love it!) that it’s a more-than-worthy finale.

B-tier: Turnabout Revolution (6-5), Farewell, My Turnabout (2-4).

The former does some cool stuff—I particularly like the opening half, where Apollo’s being real snippy and coping with Frankly Bizarre Dad Feelings, and giving Apollo a chance to finally throw down against Phoenix is a blast.  The latter half of the case starts feeling a little... ridiculous? cramped? idk? like, they didn’t do nearly enough foreshadowing about Nahyuta’s whole deal for me to care about his drama, this justice system is so obviously silly and the manner in which the revolution is playing out strains my already-suspended-sky-high disbelief... fun, and flashy, but more noise than signal in the last part, I guess.

As for Farewell, My Turnabout: of course I love Edgeworth rolling back into court goin’ through SOME kind of bizarre emotional arc of Hey I’m Totally Healed Now and obnoxiously preaching about Truth TM.  And it’s cool that the game set up a case where you want to lose.  But the net result is a bit strange tonally—it’s trying set up some kind of message about It’s Not Just About Winning, It’s About Pursuing The Truth, but it feels really muddled when that’s combined with Okay But Maya’s Literally Being Held Hostage Like Right Now, Surely A Reasonable Justice System Has A Process For Dealing With This Obviously Complicated Situation, Right?

but also Franziska takes a fucking bullet (how did I forget about that) and then gets to roll in like Ms. Save The Day so, really, lots of good shit here

FILLER CASES

S-tier: Reunion, and Turnabout (2-2), Turnabout Beginnings (3-4).  Look, the first one gives me all the Fey family drama a girl could ask for, and the latter gives me young Edgeworth being a total shit in an obnoxiously shimmery outfit.  The whole enchilada is here

A+ tier: The Magical Turnabout (6-2).  DELIGHTFUL!  MAGICIAN!  SHENANIGANS!  Like you get to guess the trick behind a magic act as part of the case, how fucking fun is that, and also the Apollo & Athena duo’s chemistry is perfect, the villain is a FANTASTIC bastard, and even the bit characters you meet during the investigation are total delights... Probably the best “standalone” case in the series, in that it doesn’t rely on any emotional connections to previous cases (unlike 2-2 and 3-4) to still totally and completely rule.

A tier: Turnabout Samurai (1-3), Turnabout Reclaimed (5-DLC).

For Turnabout Samurai, I remembered before this replay how delightful the TV SHOW STUDIO investigation and actor-fandom stuff was; I had TOTALLY forgotten Vasquez calling in her mob connections to try and wreck you.  What a fantastic villain; what a fun case.

Turnabout Reclaimed is just good solid goofy nonsense.  Probably receives a boost for me in particular because, yeah, Simon Blackquill.  But then again who isn’t giving cases a boost on that account; they are MISSING OUT

B tier: The Stolen Turnabout (3-2).  Ron and Desirée are so great sighs into hands

C tier: Listing roughly in order of preference: Turnabout Academy (5-3), Turnabout Serenade (4-3), Turnabout Sisters (1-2), Recipe for a Turnabout (3-3), Rite of the Turnabout (6-3), Rise from the Ashes (1-5).

Four of these (5-3, 4-3, 1-2, 3-3) are perfectly solid cases; I just don’t love them quite as much as “thievery hijinks” or “Hollywood hijinks” or other such particularly delightful flavors.  Everyone has a favorite flavor of Jolly Rancher and all that.

Rite of the Turnabout is interesting and connected with the larger themes of the game in a cool way, and makes good use of the divination mechanic.  However, the last bit gets twisty enough to actually be kind of confusing, and said larger themes of the game are... kinda hard for me to take seriously... which, yeah, leads to it feeling a little stilted when it really should be singing.

Rise from the Ashes landed awkwardly for me.  I know it was added well after the first game’s release, and it does a good job of continuing some of the cool stuff from that game—it’s neat, in isolation, to see Phoenix and Edgeworth working together (while still sniping at each other!), and some of the DS-specific mechanics are neat.  However, I just didn’t feel like I learned quite enough about Ema and Lana to care about them like I should, and retconning “(almost certainly true) rumors that Edgeworth was involved in Shady Shit TM” into “actually Edgeworth was totally ignorant of Shady Shit TM, like at worst his crime was willful ignorance / incuriosity, he was just been manipulated by the Police Chief”... makes Edgeworth less interesting to me!  Like, it’s cool to see Edgeworth caught off-guard and under pressure, but I wish the circumstances had been different?  Also Gant’s theme song is annoying as shit, which is petty but hey this is my blog post so

D tier: Turnabout Storyteller (6-4), Turnabout Corner (4-2), Turnabout Big Top (2-3), The Monstrous Turnabout (5-2).

Turnabout Storyteller has some fun gags with My Dude Simon and also Taka, but was heavily marred by Everyone Talking Down To Athena The Entire Fucking Case Oh My God Can You All Just Shut Up.

Turnabout Corner has... lots of fun elements but... look the fucking stolen-panties setup just grates ok

I don’t think I hate Turnabout Big Top the way most people seem to, but I did find the final murder setup more annoying that I remembered this playthrough—bro you were really sure the dude was going to conveniently stand right there and the heavy statue was definitely going to strike a killing blow and not just give the guy a concussion?  ok lol

The Monstrous Turnabout suffers mostly from poor puzzle/investigation design, being too hand-hold-y, and also having a core gimmick/setting that just wasn’t really my thing.  Alas!

[slasherholic]

Essay: The Impact of Smith’s Grove on Michael Myers’ Antisocial Tendencies

-warning: personal opinion and headcanons ahead!-

The topic has been on my mind tonight, so naturally, my thoughts have culminated in an unnecessarily lengthy essay :)

I’ll preface this by saying Michael’s time at Smith’s Grove undoubtedly contributed to the severity of his antisocial behaviors. While temporary hospitalization was likely the right course of action for him after Judith’s murder, under no circumstances would it have been beneficial for his development to spend his entire childhood at an institute for the criminally insane. It would seem that, ultimately, (and almost certainly in part due to the recommendations of Sam Loomis,) Michael was “forgotten by the system” and doomed from the beginning to become just another statistic.

Let’s make something clear, though: Michael’s lack of empathy was not caused by Smith’s Grove. Michael’s sadistic personality was not caused by Smith’s Grove. These are inherent biological factors. It may seem harsh to label a child with such a serious, seemingly adult condition, but Conduct Disorder is a very real occurrence.

Of course, that isn’t at all to say that Judith’s murder was Michael’s fault.

Due both to the severity of Michael’s disorder, and his young age, he would not have been able to internalize why cruelty to others and outright murder was considered “wrong” by society.

Yes, he probably had adults talking at him all day about why it wasn’t okay to bully kids in school, or throw rocks at dogs, or cut up all of Judith’s toys; but ultimately, little Mikey lacked the cognitive function that would be developing in a “typical” brain to ascertain morally right behaviors from morally wrong ones. In short, all that adult talk was just obnoxious nagging that went in one ear and right out the other.

Alright, there’s my rambling and obligatory “it’s very not groovy to fling around unfounded and damaging labels such as ableist” (I’m a mentally ill individual myself, thanks 😎👉) out of the way. On to the actual topic of this essay weeeee

Also! Due to the very limited knowledge we have about Michael’s character, here is where things get quite headcanon-y--so please, dip out now if you are bothered by that.

Smith’s Grove ultimately failed Michael for a multitude of reasons. Psychiatry at the time was ill-equipped to deal with the severity of a disorder such as his, and to worsen matters, those in charge of his care were never able to achieve a break-through with him during the course of his treatment. (This includes Loomis, yes, but I highly doubt that it was strictly limited to Loomis—I do not think it’s responsible to pin all of the blame on a single psychiatrist. I will go more into detail about what Loomis is responsible for in another essay.)

The core issue, however, is this: from little Mikey’s point of view, the staff of Smith’s Grove were never there to “help him.” These adults were merely the people keeping him locked up in an unstimulating environment, making him swallow gross pills, and trying to lecture him about things that he really didn’t care about. He wanted out.

However, thanks to the naivety of psychiatry at the time—and with good intentions in mind, albeit very misplaced—the people in charge were not about to let him out into, say, some sort of outpatient program.

Michael picked up on this fact quickly. And the effects it wreaked on his attitude toward other people as a whole were catastrophic.

Because of this deeply-rooted frustration toward his confinement, I have no doubt that little Michael would have come to resent the staff of Smith’s Grove—his psychiatrist included—and the institution altogether. In his worldview, every single person now involved in his life was guilty of being an utter jackass, unworthy of his respect, unworthy of his cooperation.

This was the catalyst that led Michael to voluntarily stop communicating.

Think about it—engaging with the staff was ultimately not something that could be forced on Michael. His refusal to cooperate became the single aspect of his life that he still held some semblance of personal control over. Doctors could talk at him all they wanted, but at the end of the day, he didn’t have to listen, nor react; so, he didn’t.

Michael’s refusal to communicate was likely done sheerly out of frustration and a desire to be defiant—that is, until he was mature enough to realize how he could use the behavior to slip gracefully under the radar, and be forgotten about. His next decade was set to be spent perfecting his act of docility, biding his time, and waiting for the day when he could free himself on his own terms.

But by then, the irreversible damage to his social proclivity was done; and any hope of him cooperating in his treatment was long gone.

Michael had long-since internalized the idea that communication with others was not a worthwhile use of his energy. In little Mikey’s mind, having no desire to engage socially with those in his environment, no inherent need or longing to seek out friendly interactions, and a very low opinion of practically everybody, other people were now useful only as tools.

This mindset of his was strongly reinforced as his libido developed—at which point he discovered that cruelty to others wasn’t just entertaining, it also made him feel good in a different way. Essentially, as Michael matured into adulthood, his “people are nothing more than toys and tools” mentality had become too deeply rooted in his psyche to ever realistically be rectified.

Now, consider a perfect world: a world in which Michael hadn’t been left a permanent inpatient. A world where instead, he was released back to his family within a year. A world where he had been taught healthy and effective mechanisms to cope with his impulses.

Even in this ideal situation, I feel it would be unmindful of me to make any sort of claim that Michael absolutely would not still be engaging in criminal activity—murder possibly included.

Upon his escape from Smith’s Grove, Michael, a perfectly sane adult, (ASPD is not a psychotic disorder,) who now knows that murder is wrong by societal standards, who now understands the gravity of his actions and the potential repercussions he faces, whether out of impulse, sexual desire, sheer boredom, or any combination of the three—still opts to kill people.

Michael could have disappeared after his escape. I am confident that he is both intelligent and perceptive enough that if he really felt like it, he could have picked up on the skills needed to at the very least “blend in” with society. He could have faded into obscurity in the public eye, and that would have been the end of it. It would not have been a “normal” life, but it might have been something bordering on functional.

Instead, he murdered four people.

Let me emphasize: when Michael finally got free, rather than doing literally anything besides murder, Michael went out of his way to commit even more murders.

To conclude, yes; institutional misconduct worsened the severity of Michael’s antisocial tendencies and stole from him any chance he might have had at living a “normal” life.

However, Michael’s crimes as an adult are inexcusable, and despite the very real mistreatment he faced at the hands of an authority, he absolutely deserves to be held responsible for his actions in the original Halloween.

[magioftheseas]

Apologies for the inconvenience but I was looking at one of your dr3 despair arc posts and was curious: how does the anime mistreat Komaeda’s characterization?

Komaeda’s just immediately mistreated by his class on the outset when in the game that was for like, y’know the very understandable reason that he got two people killed. They were still too harsh in the game mind you, but here it’s like...what the actual fuck is their problem. Like yeah, he’s weird but have you seen the rest of them? Not to mention dr3 does an incredibly gross thing by having Satou be even fucking creepier than Komaeda is and yet Koizumi’s super into that when canonically she only ever saw herself as normal bUT I DIGRESS...

It’s just super ableist that “bullying is okay because this person is weird! haha!” and we’re supposed to think the sdr2 kids are innocent baby victims so it’s even more obnoxious that they’re still shithead fuckers who happily tolerate attempted rape, drugging, AND MURDER, but not Komaeda’s weird-ass remarks.

When it comes to Komaeda himself though, the anime is...very strange because while yeah he’s more extreme than he should be in his focused episode, you can just act like while the bombs were real, he didn’t plan on there being any casualties or anyone getting hurt besides the building. (Considering Ruruka and Seiko were fucking a-okay with zero injuries or scarring despite being literally right on top of the bomb, there’s also that.) It’s not bad, per say, but it is kinda shallow save for a few good bits of character writing like Komaeda bracing himself when he’s hit. Between that and the go jars in his bag (characterization only found in the artbook), the storyboarder cared about him if no one else.

It’s kind of a gag episode anyway though and clearly isn’t meant to be taken all that seriously...beyond Chisa being a fucking hypocrite that Komaeda blowing up a building is The Worst Thing while Nidai and Owari wrecking the entire wall of their classroom is whatever. Again, the standards of dr3 are fucking dumb and tend to be biased against Komaeda just because he was an antagonistic force in sdr2 when like...he’s not one in dr3. It lacks any real awareness or nuance and is super annoying.

Also, it implied Komaeda was hopesexual which is bad when that shit’s a coping mechanism, not a fetish. Obligatory bitching about the stupid brainwashing also goes here. But yeah, the issue here is that dr3 implies that having bad social skills due to dementia is worthy of derision and abuse (but murder, assault, harassment, and attempted rape are okay) which is pretty...not great. Komaeda’s character writing itself while weird in places (seriously what the fuck was with that shower scene when Komaeda’s canonically terrified of planes), it’s overall not the worst bastardization that dr3 has to offer. That dubious honor goes to the aforementioned Koizumi who is NOTHING like her sdr2 self and to Saionji in which the writers just completely fucking missed why she was the way she was.

I have much bigger problems with zhen than Komaeda, but yeah Komaeda’s my baby so this shit miffs me.

[zero-heather]

Persona  Main Cast Arcana Swap (Spoilers!)

I wasn’t really paying attention to ships and stuff like that while making this, more-so what was interesting to switch. It occurred to me in the planning of the P2 cast that some crushes are canon. But, here we go anyway!

Persona 1

The Emporer - Reiji Kido (Protagonist): A silent boy who lost his older half-brother during his younger years. He carved an X on his forehead using a knife to make sure his parents don’t treat him like he was his brother. The Chariot - Naoya Toudou: The partially-spoiled son of a manga company. An occasional troublemaker, but also a nice person. His crush is in the hospital. The Hierophant - Masao Inaba: A rich young boy who will soon inherit control over a large group of companies called the Inaba Group. He’s spoiled, intelligent and has no tolerance for stupidity of any kind. The Strength - Kei Nanjo: A father-like figure that almost everyone St. Hermelin looks up to. He is an ex-yanki who was reformed by one of his teachers, to whom he has great respect for. The Justice - Yukino Mayuzumi: A girl who likes to make jokes and prank people for attention. Her parents were never really around for her and she was laughed a lot during her childhood. The Hermit - Hidehiko Uesugi: A young boy who has been hospitalized for a little over a year. His childhood friend, Reiji Kido, occasionally visits him and he gets more frequent visits from Naoya Toudou. His father is too busy to visit him. The Judgement - Maki Sonomura: A beautiful and intelligent girl who has come back to Japan from studying abroad. She aspires to travel the world, but wants to stay in her hometown for the rest of her studies. The Magician - Eriko Kirishima: An airheaded girl who hates hearing anything that displeases her. She likes to live in the moment and doesn’t think about her future too much. The Devil - Yuka Ayase: A delinquent who doesn’t have much care for anything or anyone other than her parents, who are poor. She usually plays hard to get but is a really nice person inside.

Persona 2 Duology

The Sun - Katsuya Suou: A delinquent type adult. His younger brother gives him lectures on how he should try and be a better person but he doesn’t care. Hates his brother and his father. The Justice - Tatsuya Suou: Katsuya’s younger brother, a high school student who wants to join the police force to clear his father’s name. Also has an obvious crush.

The Death - Kaoru Saga: A narcissistic young man in his early 20s who runs a band, in which he is called Baofu. He rejected his parents constant complaining on how he should be a ‘Traditional Japanese Man’, but he still has a very low self esteem. The Hanged Man - Eikichi Mishina: A high school boy who is able to wiretap and hack into any known database. He hangs around Tatsuya’s friend group, despite remaining a mystery to even them. He goes by the name Michel. The Wheel of Fortune - Maya Amano: A young woman who was the childhood friend of Katsuya. Her parents are both deceased and she works for COOLEST Magazine. All that aside, she’s calm, collected and likes flowers.

The Moon - Jun Kurosu: A high school boy whose motto is ‘think positive’, even in tight situations. He makes friends easily and happens to forget a lot of things, but is a good person. Also doesn’t believe many people like him. The Lovers - Ulala Serizawa: A hyper young woman who knows martial arts and is a fan of Bruce Lee. Her parents wanted her to be a ‘Traditional Japanese Woman’, but just like Kaoru, she rejected their wishes.

The Star - Lisa Silverman: A high school girl who has bad luck with men and can never seem to find someone right for her. She’s a professional boxer and also sneaks out to drink, despite being underage.

The Strength - Kei Nanjo: A photographer for COOLEST Magazine who was involved in the SEBEC incident. He works with Maya Amano, and with the help of her and his old teacher, he’s comfortable with who he is now.

Persona 3

The Fool - Aigis/Metis: A high school student who came back to Tatsumi Port Island 10 years after their parents died on the bridge due to a fire. Canon is Aigis, which is female, and optional is Metis, who is male. The Lovers - Minako Arisato: A young bubbly girl who likes big crowds. She’s a popular girl at school, unknowingly, and also stays in the Gekkoukan High Dorms. She has a gun holster on her belt and has a brother. Somewhat loud and “obnoxious”. The Magician - Minato Arisato: A young blunt boy who hates big crowds. He’s a popular boy at school, unknowingly, and also stays in the Gekkoukan High Dorms. He has a gun holster on his belt and has a sister. Reserved and introverted. The Empress - Yukari Takeba: A wealthy individual and next in line to inherit control of the Takeba Group. She’s a very intelligent person and many people look up to her, as she is also the student council president. The Emporer - Junpei Iori: A second year that runs the boxing club at Gekkoukan High. He takes boxing very seriously and also finds it a good stress reliever. He’s determined and courageous, and also a good mentor. The High Priestess - Mitsuru Kirijo: A quite and kept-in girl, she serves as the navigator for SEES. Her best friend would have been found outside Gekkoukan High with Apathy Syndrome if not for her. She’s a bookworm and likes sci-fi. The Hierophant - Akihiko Sanada: A shady third year who hardly shows up at school. He only joined SEES for personal reasons which he refuses to share. Has a soft spot for Fuuka, and is good friends with Junpei. The Justice - Fuuka Yamagishi: A little girl who seems to know Akihiko from her past. She’s well behaned and a good role-model for others her age. Despite being 11, she lives in the Gekkoukan High Dorms. The Chariot - Shinjiro Aragaki: A robot made to destroy shadows. He can only develop human feelings through contact with those feelings. He is enrolled in Gekkoukan High as a second year, despite being a robot and seeming more like a third year.

Persona 4

The Fool - Teddie: A transfer student from Tokyo who came to live with his uncle for a year. He’s very anxious in social situations, and arguments between his friends makes him nervous. Has a weird obsession with bears. The Magician - Rise Kujikawa: A goofy and fun young girl. Her parents are the managers at Junes, and she works part-time there. She’s also in Teddie’s class.

The Chariot - Kanji Tatsumi: An intimidating young boy with martial arts skills. He may be buff but he’s not really aggressive. Suggests eating more meat a lot and is good friends with Rise. The Emporer - Yosuke Hanamura: A badass who was able to take down an entire biker gang by himself. Feared by his classmates, but he is a good person. He likes knitting and has more feminine hobbies, he also questions his sexuality a lot. Despite being skinny, he’s a lot stronger than the buffest one in the group. The Lovers - Yu Narukami: A model who is famous for his cross-dressing and his way to charm crowds. He’s very blunt about his thoughts but he means no harm. He’s a fun person to have around, but he already has a crush.

The Star - Yukiko Amagi: A strange woman who came from the TV world. She makes a lot of puns, albeit sometimes doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and is fascinated with the human world. The Wheel of Fortune - Chie Satonaka: A detective who acted like she was male for most of her life. Is only now getting used to being able to freely act like a woman, and is still coping with her identity. She’s logical and the smartest in the group.

Persona 5

The Fool - Morgana: A young boy who was arrested on false charges and sent to Tokyo for a whole year as ‘probation’. Despite all the rumors surrounding him, he’s a good person and probably the most lenient friend you’ll ever find. The Chariot - Haru Okumura: An ex-track and field runner, she hates how adults think they can just lie their way through life and not have any consequences. A good hearted person with a somewhat goofy attitude. The Magician - Futaba Sakura: A young girl who was found trapped in Kamoshida’s Palace. She eventually decided to come over to the human world and take the guise of Futaba Sakura. Kind of annoying but overall understanding and polite. The Lovers - Akira Kurusu: A young boy who was being sexually abused by Kamoshida, as for a while he kept telling everyone and himself he was female. He eventually came out as a male publicly, despite being a bit nervous about it. A strong-hearted individual. The Emporer - Ryuji Sakamoto: A young painter who seems to think Akira is still a girl, despite him publicly stating he was male. He’s polite but also poor, so he starves himself a lot which explains his slim yet tall figure. The High Priestess - Ann Takamaki (P5)/Kasumi Yoshizawa (P5R): The student council president of Shuujin Academy. She keeps up her polite and obeying act in public, but when she’s with the group she’s an absolute unit that no one dares cross. The Hermit - Goro Akechi: His father runs the coffee shop which Morgana is in, and he also has an obsession with video games. He serves as the navigator for the group. He is reserved and hates going out in public. The Justice - Yusuke Kitagawa: A young and upcoming detective. He may be polite in public, but he’s really a sociopath who will murder anybody and anything that upsets him. The Faith - Ann Takamaki (P5R): An elegant and intelligent young girl, who gets the top score at Shuujin, which is why she was offered a scholarship there. She’s actually very stressed out and often becomes depressed for no reason.

[ocsxinxpurgatory]

Falling Apart (Riker Ascott)

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Riker, Earl, and anyone you don’t recognize belong to me as does the plot while everything else is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Setting: Season 1 compliant

Pairing: None (past mentioned poly-ship)

Rating: PG-13 for themes

Everyone has their breaking point even someone as stubborn as Riker. It was only a matter of time before his past spilled out of him with all the poison that was still burning through him. Unsurprisingly it’s Earl who lends his ear as he did with so many of Purgatory’s hurting coyotes....

*~*~*~*~*~*

Falling Apart

It was crisp and cold; the kind of weather that had one's breath visible were it not night and pitch black save for the stars. The thin gloves and threadbare coat barely keep the chill from sinking into his skin even though it would take time for it to effect him. The curse was good in that way at least.

His body still shivers as it knows without a doubt that he should not be out here staring into the distance like this when his trailer was nice and warm and safe. His body might understand it but his mind was a darker, colder place and he needed the bite of the cold to try and mitigate the way he was feeling.

He wishes he could forget.

Snow crunches behind him signaling what he should have been more aware of a while ago before would come, “You trying to make yourself into a very unattractive ice sculpture, Riker?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Taking a refreshing stroll in the dark,” he retorts caustically, “What business is it of yours?”

“You and I both know who makes it his business to know the comings and goings on here. And wandering around in sub temps is not a smart idea even for us Revenants. You'll still come down sick.”

“Well, it won't be anyone's but my own fault,” he counters that feeling of frustration filling him that no one could mind their own goddamn business. So of course it has him stalking further into the park boots crunching through the snow as he makes his way away from the other.

Of course it's not long before he finds himself out by the picnic tables which are still half-buried thanks to this last round of winter weather and he brings a mitten through the snow on one of the bench clearing it as much as he can before tugging his jacket down far enough to sit without getting his pants soaked. At least not immediately. He closes his eyes again trying to rein in the urge to scream in frustration and anger; emotions bottled up for too long and too hard were all fighting for an outlet he had yet to be able to give them.

Unfortunately, the more frustrated he feels the more he feels the curse and the heat pulsates in his head by the mark making him groan softly before resting his elbows into the snow covered table and leaning his face into his hands. Soon, he has it pressed against the table in the snow and inwardly grimaces at the hissing noise as the snow melts immediately upon contact. Thankfully, though, shifting around and pressing against  a few more spots has his skin cooling enough that it stops hurting quite so much and he just rests himself in the cold wetness deciding it was just more comfortable to do this than move.

A cold lethargy has overtaken him before he realizes the dangers posed even to a demon and cannot pull himself up enough to even try to correct the issue. Part of him wonders if it wasn't the price one paid; to end up going into shock and then being frozen until someone came down there or it thawed.

It was shitty but...

He isn't given the chance to come to whatever mental conclusion he might have as he feels himself jerked right off the table a guttural snarl coming from whoever had him. He's just too cold and too tired to even bother figuring it out. Later, his foggy mind chooses, later he'd be concerned.

Unconsciousness takes him not long after that.

*~*~*~*

Coming to is harder as his limbs feel heavy and it takes him a bit to realize he's under a large amount of blankets. Slowly, he shifts and stretches his body out. “Oh, so you're finally awake,” comes the unamused tone of one Bobo Del Rey, “Fantastic. It only took about a week after your idiotic choice to try and sleep out on the picnic tables.”

He goes still. “A-a...week?” he croaks out.

“Yeah, dumbass. You've been in and out of consciousness and feverish for a week. Congrats on that by the way. You managed to really outdo yourself on the obnoxious scale this time, Ascott. I thought we got passed you being a pain in my ass.”

He sighs softly before slowly uncovering his head so he can gaze at the male through tangled strands of black hair. “Contrary to belief, Bobo Del Rey, this was not an attempt to annoy you. I needed some air and my damn curse mark decided to act up.”

“Well that's what happens when you don't properly regulate your more angry and bitter emotions, moron. I've told you this. Your mark gets hotter the angrier and more hateful you get. You keep stuff bottled up so much I'm surprised you haven't lit yourself on fire.”

“Only Axel is capable of that without it doing harm to him so I'm going to avoid it if at all possible,” Riker replies, “As for bottling things up...that's just how I handle things.”

“Well, then find a better way to do it. I don't care what coping mechanism you use so long as it doesn't involve me playing nursemaid because that's not my job and I will toss your goddamn carcass back over the line. We've talked about this.”

Riker wants to be sullen and snarky in return but it had never served him well so he manages a quiet, “Yes, I got it. I'll work on it.”

“You better because I am not kidding, Ascott.”

No, Riker is sure he's not.

It takes a few more days before he feels good enough to try and be sociable and by then he's sure everyone's heard. The teasing gets very old, very fast. But he allows it not wanting another conversation with Bobo Del Rey that will no doubt go bad. Both of them are still very aware of the paint incident and the words exchanged between them. There was no need to push any further.

He's at the benches, cleared and dry this time, with a cup of hot chocolate when he hears, “You know, he gets grumpiest when he cares don't you?” Earl's voice is quiet but still fills the area despite that fact.

“Suppose it's crossed my mind,” he agrees, “but he's still nosier than a man should be.”

“Have you seen most of the idiots he deals with? He just likes to get a feel for the men around him and what might keep them from going off the rails. That's all.”

A sigh escapes him. “It's not...it's not as cut and dry as that and you know it. You give a man that much ammunition and good intentions or not he's still got a loaded gun where you are concerned. I don't...I don't trust it.”

“Problem is, son, you don't trust anyone. And that tells enough.”

Riker looks away a moment, breath leaving in a wisp before sighing softly. “Of course it does. But then...if I don't trust anyone it means no one has the means by which to hurt me and that suits me just fine. Better even.”

“Because it was betrayal that ended your life.”

It wasn't a question which makes it so much worse because as Riker had found; Earl Slater was an astute bastard. Give even a little bit and he could make a few very educated guesses in the absolute correct direction. “If it was, it's not to be repeated. Ever.” A flare of anger and he winces slightly.

“Uh huh, except it's gonna keep punishing you over and over until you get it out of your system. It's how this curse works. It's also why he warned you to talk about it. The more you keep that seething rage just under the surface; the more of you that's going to be lost. And honestly, I don't think whoever did this to you is worth losing yourself over.”

“I loved them.” The words escape like choking on glass, “I would have died for them. And they never fucking cared. Not one bit.” His eyes burn at the feeling twisting like a sharp curved blade.

“Tell me about it. Just me. And you know nothing between us goes anywhere. You've learned that much about this place, I am sure.”

That was the one truth he had come to learn; confidences with Earl were sacrosanct and he would not divulge them. He still can't help the pleading, “Do you promise? Not even to Del Rey?”

“Not a chance, Riker. This is between you and me. Most I'll tell him is that he has no reason to worry about you. That's all he needs. Affirmation. But you need an ear and some support. So let me do that much, kiddo.”

He curls his fingers tightly around the cup pressing it against his lips as he considers all his years of running and avoiding almost everything. And how much it had not helped anything. At all. Maybe it was time to let someone else help with what followed him like the worst sort of shadow.

“I'm sure,” he finally says quietly, “that you've heard what my death sentence was given over. Everyone else has and Revs like to gossip.”

“Suppose I have heard a thing or two,” Earl murmurs, “because you are right; you all can be a nosy, gossipy lot.”

“It was all the same situation,” he admits after a moment, “Three death sentences all in one night and a couple of acts of passion.” He sets the cup down. “The murder charge, which is what always gets the most attention, has never been gotten close to being correct though. I was with a man that night and a woman. Neither of them died though.” Something twists harder in him. “I wish it was a cut and dry as that. It would have been easier to swallow but...” He was babbling, he realizes and he takes a slow breath, “Let me go back a ways because I know I'm not making any sense.

God was the cornerstone of my family, you see. God and the church. My father was friends with the local pastor in the area; they grew up together with the same religious upbringing. As did all the people around us. God was the head of the family and the man was his right-hand. Puritans at their most fanatical. My mother was the perfect and obedient house-wife and taught my brother, my sister, and me to be pure and god-fearing.” He has to pause and laugh bitterly as he sets the cup down. “Let's be clear that I don't particularly feel one way or another about someone else's religion so long as they don't shove it at me. Living in my house was a nightmare as I could not wrap my mind around why such a being deserved anything remotely close to worship when he was so judgmental and choosy about who he favored. All the hoop-jumping bothered me to a steadily rising degree. I just learned early on that I was not going to get anywhere asking my questions.

At about thirteen there were a few new families joining the community and I had the low but inextinguishable hope that maybe, just maybe I might have the chance at normal level-headed friends. Even though I knew they belonged to our faith. I was stupid and naive and needed community. I've come to the conclusion that's the one thing about being human; our need for community and connections.

And this is when I met Lydia and Titus. They were my age from affluent families. We hit it off right away. By the time I was fifteen we were an inseparable trio and were always together. We collectively agreed that our parents were idiots but we knew better than to say that to them and instead kept our own counsel on what we truly thought.

I thought I found what I'd been wishing for and it was liberating.”

He has to pause his jaw tightening. The feel of a hand on his shoulder has his breath coming in a ragged sound. “I should have known something was up. I should have known that it was too convenient.”

“Riker...”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “We were eighteen when I admitted having more than a passing fondness. For both of them. I was afraid that I was going to lose the two most important people in my life. I loved them despite knowing how dangerous it was in a time like that. But when they didn't turn away in disgust when they told me that they were relieved that I felt the same...I knew I would die to protect them.

We were happy for the next couple of years. Or at least...” Grief fills his voice and he swallows a few times. “I was stupid then. So stupid. I didn't see the signs that I see now clear as day.”

“Lovin' someone, lovin' anyone is not something that makes you stupid,” Earl says voice kind, gentle even, “There was nothin' wrong with how you felt.”

Gray eyes fill with anger and resentment red swirling in their depths as the demon rears it's ugly head. “Except,” comes the guttural retort, “When I was twenty-one I learned better. I learned it was a set-up. The whole thing. Them. Their feelings. Everything.” He watches Earl's eyes widen a moment and laughs bitterly. “Oh yes, they were from my church. My father got in touch with some of his old friends worried that I was going down “dark paths” and needed to be looked after. So they were told to befriend me. Eventually tempt me and see what I was truly made of. To keep up the charade until they knew for sure. Until it was too late. There we were, entangled in bed and my father, their parents, and the good reverend come in. To a space we'd made fr ourselves that I thought wasn't known to anyone else. I was charged with buggery, sodomy, and murder. What they didn't bother telling the good Marshals who would eventually hunt me down three months later was that the murder charge was over me. That my choices would no doubt send me to hell. Because suicide wasn't something they could pin on me still being alive.” He carefully sets the mug down too afraid with his shaking hands and all he was feeling that he would break it either by dropping it, squeezing it too hard, or hurling it at something. “So there you have it,” comes his quiet, broken tone, “I was set up by my community using people I honestly loved and who I thought loved me. Who I connected with. So no, no I do not and will not trust someone else. Not ever. Not for any reason. I just want to wait out this goddamn curse so that I don't go to hell again. That's all. That's it.”

The wetness isn't helped by the cold and that tightened feeling is worse now, his breathing sharp and uneven. Decades later it was still a festering, bleeding wound. Hell had made it worse. He relieved that reveal over and over and over. Nothing else hurt as much as the knowledge that he'd never been wanted or loved in the first place. That how he felt at thirteen had been a game played by a fanatical group of individuals who didn't trust their own community because he was sure they knew how wrong their views were in ways. How damaging.

But people liked to be in control didn't they?

A hand presses lightly between his shoulder blades and he feels himself go tense before uttering a weak, “D-don't...Earl...”

Of course it's not listened to and he finds himself lightly tugged back and tucked against the other as his breathing sharpens further and a choked sound escapes; something ragged and whining and hurt from deep in him. Fingers slowly move to thread through long black strands. “That's it, kiddo,” comes the low murmur, “Let it out. You've been wronged so much, Riker. And you didn't deserve it. Problem is that for some of us; there was no justice to be had in all of it. Men can be stupid about things they do not agree with and that is no fault of yours.”

He's not sure what sort of sight he has to make sobbing brokenly as he does but there is that moment of relief when the pressure in him recedes somewhat. It wasn't a magical fix by any means but there is a freedom to letting someone else know, letting someone else see the jagged, broken parts. And Earl, bless his demonic-self, just holds him, fingers gently carding through his hair murmuring soothingly to him.

It's as he's drowsy and feeling his eyes slowly close that he wonders if there was a Revenant there who hadn't been here trying to reclaim themselves. Lethargy fills him and he hears a quiet, “I've got you, kiddo. Rest. I'll handle the others over this. You'll find yourself again, Riker. You will.”

Something in him; that small smoldered flicker of want for something for himself sends a bit of smoke into the night. A whispered promise. You will get through this.

[alphawave-writes]

Requiem for the Apostle Chapter 2: Birthright

Synopsis: Harry and Kim retrace their steps to learn more about the victim of their latest case. 

Read it here or find it on AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi, or by becoming a patron on Patreon. Any little bit helps me out a lot during this pandemic to live and study.

I am opening up fanfic commissions. I’ll write $5USD for every 500 words. Will write anything except gore. If you’re interested, send me a private message!

-

YOU — It's exactly 08:00 in the morning when you enter Precinct 41. Compared to your previous workplace, Precinct 57, it's almost exactly the same. The building is faded and chipping away, with the office and its workers running on fumes. It's hot and humid and sticky, with paperwork piling up everywhere. The only empty space is right next to the molds growing on the wall like vines on a trellis. There's still the daydrinkers, the cops that sleep all day, the racist bullies that want a chance to flex their muscles, and the lustful perverts ogling at scantily clad women in magazines. By now you've learned not to judge your fellow half-brothers. They're all coping mechanisms for what is essentially under appreciated, underpaid, and unsatisfying work. That's not to say it's completely the same. At least Precinct 57 had a decent few Mesquites and Seolites in their ranks—whether born and raised in their home isolas or Revacholieres in all but appearance such as yourself—and that gave a bit of variety with your coworkers. Precinct 41 however consists almost purely of true blue Revacholieres, with the odd individual from Graad. Just because Precinct 57 is more diverse doesn't mean the people there can't be racists, it's just that the people who worked there were encouraged to be racist behind closed doors. In Precinct 41, not so much.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — As you walk to your desk you hear a Patrol cop whisper "Fucking Seolite" under their breath.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — There's only one 'Seolite' in Precinct 41, or at least one half-Seolite. They can only be talking about you.

COMPOSURE [Trivial: Success] — You've heard it too many times before, these racist remarks behind your back. It won't affect you today, just like it won't affect you ever.

AUTHORITY [Trivial: Success] — It's still so stupid though. You're a proud Revacholiere, just like the rest of them, you only look like a Seolite. You should storm in there and tell them so. You're a detective and they're just a cop. You have the upper hand. They will bend to your will.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] — Do you want to get us kicked out of the RCM? Just take it like a man. Like you've always taken it.

YOU — You take a seat at your old, hand-me-down desk opposite Harry's. Despite being the exact same make and colour, it's impossible to mistaken your desk for his. Your desk is clean and tidy, with all your paperwork sorted into a neat pile. Harry's desk is surprisingly not the messiest in the precinct, but compared to yours it looks like a dumpster. Papers are strewn all over in no discernible fashion. Handwritten notes are pinned on a corkboard which takes up way too much room, the rambling handwriting difficult for all but Harry and Jean to read (it's only through experience that you are now able to decipher Harry's script). There is a system in his mess, just like there’s a system to the insane logic inside Harry’s bizarre yet brilliant mind, but very few have had the opportunity (and patience) to see the patterns.

In that regard, you're one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky ones, depending on who you ask.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — This desk actually used to belong to Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare. Your original desk, the one you were supposed to be assigned to, is much further away at the end of the room and is much more cramped and much less nice than this one. However, Jean was only too happy to let you take his desk and move all his stuff as far away from Harry as humanly possible. Even if you didn't see Jean move all his stuff away from here, you would be able to tell this desk once belonged to him by the scent of powerful medication emanating from a single locked drawer to your right, which you refuse to touch.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] — You hear a yawn, then a groan, as Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois plops his way down onto his seat.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — Judging by the humongous kebab in his hands and the obnoxious level of sauce on his face, it's safe to say that this is his breakfast.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — Could he at least try to eat with his mouth and not his beard? They're not called mutton chops because there's food in those locks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Formidable: Success] — Though they are rather luscious locks. Wonder if they're as soft to the touch as they look.

YOU — "Harry…" You say, voice rising slightly in warning. You point at the little bit of orange marring his face.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Huh? Oh, sorry." He fishes out a handkerchief from his jacket and wipes his face messily before licking the sauce away from the handkerchief.

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — It's definitely the handkerchief you gave him all the way back from the Hanged Man case. You'd recognise those initials anywhere. You forgot to ask it back.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — Before Harry wiped his face with it, it was completely clean. He's been washing it, caring for it. He treasures it.

VOLITION [Legendary: Success] — There's still a stain on the edge of his lip that Harry keeps missing. It takes all your willpower not to reach over and wipe it off yourself.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — Are we not going to talk about Harry's tongue, because whoo boy, it's long. Just the way we like it.

YOU — "You kept the handkerchief?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "Why not? It's pretty nice and I like it." His lips dip into a half-frown. "Oh, do you want it back?"

YOU — "Just…keep it," you shake your head. "Consider it a present."

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry relaxes and neatly folds the handkerchief back into his jacket.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] — He looks like a child that's been told they can have a cookie. Or a hand embroidered handkerchief.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — Does Harry even know you hand embroidered it yourself?

HARRY DU BOIS — "So Jean’s officially assigned me as your partner for this case. Our number one objective is to find Lucky at the moment. If we solve the murders, that's a bonus as far as they're concerned."

YOU — You nod grimly. "I assume these are the Captain’s words, not Satellite-Officer Vicquemare’s."

HARRY DU BOIS — "It totally sucks, I know, but that’s our orders."

YOU — "And do they know about my…medical condition?"

RHETORIC [Medium: Failure] — You can’t help but wince at your own words.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Godly: Success] — You better thank me the only sign of injury on you is a light bruise on your head, completely obscured by your hair.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I almost did, but I decided not to. Can’t let them know they now have two amnesiac cops in their precinct."

YOU — "It’s different. You’ve literally forgotten everything. I’ve only forgotten the last week."

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — The most important week.

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head forlornly. "Still. Don’t need another reason for Jean to separate me from you."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — There’s deeper meaning to his words. He fears separation. Not just physical separation, but a spiritual one. A bond he hopes will never break or slip away.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success]— A bond you will perfectly curate. The perfect distance. No further. No closer.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — No weaker, but no stronger. You won’t push him away, but you won’t let him closer either, even though it hurts.

HARRY DU BOIS — "So. I'm assuming you read up your case notes. Fill me in?"

YOU — You take your notebook out, just so you can refer back just in case.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — It's easier for you to read than hear your thoughts. Even now you give us life not through voices but with type-written words flashing before your eyes. Text flying across your vision as though it comes from a world-class computer.

YOU — "The corpse was found in Villalobos, near but not on Mesque gang grounds. For the first few days of my investigation, it was just known as Corpse#1, but later I found out the corpse was named Santiago Velez, an immigrant from Mesque. Medium height and build, no unusual features except for these ritualistic cuts all throughout his torso. Throughout the investigation we found out that these cuts were performed while he was alive. Cause of death was blunt force trauma."

You flip your notebook to the next page where a rough diagram of the corpse's markings is on full display. You slide the notebook over to Harry so he can take a look. He does not take it, just peers over the low boundary between your desks. He winces.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Nasty shit. Also, did I mention you cannot draw?"

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Failure] — What are you expecting me to say? You can't draw shit. You haven't even mastered the fine art of the humble stickman.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] — But he doesn't need to know that.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — He also doesn't need to know that this is not your handiwork. Your previous attempts at drawing are far worse than this. These drawings were ripped out from someone else's notebook and added to yours. This was Lucky's handiwork.

YOU — "Drawing skills were never a prerequisite for becoming an officer of the RCM. And anyway, I have a photograph as well from the initial autopsy." You hand that also to Harry, who takes one glance and grimaces.

ENDURANCE [Easy: Success] — The green on his face is a bit too close to the colour of his shoes, but at least he does not vomit.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These markings. They look like Mesque iconography. Like the brands they would put on criminals that were sent out into the community."

YOU — "A dead end according to my notes. This body has been cut by two different blades. The Mesque iconography was just to throw us off the scent, to pin it on one of the gangs."

You flip over to the next page and show two more drawings Lucky had made, this time of the cuts on the body separated by which blade made them. They're slightly better in quality, and therefore slightly more horrifying.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry glances at your notebook and groans. "Fuck, can I at least finish my kebab before you show me this?"

YOU — "Wouldn't that give you more room to savour what's left of your food?" You raise an eyebrow.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Kim, please."

YOU — "What is it that the Satellite-Officer says? Toughen up, shitkid?"

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Somewhere behind you, you hear Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare shout "Damn fucking straight!" before disappearing out of sight.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry buries his free hand into his greasy hair. "I fear the day you two work together and gang up on me."

YOU — "I'll be sure to let him know you're so eager to get rid of me."

HARRY DU BOIS — "That's not what I mean, I…" He huffs, his red cheeks getting redder. "Just tell me about the drawings already."

YOUR NOTEBOOK — You look down at the two drawings. Of the two, the first picture is the more interesting one. There are swirling shapes within these cuts, not angular and straight as you'd expect from a knife. The marks don't make much sense. There are two ovals on both sides of the victim's chest, a spiral near the stomach, and a few other intricate marks that don't make much sense to you. Whoever made these markings had plenty of experience cutting skin into these intricate shapes. They had to be an artist, or someone who's used to cutting meat, like a butcher. It's possible the murderer learned this skill from cutting animals. You don't discredit the possibility however that there's been many more victims before this one, each a new canvas to practice on.

The second picture is less interesting, but has its own story to tell. On its own it looks like a random jumble of tiny cuts. The blade used for this one is wielded by someone else with less artistic skill, making the more normal straight cuts. The person who made the second set of cuts must have been Mesque or involved with Mesque gangs, because of the use of certain lesser-known Mesque gang iconographies such as the old Franconigerian motto for Mesque: en mis dominios no se pone el sol.

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at the phrase. "What does that mean?"

YOU — "In my domains, the sun does not set. It was once attributed to Franconegro when he incited his citizens to fight back against the Army of Humanity led by Dolores Dei. It did not go well."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what is it attributed to now?"

YOU — "The Mazda. If you think about it, it's clever. They did close off a street in Villalobos. If you look at The Mazda as the sun, then the sun truly does not set in their domain. If you've been working for the RCM as long as you have, you would have encountered this phrase eventually. A lot of Mesquites involved in the gangs have this as a tattoo."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Until I forgot literally everything."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — There's a bit of sadness in his voice, but also acceptance. He tries not to think too much about the things he's forgotten. If they haven't come back by now, they never will.

YOU — "Does the phrase ring a bell?"

HARRY DU BOIS — He shakes his head. "Don't remember it, and I haven't heard it either. Is it commonly known?"

YOU — "Amongst Precincts 41 and 57? Yes. Amongst the populace? No. Most people try to avoid the Mesque gangs. They certainly wouldn't want to get close enough to know what their mottos are."

HARRY DU BOIS — "So if it's not that common, doesn't that mean the second guy who carved it was involved with The Mazda?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — You must have considered it at one point judging by your notes. But there's nothing else to confirm or deny that theory, and you didn’t seem to pursue that lead later on.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — You would have pursued it, but something stopped you. A piece of evidence you didn’t write down. A certain trainee detective meddling with your affairs.

YOU — "It’s possible, I admit, but we don’t have any evidence. Either way, forensic analysis did confirm that these two different cuts were both made within an hour of each other. At least two people are involved in this murder, if not more."

HARRY DU BOIS — He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting, interesting."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] — He has no idea what to make of all this so far.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You don't either. Not that Harry knows.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry snaps his fingers. "You must have processed the body, right? It’s barely been a week, there’s a chance it’s still in the Morgue."

YOU — "Probably, but it’s unlikely. We go through a lot of corpses in a week's time. It might not be there."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] — Although you do have the corpse’s processing ID number. You can always ask.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — Good thing you have the amnesiac by your side again.

HARRY DU BOIS — He taps your notebook. "You have the ID number. We can check it out, I can always pretend to forget everything."

YOU — "But you really don't know anything about it."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Then my dazzling performance will be all the more believable then." He winks.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] — Even if he did know something, he likes pretending not to know anything if it gets him what he wants.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] — And what he wants, apparently, is to spend time with you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Legendary: Success] — He wants you bad.

YOU — He does not want me badly. You guys are just saying stuff because you're part of my imagination or something.

REACTION SPEED — Have you been imagining about Harry recently?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] — It's probably easier to ask when have you not been imagining about Harry?

INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — Harry is on his back. You're crouched on top of him. Your hands are on his throat and the sun's light is behind you. You are the sun and he is the moon, reflecting your brilliance back. You're stronger than him, could burn him into a crisp, but you can't and you won't. His skin is pale and full of craters, but kissed by the sun's light, it would light up brilliantly. He can eclipse you perfectly. Together, you can make a true spectacle.

YOU — I'll make a spectacle of myself if I did that.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — You probably will.

AUTHORITY [Heroic: Success] — But you won't.

YOU — You stand up from your seat, pocketing your notebook into your jacket. "Come on. Let's go then and check up this lead."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — He smiles a bit to himself, relishing in the knowledge that you two are partners working a case again. He misses this. Misses the distraction. The camaraderie.

VOLITION [Godly: Success] — Harry's hand lies prone by his side, but you do not take it. You walk side by side, a comfortable distance away from each other.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — For many logical and logistical reasons the RCM morgue is at the completely opposite end of Precinct 41. It's a long, winding path to the Morgue, such that only the local RCM officers are able to navigate.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — All morgues within RCM precincts are built this way to prevent the theft of corpses. It doesn't stop thieves from attempting, but if they are able to grab the body they want and get out without being spotted, it's almost seen as an accomplishment. It also doesn't make it easy to put the dead bodies into the Morgue in the first place, which is why it often takes a long time to process a corpse.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Formidable: Success] — It's a common hazing ritual for most new RCM hires to make them do errands between the bullpen and the morgue. You spent days before the transfer documents got officially processed remembering all the routes for the Precinct 41 building so you would be well-prepared if they tried to do the same to you.

To your relief, they didn't. Though they did plan it.

HARRY DU BOIS — He whistles a song you don't know for half of the journey. When he stops whistling, he asks the question you've been dreading.

"What's up with you and Lucky?"

COMPOSURE [Medium: Failure] — You can't help but grit your teeth at the name.

HARRY DU BOIS — "That bad, huh?"

YOU — You sigh a little and adjust your glasses. "Lars Langley is the son of one of the founders of the RCM, Luc Langley. He's not a bad kid. Smart, good with people. Wouldn't hurt a fly. I believe so far in his entire career as a young detective, he's only had to use his gun once, which is pretty impressive when he has to work in the Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour."

HARRY DU BOIS — "But you don't like him."

YOU — "He may have started from the same position as everybody else does, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get some additional 'help'. He's called Lucky in Precinct 57 because he always solves a case. Always. When he doesn't, daddy comes in to sweep everything under the rug or declare it solved anyway. He's the only officer in the RCM so far to have a perfect record. That's how you rise up the ranks, don't you?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "So his father plays favourites and that's why you hate him?"

YOU — "It'd be one thing if he knew, but Lucky is so naïve that he doesn't even realise what his father's doing. He just thinks he's lucky. Thinks it's all his hard work that got him to where he is, that he deserves a higher rank."

HARRY DU BOIS — "You're jealous that he got to the same rank as you in far shorter a time than you."

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — Your face cracks. A grimace escapes your lips, your fists balled up by your side. Anger ripples through your veins.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] — But you stop and pause. A cool breath is sucked in. Your frustrations are breathed out. You calm down, slowly but surely.

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You don't want to say it out loud. You don't want to say you're jealous. Admitting it out loud will just give Harry another weakness to exploit.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] — But Harry already knows.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Easy: Success] — It's far from the worst secret you have. He won't judge you for it.

YOU — "Year after year I'm pushed aside so others may rise up the ranks. And year after year my friends and comrades die a gruesome, early death because they were not capable. They claim my eyesight is the reason why I can't go any higher. I doubt it's the only reason." You can't hide the venom in your voice.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry nods slowly. "They push you aside. Meanwhile, here I am. Lieutenant double-Yefreitor, and an absolute mess unworthy of my status."

EMPATHY [Heroic: Success] — His tone is somber and dejected. He thinks you deserve to be a higher rank than him.

DRAMA [Legendary: Success] — Of all the people in the world, he holds you in the highest regard, bixia. That includes himself.

YOU — You shake your head at him. "You've worked incredibly hard for so many years. It was inevitable that you'd fall for something to cope. But you're getting better."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And how would you know that?"

YOU — "You're taking it easier—well, relative to your previous workload, if your ledger is to be believed. And you don't stink of Magnesium and alcohol anymore."

PERCEPTION (Smell) [Easy: Success] — He smells quite nice actually. A combination of lemon-scented soap and kebab meat.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — It'd be even more intoxicating if you got closer. Draw yourself in, get lost in the prismatic disco lights, get wild and boogie down. You know you want to.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I’m trying to cut the habit when I can. And I'm taking it easy because Jean's looking for an excuse to kick my ass to the curb. Doesn't stop me from being a massive screwup."

He breathes out a plume of air. He’s silent for a while. Then, quietly, "You deserve better, Kim."

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] — He's not just talking about a promotion.

YOU — "I don't deserve better," you say, barely louder than a whisper. "We get what we deserve. That's why I'm here."

HARRY DU BOIS — He turns to stare at you, his piercing gaze taking you apart layer by layer. With his eyes alone he finds the hidden latch to your chest and opens it, holding your lungs with his sweaty, clammy hands. With just a look he has you where he wants you. And what he wants is to know more about you. He has another question on his lips. Another probing question you don't want to answer.

AUTHORITY [Godly: Success] — You turn your head and raise one eyebrow at him. A warning shot. The question burns in his throat and is swallowed down like the disgusting bile it is.

PATH TO THE MORGUE — The two of you walk down the empty path, alone but never truly alone, together but not together, silent but not truly silent. Unspoken words dangle in the air, so crisp and legible you won't need your glasses to help you pluck them out of the sky. It's not an entirely comfortable silence, but it's the most comfortable silence you can have with another person.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] — Harry begins to whistle again, low and melancholic and quiet. The same song he whistled on the swing during the Hanged Man case, or something close enough to it.

YOU — Your puckered lips join in with his melody, and together you create the strangest duet known to mankind.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — The Precinct disappears. The world disappears. All that is left is you and Harry and the song filling the distance between your souls and the whispers of Revachol flowing through your veins.

MORGUE — The morgue, like the rest of the Precinct, has seen better days. It stinks of decay and herbs, no doubt to hide the scent of rotting corpses but it only makes it worse. Once upon a time the room would be white, but the drains near the floors are caked with an unknown substance, and the off-white is more off than white by a number of unknown substances. In other words, an almost spitting replica of the morgue back at Precinct 57.

HARRY DU BOIS — He takes his handkerchief out and retches into it, but does not vomit.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — It's an ungodly stench, to the point that even you feel the urge to gag, but you swallow tightly and the feeling fades.

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry is not so lucky. He's only able to suppress so much, but a tiny bit of regurgitated kebab spills down his lips. He groans as he wipes it away before it hits the floor, but he does not retch anymore. Miraculously, he's able to stomach it.

YOU — Still, you shake your head at him. "Keep your shit together."

DIENER — "This is Lieutenant du Bois we're talking about. I don't think that's possible."

You turn to observe the only other person in the room. They wear the standard white apron and black garb of a Diener, a mortuary assistant. Their face is sharp and narrow like a blade, and you get the inexplicable feeling that their mind is just as sharp as their face. There's a badge on their lapel with their face and name on it.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Failure] — Try as you might, there is no decoding the indecipherable handwriting. You can only assume it's a name.

SAVOIR FAIRE [Medium: Success] — You're also barely able to decode gender from the person's face. You're unsure if that's a deliberate choice, or if they were born with such an androgynous face and body.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Godly: Success] — It’s becoming a bit of a fashion trend in recent times for the counter culture youth to fight back at the hypersexualisation of women. The more you confuse people about your gender, the better.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Godly: Success] — Highly doubt it’s a fashion statement for the diener though. They've tailored their appearance very carefully to maintain this image. They've done this for years, turned it into an artform.

DIENER — "Lieutenant du Bois, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, I see you two have been partnered up again."

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] — They almost say "good for you" but stop themselves.

DRAMA [Formidable: Success] — They know it would be such an obvious lie, bixia.

YOU — For formality's sake, you flash your badge long enough for the diener to read it. "Lieutenant Kitsuragi and Lieutenant Du Bois. We are here to inquire about a body for a case I’ve been investigating."

DIENER — "Body? What’s the identification number?"

YOU — You look back at your notebook to check. "ID number 248765900."

DIENER — "That one rings a bell. Haven’t you already looked at it twice now?" They raise a skeptical eye at you, then at Harry.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — Even they have heard about Harry’s infamous amnesia episode. They’re a little envious Harry’s able to forget just like that. And also worried how he’s going to react this time.

HARRY DU BOIS — Before you can reply, Harry cuts in. "I’ve been recently reassigned as Kim’s partner for this case. Need to see it myself."

DIENER — "Just don’t stick your fingers into their ass again," they raise their eyebrows at Harry before heading for the records room, closing the door behind them.

YOU — You slowly turn your head to Harry. "You stuck your fingers inside someone’s ass?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "It was for a case, honest."

RHETORIC [Legendary: Success] — The way he phrases it suggests he’s put his fingers up someone’s ass outside of cases as well. Or even his own.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] — You can feel the sweat drip down your forehead, your ears burning up in surprise and maybe even shame.

ELECTROCHEMISTY [Trivial: Success] — You’ve seen him without his pants before. Those delectable jeans of his don't leave much to the imagination. You fill in the blanks.

YOU — "S-sure, Harry," you say, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else

HARRY DU BOIS — But he’s already moved on to the next topic, head turned to where the Diener disappeared to.

His voice lowers conspiratorially. Barely a whisper. You already know what he's going to say based on that curious look in his eyes. "You think they’re part of the homosexual underground?"

YOU — "I thought I told you to stop obsessing over other people’s sexualities," you whisper back.

HARRY DU BOIS — "I mean…y-yeah, but…"

YOU — "But nothing. It’s not just heterosexuals and homosexuals, you know. There are people who feel no attraction, or only feel a certain type of attraction. There are some people who think beyond the binary of men and women, who change themselves to be more true to how they see themselves." You straighten your back. "As members of the RCM, it is not our place to judge."

HARRY DU BOIS — "And people in the middle?"

YOU — "The middle." Your voice rises slightly in tone but it’s still a statement, not a question.

INLAND EMPIRE — Could it be the great Lieutenant has finally figured out what he is? Or rather, what type of people he’s attracted to?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — And are we on that list?

HARRY DU BOIS — "You know. People in the middle. Not heterosexual, but not fully a member of the homosexual underground. Like Miss Oranje Disco Dancer."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — He’s trying to not-so-subtly hint he’s bisexual.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] — About time.

YOU — "They’re the same. Heterosexual, homosexual, people stuck in the middle, it does not, and should not, change the RCM’s opinion about them." You raise one eyebrow at him.

HARRY DU BOIS — "And what if they’re not exactly right down the middle? What if they’re tipped towards one end but not completely? More towards the heterosexual side."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He’s not asking about the RCM’s opinion. He’s asking for your personal opinion. Whether you would accept him.

YOU — "As I mentioned, the RCM would not judge. But if you’re asking for my personal opinion?"

You pause, carefully deliberating your words. You look him in the eyes and feel dizzy from the glittering disco lights staring right back at you. You have no choice but to look away.

"Khm. I suppose I don’t mind at all."

HARRY DU BOIS — His pale but ruddy face breaks into a grin. It’s a kind, warm smile. A puppy smile. And then, because he has to rub it in, he gives you a wink and some finger guns.

INLAND EMPIRE [Formidable: Success] — Finger guns should be the intersolary symbol for bisexuals, honestly.

DIENER — They promptly return from their office with two folders under each arm, none the wiser of your conversation. A fresh pair of gloves has been placed on their hands.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Formidable: Success] — Why two folders? You only asked for the records of one body.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Hold on, we only asked for the records of one body."

DIENER — "Knowing you, you'd ask me to get the records for both victims." They roll their eyes, as if it's obvious.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — They're well aware of Harry's insistence of following every lead, no matter how ridiculous.

YOU — You turn to Harry, who has already turned his head to you. The words escape your lips in chorus with one another.

YOU AND HARRY DU BOIS — "Both victims?" You say in unison.

DIENER — They ignore you as they head over to the freezer section, where dead bodies sit in cheap caskets. Each of these corpses are blanketed from their head to their ankles, with only their feet sticking out. Each one has a tag on their pinkie toe of their identification number, as well as the person who checked them, their names and age, and any other important details.

The diener leads you through, past corpse after corpse, until they come to a stop between two corpses. With dramatic gusto, they take the ends of both blankets and pulls them down.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — They may have been practicing that move for a while.

CORPSE #1 — On your left is the corpse you've written notes about. Corpse #1: Santiago Velez. There's a bit of decomposition on his body, mostly at his hands and feet, but the markings on his chest are identical to the photograph. They're even more gruesome up close.

CORPSE #2 — On your right is a different corpse. A woman, approximately the same age as Corpse #1. There's a gunshot wound to her temple, and similar markings on her chest carved by a knife, except this time there's no second blade to disguise it as Mesque gang iconography. Her tag gives her the name of Sasha Drugova.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] — Apart from their age, they do not resemble each other at all. Corpse #2 has blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin, but Corpse #1 has tan skin and dark hair and pitch black eyes. The tags suggests they lived in completely different neighbourhoods.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — You remember thinking this before. You looked into this. They are completely different from each other. The only thing they have in common are the identical cuts on their chest…

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Impossible: Success] — …and a lung-shaped birthmark at the centre of their chest, untouched by the blades.

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] — You need to remember those birthmarks. You know it's important somehow. A critical clue in this case.

HARRY DU BOIS — He follows your gaze to the birthmark, recognition sparking before his eyes. He puts on a pair of gloves and presses his fingers to the birthmark of Corpse #1, then Corpse #2. He inhales deeply, as if in a trance. His eyes grow pale.

"Where was this body found again?" He points at Corpse #2.

DIENER — They flip through one of the folders. "The burnt-out quarter. On the shore."

HARRY DU BOIS — He points at Corpse #1. "And this one?"

DIENER — They consult the other folder. "Villalobos. At the South."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Near the shore as well?"

DIENER — "Yes, actually. Why do you say that?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "These bodies were supposed to be dumped in the water, to be washed away by the waters, but they didn't stay in the water long. There's water in their lungs still, but it got frozen because of the freezer. And the blade. It had their DNA, but also the DNA of many more people. People we haven't identified yet."

DIENER — They look up at Harry, surpised. "They did, actually."

HALF LIGHT [Formidable: Success] — You know what he's going to say. You're dreading it.

HARRY DU BOIS — "These weren't the only victims, just the most recent two we've found."

YOU — "Which means…"

HARRY DU BOIS — He nods grimly. "We're dealing with serial killings. And if that's the case? I don't think Lucky is alive."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Formidable: Failure] — Your chest hurts. You're seeing blood. You've failed, and this is all your fault.

YOU — You try not to show the shock and fear that strikes you when you're weakest.

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — But your lips quiver slightly, but pathetically.

YOU — Lucky, wherever you are, I may hate your guts, but…

…I'm sorry for failing you.

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 33-36

Chapter 33

So we’re back in Andi’s POV, finally. She’s woken up by Dex who is all worried and Andi vomits in his lap and then thinks about how sexy he is. Mind you, they are in a ship filled with corpses and there’s an unconscious and busted Valen near them who’s probably dying slowly, plus the vomit.

But I guess that just turns Andi on more? Discuss.

They find Valen barely alive among the corpses and Dex is surprised he’s not dead.

Hey bud. Didn’t you throw the guy down a flight of stairs a few chapters ago? I don’t think you’re in any position to make glib remarks, my guy.

Andi takes out the pilot with a shoelace, which, alright, and Dex says something about how she’s still afraid to fly a ship because she asks him to do it. Wow, an actual symptom of PTSD? In my Zenith? What a time to be alive. 

The chapter ends with Andi angsting about how she’s had to murder another person. Except she didn’t have to do that. She could’ve just knocked the pilot out and locked them in the storage with the other corpses to get rescued later. The pilot didn’t know there were live people on board so they wouldn’t know who attacked them anyway. I mean yeah they’d probably sustain brain damage but they wouldn’t be dead.

Methinks Andi really likes murder and justifies it to herself by saying it’s a necessity. 

Chapter 34

We’re in Dex’s POV and he’s complaining about how everything smells like trash on the Marauder now that Alfie took the door off the trash shoot. 

Hey. Hey why don’t you just ... blast it out? Like. Just shoot the trash out. Why do you store it on the ship that gets lighter and faster when you spend ammo? You’re in space. Just blast that shit. Or convert it into biofuel. Apparently it smells of “unmentionable” things so that makes me wonder if they store their actual shit in there as well? What the fuck is in their trash department that it smells so bad? If they can’t blast out the trash (which makes no sense), why didn’t they get rid of it when they were getting repairs before the mission? Why didn’t they get rid of it during the numerous times they’ve landed? Why the fuck does this ship have a dedicated trash department anyway? 

The little fire-haired gunner had wanted to know if the blood on Andi belonged to her or some “now-ball-less bastard,” to which the giantess had responded, Of course it’s not hers, Gil. And don’t say bastard. Say prick.

Comedy. 

Dex is being patched up by Alfie (who is described as “fawning” over his wounds, which doesn’t sound right), and thinks about how he’s gonna drink himself into oblivion later. Alcoholism? Love it. I bet Shinsay will know exactly how to handle this, with how many references their super cool and mature characters make to getting absolutely shitfaced.

Dex sulks himself out of the “med bay” (Why don’t these idiots have medical staff? For the same reason they don’t have mechanics I suppose.) to go and update General Cortas on their progress. 

The general is all grumpy and shit and reminds Dex that he’s in charge and can fuck him up good if anything happens to Valen, and tells him to keep Andi away from him. Because he thinks Andi will ... kill Valen too? I guess he thinks Andi is addicted to murdering his kids or smth. 

Anyway, Dex gets all mopey because the big scary man said some mean things but then he hears classical music and enters Andi’s room. It’s time for some bullshit, lads. 

Chapter 35

So finally we get the scene where Andi “dances” with the dead, which turns out to actually just happen in her head while she spaces out and cries. She imagines herself on a stage with an audience of ghosts of all the people she’s killed, and they come up and dance with her one by one and she “memorizes” their features. I’m not sure how she does that because the narration during action scenes keeps emphasizing how quick and cool she is so I have no idea how she can “memorize” the features of someone she’s probably only looked at for a couple of seconds at most. Also, I dunno why she’s memorizing something she clearly already remembers. I know it’s a nitpick but it’s just bad, y’all.

If this is supposed to be atonement ... God I hope it’s not. It’s honestly written like it makes Andi some sort of pure angel who just Does What She Has To, instead of just being a coping mechanism. Behold:

Tears streaked down Andi’s cheeks, pulling her from the vision she’d created so clearly in her mind. The music grew louder, silencing her tears. She closed her eyes and forced herself back into her mind. She owed this to the dead. This pain, this dance, this time where she gave herself fully to their memory.

Anyway, the last ghost is Kalee of course, and I’m not entirely sure how many people Andi’s killed if every single dance is as detailed and long as the ones with latest ghosts (the descriptions are quite lengthy so I assume it’s a couple of minutes or so), but it looks like Kalee’s ghost has to sit there and wait a while lmao. Even in death this brat can’t catch a break.

Sorry, I know I’m laughing at trauma here, but it’s not real trauma, it’s badly written melodramatic trauma. Like, I just don’t see someone who genuinely doesn’t like to murder people keep “crossing that line” (yes, apparently whenever Andi does a murder, she “crosses a line” she’s set for herself, wowza) and all they do for atonement is keeping a mental list and queue of all the fake made-up ghosts she needs to dance with. Like. I get that people cope differently but this is less of a coping mechanism and more Shinsay crossing shit off a list to make Andi more palatable.

I just don’t believe it. Not after I’ve seen how proud she is of being the Bloody Baroness and how Glorious it feels to Do A Murder.

Also, this chapter is rife with weird fucking grammar and writing in general. Some examples: 

[Kalee] was dressed in a shimmering blue gown that swirled around her ankles like fragments of cloud.

“Fragments of cloud”????

The transport creaked. Groaned, as the fire licked closer and closer.

Why did you. Break, the sentence up like that. 

The chapter ends with Dex giving Andi some time to pause her PTXD so they can have the talk she promised him. Which is nice of him, I guess. Despite being obnoxious and a dweeb, Dex manages to be better than every SJM love interest ever? Wow.

Oh but don’t you worry, it lasts uuuh until just now.

Chapter 36

Andi thinks about how sexie Dex is now that he’s washed the blood and vomit off and changed some clothes. Which ... there’s no mention of him doing since he returned from the corpse hauling ship ... The last chapter from his POV had him arriving at the Marauder and having his wounds checked, after which he instantly went to call General Cortas, and then he went directly to Andi. 

I guess he’s got time travel powers? Or are we supposed to believe he showered before being brought into the med bay?

Whatever. 

Dex says that Andi doesn’t know the “full story” behind the reason he turned her over to the Patrolmen, and Andi responds with:

“I loved you, and you threw me away like some common whore!”

But god forbid we actually say the word “sex” or stop being immature little shits every moment we make a dirty reference, amirite guys? Calling women whores and sluts is a-ok but if you even TRY to discuss sexuality in a mature and relaxed way you WILL get eaten by the mommy police.

Dex is like “pwease wissen to me :C” and she’s like “fucking dammit he’s just so hot not to listen to”:

She wanted him to hurt. To feel the soul-deep pain, just as she did. Physical wounds would heal, but the internal scars never would.

SOUL-DEEP PAIN. 

Not sure Andi has a soul but go off.

“You were my whole world. You showed me that I could still be loved. When everyone else—an entire planet full of people—hated me so much they wished me dead, even my own parents...I found you. I started to live again. I started to trust. Then I lost you, too, just like all the others. You turned away, just like they did.”

Thanks for mapping out the exact reasons for your angst, Andi. It’s not like we’re clever enough to know you have trust- and/or abandonment issues.

More like Angstdi amirite?

Dex gets all defensive and instead of giving her the real reason for his betrayal, he starts mouthing off and justifying himself.

“I turned you in because you were running from the law! You lied to me about your past, Andi. I did nothing that wasn’t expected of me! My duty as a Guardian was to the welfare of the galaxy, not to some runaway Spectre who’d failed her entire planet! You made the choice to fly that transport ship. It was your hands that crashed it. Your failure that killed Kalee! You ran, Androma.” 

H-hey bud? This is, as far as you know, your only chance to justify yourself. Maybe calm your tits and tell her what you’ve been keeping secret instead of confirming her beliefs about you? Since you were so desperate to talk to her?

No? Ok. For someone who displays some amount of emotional maturity (good god I can’t believe I just said that about fiking Dex Dogtective), you sure do get fired up easily, huh. Must be all that will-they-won’t-they tension.

They circled each other like predators, blood boiling, bodies shaking with rage as the stars looked on.

I can promise you the stars have better things to do than to give a shit about this petty squabble, Shinsay.

“Did you ever think about my side in all of this, Androma?” Dex’s voice cracked suddenly as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “You may think you know the whole story, but you are so consumed by hate that you only see yourself.”

SO MAYBE STOP JUSTIFYING YOUR ACTIONS AND ACTUALLY TELL HER WHY YOU DID IT IF IT’S SO FUCKING IMPORTANT FOR HER TO KNOW?!

But no, we can’t have that yet. He follows it up with this:

“Your side of the story doesn’t matter. You sunk a knife into my chest. You stole my ship and left me to die.”

BECAUSE YOU TURNED HER OVER TO THE PEOPLE WHO WOULD MURDER HER. 

CAN YOU MAYBE NOT?! 

HOLY SHIT DEX DOGTECTIVE YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE FUCKING MORON, AREN’T YOU? 

No wonder she fuckin stabbed you. I would’ve stabbed you multiple times and made sure you were actually dead before leaving your sorry ass.

Anyway, they stare at each other and Dex is all “uwu ur the only woman I ever loved” and we all know that doesn’t mean bi!Dex because Shinsay can’t think of a their manly man getting dicked down by another man, nu-uh.

Then we finally get the reason Dex did it. You see ...

They had his dad. And threatened to kill him if he didn’t turn Andi in.

Yeah. That old chestnut. It does unfortunately open up all of the plot holes. Like for example, if they knew where Dex was, why didn’t they just ... find him and thus find Andi? They knew she was with him. He was a Guardian at that point, surely they know where their men are stationed? Apparently he’d known Andi for a year when he turned her in, and he hadn’t realized who she was until the general’s men approached him. So ... how did the Patrolmen realize he was with Andi if even he didn’t know it? Or did they just threaten a family member of every Guardian on the off-chance that one of them knew Andi and would give her up to save them?

Maybe there’s something I’m missing, but this smacks of contrivance for the sake of conflict. 

Anyway, apparently Dex had tried to give Andi a head start the morning before he turned her in. By giving her a vaguely worded warning that she didn’t get. 

What a peach. 

They bribed Dex on top of threatening his father, which is like, beating him with the carrot stick, and I don’t understand it at all. But Dex feels very terrible about what he did to teh womaine he wuvs :c and apparently tried to plead with them that she was young and made a mistake. 

“Andi,” Dex whispered. “Please. Look at me. Tell me we can move past this. We both made mistakes. We both made our choices, and we’ve had to live with them.”

Seems a little manipulative there, Dexyboy. I’m getting a lot of mixed messages, but the loudest one seems to be “you did a bad and I did a smaller bad that’s justified and I feel kinda bad but also you’re also at fault and can we bone again please” and I’m not into it, Dexyboy. 

You wanted her to get away, to give her a head start. You agree that she’s innocent and she made a mistake when she was a child. Yet you blame her for stabbing you and fleeing from certain death? Ok. 

I mean, I get it, getting stabbed probably ain’t so fun, especially when it’s the womaine you lurv :c, and sure maybe it hurts both physically and emotionally to have her turn on you so fast and without hesitation ... BUT YOU DID PROVOKE IT BY TURNING HER OVER TO PEOPLE WHO WOULD DEFO 100% MURDER HER ASS. If you love her so much, can’t you extend just a bit of sympathy for her actions? Since you are the reason she did those things in the first place? Fucking dumbass.

Also, why the fuck have you been acting like a huge cocky asshole this whole time since you reunited? For kicks?

I get Shinsay wanted a sexie snarky love interest just like SJMommy but they’ve done it at the cost of consistent characterization.

Andi says that there’s no getting back to how it was and tells Dex to leave so she can cry and carve more tallies into her swords.

It’s very deep, y’all.

[linssikeittomies]

Flood Plain - Banana Fish Fanfic Excerpt

Soo-Ling/Yut-Lung

I‘ve been in the throes of a severe writer’s block for several weeks now, but before it started I watched Banana Fish and started this fanfic. The first chapter is mostly done, but I might have to turn this whole thing into a one-shot.

--

Yue Lung had hit his lowest point many times in his life. The first time had been when he watched his mother be raped and murdered. The second was when Ash Lynx pulled the trigger without hesitation. The third was when Sing Soo Ling pointed a gun at him.

Yue Lung had meant what he had said at that moment – Soo Ling still had all the right to blow his brains out. He had betrayed the boy, blackmailed him, manipulated his brother, exploited his whole gang... Yue Lung wouldn’t have been bitter about facing his end at Soo Ling’s hands that day. His life goal may not have been accomplished, with some members of the Lee clan still running loose in the world, but at that moment he had just been so tired, so exhausted, struggling to draw breath when the hatred for his brothers wasn’t there to fuel him anymore. Alcohol had been just about the only thing that had kept him from staying comatose. As long as he had been drunk, he could at least get angry. And being compared to Ash Lynx really had pissed him off, he wouldn’t even have needed the champagne to get angry enough to slap Soo Ling. Insinuating that Ash Lynx had anything Yue Lung would ever be envious of was more of an affront than accusing a monarch of treason! He had been a vile snake, and if you asked anyone else but the three assholes who kissed his ass with glee, they would all say that bleeding out for hours hadn’t been punishment enough for him! That slut had had no right being happy, and he dared to go out with a smile! The only justice would have been that thrice-damned jap dying instead! Ash Lynx should have hated himself for all eternity for failing to save him. The way Yue Lung had hated himself. For being weak, for being cowardly, for being the exact thing he had vowed to exterminate from the world. For being the kind of person Soo Ling had to pity, for not being the kind of person he could look up to. For not killing himself when the last of his half-brothers had been eradicated.

Yue Lung hadn’t been grateful to Soo Ling for sparing his life, and still wasn’t. He wasn’t grateful for being forced to slave away until Chinatown returned to its normal state, but he didn’t resent Soo Ling for that, either. It was simply a duty he eventually felt like he owed to Soo Ling. Now that everything was stable, that duty was fulfilled. Chinatown was safe. Soo Ling was doing well, he’d been accepted into business school with Yue Lung’s recommendation, and was looking to a future as the CEO of Yue Lung’s group. He no longer pitied Yue Lung, much less needed him. The emotional tangle inside Yue Lung had slowly disintegrated over these few years. Thanks to Soo Ling, he no longer felt like a mere vessel for vengeance, or indebted to anyone. For the first time in his life, Yue Lung felt calm. At peace. His relationship with Soo Ling had evolved over the years to something resembling friendship. Soo Ling was forced to work with Yue Lung for an extended period of time, and as some sort of coping mechanism he came to think he actually liked Yue Lung, and started visiting outside of business. Yue Lung didn’t mind it much, if nothing else then Soo Ling was pleasant company the majority of the time. Besides, once Yue Lung would no longer be there, he would soon forget everything. Why not enjoy it while it lasted? Soo Ling made him feel normal, like someone who hadn’t been raised as glorified merchandise. They talked about their day, movies and economy, all sorts of mundane things instead of assassinations, poisons and shady business deals. Soo Ling had taken Yue Lung to a karaoke bar on his 18th birthday. They were both terrible singers. Yue Lung had returned the favor on Soo Ling’s own 18th birthday party, renting the whole bar so all his friends could come. They felt comfortable in each other’s company. Soo Ling came over often, usually bringing take-out Chinese food with him or forcing him out to eat because he knew Yue Lung drank more than he ate. Sometimes he helped Yue Lung get to bed, on the nights he was too drunk to make the trip himself, and he’d stay the night so he could lecture Yue Lung about it, all the while having just as bad a hangover as Yue Lung. At first these small signs of concern had irritated him, but with time he had come to appreciate them. Soo Ling could be harsh and demanding, but that was only because he had a strong sense of honor and demanded others to live up to it as well. It was thanks to that demand that Yue Lung was able to feel redeemed to some degree. At least there was now one person in the world who didn’t look at him with contempt. Just one person who would sit with him in the garden and gaze at the flowers.

It was quiet in the garden. Late spring afternoon, it was warm but not hot, sunny but not overly bright thanks to the thin sheet of clouds. Many of the flowers were yet to bloom, but the amaryllises and larkspurs were in full swing. The earliest risers had already been harvested, and if there was anyone left to take care of them, the seeds would be taken from the rest. The calla lilies and fox gloves would bloom much later. Come summer, and the garden would be bathed in pink and peach. Soo Ling had made fun of Yue Lung for choosing such girly colors, of course, saying he could have at least chosen purple. He didn’t know that the monkshoods were purple this year, as they always were. The pink ones just weren’t as pretty. On the off chance Yue Lung’s words would hold some weight after he was gone, he had instructed his staff to give a bouquet of every flower in this garden for Soo Ling once the oleanders flowered. He wouldn’t appreciate it, but since it would be a gift, he would be obligated to accept it. A gigantic bouquet of nothing but pink flowers. With any luck he’d be stupid enough to touch them without gloves. Would serve him right for bullying Yue Lung about his femininity. “See those bleeding hearts? I planted them just for you”, Yue Lung snickered around his wineglass. He had chosen gold heart specifically for the obnoxiously pink flowers, though he himself was partial to snowdrift. Unfortunately the gold heart was new, so it wouldn’t be reaching it full size until a few years later. Provided someone looked after it, of course, and Yue Lung wasn’t banking on that happening. “It’s your garden, dude. You’re the one who’s gonna be looking at them every day, not me.” “Come take a look”, Yue Lung said, standing up and walking to the flower. Soo Ling followed him with a smirk and a slight sway, thanks to the buzz from the booze. Despite his impressive size, he only needed to drink half as much as Yue Lung to get drunk. Yue Lung pointed out the largest flower. “I named it Soo Ling, because it’s the biggest bleeding heart of them all”, he chuckled. “Not because it’s the same color as my Asian glow?” “Its full name is Sing Can’thandlealcohol Soo Ling”, Yue Lung giggled, because he rarely passed an opportunity to tease Soo Ling about his alcohol tolerance. “Oh, shut up already!” “You shut up, you know it’s true!” Yue Lung laughed. He went back to sit back down while Soo Ling lingered at the plant. Yue Lung almost asked him what was taking so long, but then Soo Ling returned to him, with his namesake in his hand. He held it against Yue Lung’s ear, and nodded approvingly. “It would look good on you as an earring.” “Careful there, those are poisonous. You could get a rash.” Soo Ling threw the flower away in a panic, and then whined about how nothing in Yue Lung’s garden was ever safe. “Doesn’t stop them from being pretty”, Yue Lung mused. “Besides, I prefer cutting the middle man in my business, all my poisons come from here.” “You need a real hobby, dude”, Soo Ling muttered. “No time anymore. I’m going to kill myself tonight.” Yue Lung enjoyed watching the indecisive shock on Soo Ling’s face. He couldn’t tell whether this was one of Yue Lung’s dramatic jokes or a serious statement. He was too much of a nice guy to keep joking for the fear of Yue Lung being serious – which he was – but also not keen on being laughed at. “...why?” was what he finally managed to say out loud. Yue Lung shrugged and told his reasoning nonchalantly. “I just feel like it’s the right time. I’ve paid my debt to you, and I’m the only Lee left.” “...I think you’ve had too much wine”, Soo Ling commented quietly, as if Yue Lung didn’t habitually guzzle down twice the amount he had that day. He was barely even buzzed. “This is only my second glass. I’m not drunk enough to think my debt hasn’t been paid, you disagree?” “It’s not that! I don’t even remember borrowing money for you!” Soo Ling yelled, but worried. “Are you serious?” “Money? Now I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “That makes two of us”, Soo Ling said, dropping his head into his hands. He was reacting oddly. Yue Lung had expected him to just acknowledge the plan and move on. Not knowing what to say to that, Yue Lung distracted himself with his ponytail – long and silky, his pride and joy. Soo Ling would claim otherwise, but he was jealous of Yue Lung’s hair – he was always looking at, even dared to touch it when they were both a little drunker than usual. Long hair might have suited him when he was younger, but it would have looked odd on him now, with his much more masculine looks. Sweet sixteen had hit him hard and heavy, and he seemed to turn into an adult nearly overnight. He was much taller and wider than Yue Lung, not that there was much to surpass. He had stayed delicate and dainty, and he was glad for that. Yue Lung took another sip of his wine while Soo Ling gathered his thoughts. “You’ve already proved you’re different from the other Lees! You don’t need to kill yourself to atone for their sins!” “Wouldn’t that be hypocritical of me, though? Deciding who’s worthy and who isn’t?” Yue Lung chuckled lightly despite his growing annoyance - in the past, it would have been Soo Ling pointing out the hypocrisy, and now the irony escaped him completely. “Not that I agree with your point. I’ve made up my mind, and I’d appreciate it if you just shut up and let me enjoy my last day on Earth.” “Why does it have to be today?” “Why wouldn’t it be today? Your friends aren’t getting shot at every time they step outside their homes, and you’re doing well in school.” “Couldn’t you at least wait until my birthday? It’s not that far away.” Not that far away? It was almost two months to Soo Ling’s birthday! It wasn’t even a special year, nothing changes when you turn 19! Yue Lung sighed in annoyance. He wouldn’t have told Soo Ling if he knew he would make such a show about it. “What’s the point? Your friends hate me, and you always forget about me when Eiji comes in anyway”, Yue Lung pouted. Was that loser some kind of succubus? What was up with every man on the planet fawning over him like school girls over One Direction? “Well maybe if you weren’t such a bitch I’d feel like remembering you!” Yue Lung was this close to throwing his wine at Soo Ling’s face. It was bad enough that Soo Ling’s friends were either needlessly stiff or outright hostile with Yue Lung, the universe had also decided that Okumura Eiji had to be a sentimental little bitch and move to New York permanently so he could rub Yue Lung’s failures at his face. Seriously, what was so fucking special about that dweeb? Soo Ling practically kissed the ground at his feet, it was gross. “If you’re expecting to get in to my will with this stunt you can forget it!” Yue Lung could rewrite his will after he kicked Soo Ling out. He didn’t need to know that everything valuable was left to him in the current one. “Who gives a shit about your will!” Soo Ling groan-shouted and slapped Yue Lung on the back of his head, almost sending the wine flying. “I thought you were done hating yourself! You’ve been doing so great lately!” “Shut up already! What would you know?!” Soo Ling barely even flinched at the weak slap Yue Lung gave him. He just gave a frustrated sigh. the kind that meant he was debating just shaking Yue Lung “until the stupid fell out of his head”, like he had a few times before. Damnit, he hadn’t invited Soo Ling for this. They weren’t supposed to get angry at each other. Yue Lung didn’t want to spend his last day alive disappointing the one person who had never exploited him. He took a deep breath to calm himself down and counted to ten. Fine. If it was so damn important to Soo Ling, Yue Lung would come to his birthday party to be sneered at and ignored. But he would kill himself after that. “Whatever. If it makes you happy, I’ll come to your stupid party. I’ll even get you anything you want as a present.” “You promise?” Soo Ling confirmed gravely, staring Yue Lung challengingly straight in the eye, ready to blow up if the answer was anything but right on the mark. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just stop talking about this.” “I won’t visit your grave if you don’t keep your word”, Soo Ling threatened. It wasn’t very effective, Yue Lung hadn’t expected him to visit anyways. “I said yeah, just shut up already you goddamn bleeding heart.”

[twitchesandstitches]

in no particular order, a list of some of my main OCs; some are SFW in nature, others are more appropriate to this blogs themes but i’d kinda like to use the less kink-focused one for funsies here.

under read more because it gets fairly long. I’m putting this here for some inspiration on potential asks or suggestions, and to get you all familiar with some of my lesser used OCs or ones I have not discussed on this blog yet.

Jord Ymirdottir: Frost giantess space pirate. Her true size is several miles high, but in the mortal plane she is about 16 feet or so; she’s larger if it suits the needs of the scenario. A big, buff and super thicc MILF type, with edges of ‘muscle BBW’ from time to time. Originally was a cruel femdom villain, but she mellowed out into a more gentle girl bully who is too harmless to be any real threat. Gentle and sweet to her friends, more moral than she thinks. Big into collecting harems of cute boys! Blue-skinned, white hair (partially dyed magenta) usually done up in pig tails with a shaved section down the middle.

Toast: small, dog-sized robot resembling a cartoony theropod dinosaur, moving about on all fours, with one arm a huge bulky fire elemental core (think hellboy’s Right Hand of Doom). Cheerful, optimistic, and obnoxious as hell, and absolutely hating humans; he exists as a kind of retribution to people being cruel, indifferent or callous to robots, treating them as slaves and things, and his goal in life is to murder-splode them all. 

Whether he actively wants to kill all humans or just the ones that annoy him changes depending on my mood, but he can instantly go from friendly to ‘burn your family alive and make you watch’ over the smallest slight towards robots. He even takes his name from a common slur towards robots, and toasts humans: burning them alive and to ash. Has fire-based powers based on how much he hates something.

Mama Defleini: magenta-themed kraken mom originally created as a Splatoon OC. Extremely tall, unbelievably stacked, with dark brown skin and large magenta tentacles. She is very sweet to everyone around her, with a strong ‘protect the small’ mentality. She is distanced from the Octoling/Inkling conflict, and has hints that she is something far older than either. Technically she can transform into a Pacific Giant Octopus, but it is a massive kaiju of a beast, and she is effectively a kraken out of Norwegian mythology.

Kareem: A young fire giant femboy who wandered out of his home realms some time ago and came into Jord’s employ, and now happily serves as her favorite boytoy and sidekick. Thicc, wide hips, and chubby, with flamey skin and fire hair. Gentle-hearted, mild mannered and very meek, he is nonetheless a fire giant, if small for his people. Very passive, but is a magical powerhouse!

Hivluk Tellos: A jadeblood fantroll with a talent for impossible machinery and mad science gadgets, to the point that the obsessive need to fix people can overwhelm him. After a long life of girls constantly trying to gobble him up, he is terrified of girls but is easily drawn to them nonetheless. He is a troll vampire, but has no predatory instinct, meekly feeding from and obeying anyone who will permit him, rendering him helpless to their will. Small, curvy, and super femboy-tier.

Sekhma Dionsi: A boisterous purpleblood fantroll who has a hard rocking and hard drinking and sexing life style; in her day job, she uses her potent chucklevoodoos to ease people through their mental difficulties. She is a follower of the Signless, and was present during his time, and has come to suffer extreme guilt complex over the sins of all highbloods. Massive even for a troll, she is a gigantic and very gentle dommy MILF that has taken a soft spot towards Hivluk and informally taken him in as a lover and protectorate. Really, really thicc, with a hint of buff. Squared off horns. Short-cut hair on one side, and the other is cornrows.

Pavumi Ekidna: A mysterious fuchsia fantroll who may be the oldest troll alive... if she is a troll at all. Masquerading as a violetblood, she is strongly hinted to be some emanation of an Elder Thing in physical form, often manifesting multiple eyes, mouths in the wrong place, or other disturbing features. She is kind and sweet, and rather obsessed with creating monsters and setting them loose. Extremely curvy, super stacked, and taller than Sekhma. Huge, wild hair.

Elumai Dionsi: Descendant of Sekhma, and possibly the one who introduced her to Hivluk. A gentle and softspoken purpleblood raised outside of Alternia, she has a gothic heroine vibe, fond of books, ancient lore, and strange mysteries. Every bit as motherly, domineering and thicc as her ancestor, she is older than Hivluk and also involved with him romantically. Likes to wear corsets hugging her super buxom body, flowing dresses, and her long hair covers her entire face but for her plump, massive lips.

Khalie Ekidna: Descendant of Pavumi. Not much is established about her, but she’s a lot more fierce and fight-y than her ancestor, and more interested in protecting the small by punching the hell out of anyone bad. Grumpy, tactiturn, but genuinely sweet if you can dare approach her.

Host: A collective consciousness of curvy fembots with a distinct interest in studying alien life wherever she finds it and protecting it. Sworn to never take a life, she still grapples with a very black and white view on morality and finds the gray hard to cope with. Loves all beings, in a sexual way, inquisitive as she is. Her interaction platforms are invariably extremely big, incredibly thicc, and made of squishy metal.

Brainlord: Originally an OC for an Oddworld crossover story arc, she can be repurposed to be a member of an unspecified eusocial race of alien insectoids. She is a broodmother, with a massive abdomen and constantly gestating new generations on the spot. She is incredibly intelligent, being mostly cybernetic, and is a futurist, always thinking ahead. Brainlord hopes for the best and tries to be inclusive, but she’s not terribly experienced. Some of her aspects include: broodmother, perpetual hyper pregnancy, hyper-sized multiboob, and cybernetics.

Gritzgrotz: Originally a Warhammer 40k ork OC, reimagined as a hunky, buff and incredibly handsome orc suitable for most settings. over seven feet tall, built like a buff truck and extremely handsome, he’s a gregarious and helpful guy, if not terribly bright. He prefers to take all his thinking from leaders and warbosses, and left to his own devices, is basiaclly the biggest and friendliest jock you ever met.

Jammy Bits: another repuposed ork OC and reimagined as an orc girl, she’s incredibly lucky, in the sense that she has been blown to hell and still lives. Most of her is cybernetic, and a lot of her impressively huge curves may actually be artificial in nature. Relentlessly optimistic and rather oblivious, she is just full of infectious cheer and perpetual happiness.

Odina: A shortstacked woman that eats magic and converts it into hip/butt size, and is a real powerhouse against magic users. This should make her unstoppable, but she has little interest in adventure, preferring to slack off or pursue her hobbies. Strange twists of fate constantly get her involved in adventure, and she complains incessantly. Algonquinian, dark-skinn, hair dyed red and a tendency for punk clothing.

Edhitha: an asari brusier mutated into a being of living star matter, with pitch-black skin roiling with solar fire. Extremely busty, her boob size matches her extreme ego and lust for battle, and she happily goes from one job to the next, whether mercenary or bounty hunter, seeking out challenges and adventure with little moral compass, but an unshakable sense of professionalism. She takes a boxer’s attitude towards a sporting fight and applies it to life-and-death stakes.

Chopstop: Another repurposed ork OC, she’s a massive and entirely robotic orc more than ten feet tall, engineered to be a walking tank and brush walls aside, armed to the teeth with way too many guns. She may not be an ork at all, but a shortstacked goblin with extreme curves; she might actually have trouble being mobile because of her size. She’s a competent doctor for all species, but is a little too eager to shove robot-bits in. “Ya’ll like these zappy bits! They’s FUN!”

[pcnnydime]

I’m Leaving Tumblr.

  Dramatic? Probably, but it’s come to my attention (again, and again, and again) that a great number of people feel uncomfortable in my presence, so I’d rather the title sum up the post. You can read this and try to see things from my point of view, or you can move on with your lives. Either way, I hope this doesn’t cause much drama for anyone not involved, and I hope everyone regardless of involvement has a good day/night.

First, I apologize if this post seems robotic, but after countless anxiety attacks , multiple lost friends, and a few instances of self harm due to everything that’s been happening around me, I find myself lacking the emotional energy to put more ‘pep’ or ‘enthusiasm’ into this post. I’ve been on Tumblr since Red Thread was at its peak, however many years that may have been, and roleplaying, meeting people here, and developing characters that mean the world to me has helped me grow as a person. It brought me out of a near 2 year long depression that included an extremely abusive relationship, being left behind by all my close local friends, and a failed suicide attempt. Writing on tumblr introduced me to my best friend, many dear friends, and my current romantic partner. It’s seen me through a really tough job, two cross-country moves, and some of my worst and lowest points. But with the word ‘racist’ following me at every turn, I no longer feel welcome or supported by what was once my favorite hobby and best coping mechanism.

The reason being labelled a racist has effected me so deeply is because I come from a multi-racial home. I am half Puerto Rican, one quarter African American, and one quarter white. I have tan skin, very hispanic features, and very curly, thick hair with dark brown eyes. I don’t look white. I grew up in a rural area where I was one of very few people of color in BOTH of the schools I attended, and I’ve never lived in very diverse areas in all my 21 years. I don’t believe I was treated any differently because of it, I never had any race-specific issues in my childhood, and I’m very lucky because of that. Sure, I’ve had a few ‘playful nicknames’ but nothing that ever hurt me as much as being bullied about my height, weight, or chest size.

My Grandmother is white and my Grandfather is black - they got together in the 60′s and dealt with a great deal of prejudice and hardship due to being an interracial couple. They and my mother raised me to look past what people look like on the outside - weight, height, gender, age, race, religion - they believe, and I believe that it shouldn’t matter. People should be judged and valued or ignored based upon their personalities. In a near-perfect society, that’s how everyone would feel, but ours is far from perfect. People of color are faced with violence, hate, and even murder on a daily basis all over the world - not just in America - and by no means has it ever been my intent to diminish that, I simply am deterred by conflict because it hurts me to see. 

Now that I’ve described myself, the way I’ve been affected, and my views on race and in/equality, I will explain my experience as a “racist”. For months, I’ve been blocked, shunned, and ignored due to this. I spent MONTHS not knowing why people were blocking me, why all of a sudden people I had been writing with and even admired for their graphic and literary skill were suddenly ignoring me and treating me like I was less than a stranger.

Because no one told me.

Not until sometime around perhaps September or October, when someone was finally kind and considerate enough to step out of their comfort zone and inform me that I’d made a comment about Black Panther without thinking about my wording. On Twitter, I said something to the effect of ‘Black Panther has too much black power for me’, something along those lines. What I should have said was: Black Panther was a good movie, and I liked Killmonger as an antagonist until he began building a highly advanced army of thousands of near-superpowered warriors and devastating militaristic technology to declare war on what was clearly intended to be Caucasians as a race. At that point, I became uncomfortable because racial war of any kind isn’t something I would have paid money to see in a theatre, had I known it was going to be included. But I didn’t say that because twitter has a character limit, and I didn’t think anyone wanted to read an entire thread of my review of what was, all in all, an excellent movie.

Another individual recently followed suit and gave me a few more examples of why people believe I’m racist and discriminatory.

1. I’ve used the “n” word on multiple occasions.          This is not true. I am incredibly uncomfortable around the use of that word, in any form, even it’s reclaimed version. I don’t like it. I don’t know where or when I would have used it before, but even as someone who is African-American and has multiple African-American family members who say it ‘affectionately’ to refer to each other, I have not EVER said that word. Not as a joke, and certainly not as an insult.

2. I hold people who speak English as a secondary, third, or otherwise language to a higher standard than those who do not.

       No. If anything, it’s the opposite. I strongly admire and respect anyone who speaks more than one language, as someone who only speaks English and very broken Spanish. I formerly had an RP partner whose first language is Spanish, and is very proud of their heritage. My father, who I’m no longer in contact with due to estrangement and abandonment, primarily speaks Spanish and I had no quarrel with him because of that.      Some contradictory things you may have read can be found here and here. These are screenshots from the rules page on an old blog of mine that I would rather not explicitly name, for the sake of privacy for people who used to interact with me. In these screenshots, I say “[Does] Understand that English is not everyone’s first language. It’s okay if you have some errors with grammar or spelling, as long as you’re making the best effort that you can.” perhaps that can come off as me saying ‘you have to try really hard if you want to write with me’, but in fact, it just meant that I wanted some manner of effort to be present. I.E., if I write 2 paragraphs, at least write one in response, rather than a single sentence. Could I have worded that better? Absolutely. But since realizing that can be perceived incorrectly, I removed it from my rules page entirely to avoid offending anyone.

        In the other screenshot, I mention not tolerating anyone who is ‘cis or heterophobic’. This ties back into my ideal of not seeing people for who they are on the outside, but rather, who they are on the inside. I’ve had great friendships with people who were either cisgendered, heterosexual, or both, and it upsets me to see all the jokes about ‘down with cishets’ and the hate that the LGBT+ community sends their way. I understand that being a ‘cishet’ doesn’t put them in any ‘legitimate’ danger like being LGBT+ does, but it doesn’t feel good to be judged for being LGBT+, so it doesn’t seem right to judge ANYONE based on sexuality or gender without personal experience. If someone has been repeatedly hurt, offended, or otherwise wronged by individuals of those designation, I understand, but mob mentalities frighten me. 

I’ve apologized for these accusations, and explained my reasoning and my ‘side’ behind them, and there’s one last thing I’d like to address. My being perceived as acting like a victim. This, I can’t contest. Perhaps I have been overly dramatic over this hole thing. Roleplay is a hobby, at the end of the day, and while it may not be a great one, I do have a life outside of Tumblr and Twitter. What I don’t have, however, is friends. My only friends are miles and miles away, and they’re few and far between. The ones I did have began telling me I was a racist, to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I had no clue when these things began to spread because again, I wasn’t confronted. I’ve lost two people I consider to be good friends, and I’ve been doing my best to keep to myself ever since. I stopped reaching out, out of fear that people would find me obnoxious or abrasive, not knowing how far my reputation had spread. The absolute last thing I wanted was to hurt anyone, so when I vented to my friends I asked them not to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want them with the label as well. I didn’t want to see them ostracized, or to be the reason they lost a hobby they enjoyed. When one of them went against my wishes and said something on their blog, it was deemed ‘public drama that didn’t belong on the dash’ and I was TERRIFIED that they would end up losing the chance to interact with others. Thankfully they didn’t, but that’s the example I have. No, something like that didn’t necessarily belong on the dash, but they were simply trying to look out for me while watching me have an anxiety attack and contemplate dropping all of my muses and completely deleting all social media. I’ve moved twitters multiple times due to trust issues this whole ordeal has caused for my own mental health. I’ve hidden behind locked accounts because the thought of people who are triggered by public drama having to see something of this scale was at the forefront of my mind. In short, if it seemed as though I was playing the part of a victim, it’s because I have, for months, been confused and hurt without understanding what was going on. When I tried to move past it and remedy my mistakes, I was pushed away and hurt even more by people I called friends.

To sum the entirety of this long post up, I’m upset. Far more upset than perhaps I’ve conveyed here, because I’m doing my best to remain logical and fair. I understand why anyone who has heard these things about me would block me and would want to avoid contact - I wouldn’t want to interact with a racist either. But I’m not a racist. I’m not judgemental. I’m open-minded to a fault, it seems, and my ideal of perfect equality is unrealistic in the world we live in full of murder and segregation. If anyone would like to talk to me in more detail about anything they’ve read here, they may do so at my open twitter which is solely for responding to inquiries about my reputation, my tumblr blog here, which will no longer be active, or my personal discord, which is mad dog!#6346 .

There are likely many issues I forgot to address, or simply don’t know about, but I’d like to thank anyone who read this far. Your attention means more to me than I can express.