#; fuck this shit lets start a riot [ crack ]

[nobuverse]

"Anyone want one of these? These mini-nobus keep following me around..."

Nobu, nob!

[stxrblccd]

.:* tag dump *:.

[midnight-fables]

S2 Entry 4: Gleeful Harassment

Image credit: Pinterest

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tempts him with pink lace again while he’s attending a conference, and it makes him feral. (2094 Words) SMUT.

Warnings: Swearing, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Darling is a brat, sugar mama!Darling (sort of?), dword use, sir kink, feral Carmy, this man is pathetic

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Fireplace

Darling sometimes scares me.

New York again. Chef conference. Again. This time, Darling scheduled some time off at work to come with, which was nice, because when our hotel (different one, never trusted the first again) fucked up our booking again, it meant that instead of cramming Syd and me into a room together and telling us to figure it out, the staff had to listen to Nat and a pissed off Darling read them the Riot Act. I had to admit, it was wildly entertaining—not to watch the poor desk clerk scramble around with all the grace of a gazelle that’d been shot in the leg; that was uncomfortable—but watching Syd and Richie back away from the desk inch by inch as Darling’s voice got friendlier and friendlier, as she cracked jokes at the sweating clerk? As she then giggled at the manager on site who looked much too concerned about nothing to be bothered by some rando Chicagoan fucks who also, to be fair to him, looked like they’d rather be anywhere else?

Cinema.

Half an hour of gleeful harassment later, it was sorted. Three rooms, two suites so Nat’s snoring didn’t keep Syd awake.

“The fuck is a Presidential Suite?” I asked Darling after Richie had shuffled off the elevator onto his floor.

She smiled. Stroked my cheek as the elevator door closed. “Consider it a treat for starting therapy.”

A presidential suite, it turns out, is an entire fucking penthouse. Living room, fireplace, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom with a big tub, balcony (which was useless in December). For once on these stupid fucking conferences, I slept well.

Having Darling to snuggle up with probably helped.

Anyway.

I’m an hour into a panel of some asshat full-of-themselves chefs on day one, right—and I’m so ready to leave, okay? Like I’m ready to just get up and walk because I fucking can’t with this bullshit anymore. I’m tired, my head is killing me, my eyes are stinging, my back might as well have fucking knives in it from under my shoulder blades all the way to my tailbone, I’m boiling in my fucking suit. You don’t understand; I’m going to be cooked to death if I need to be here another ten minutes. I’m gonna fucking hurl or something. This day has been a million years long, and Darling had to leave in a rush because one of her patients had an emergency and she needed to get on a conference call right that second or the poor man was gonna die or explode or melt or whatever the fuck. Fuck me, I just need to get out of this room. There are too many people, I’m sardine canned in a corner between Richie and Nat, the doors are clear on the other side of the hall, and I can’t get out without walking across the front, and I’m Carmen fucking Berzatto—people are gonna notice if I get up and walk out. That’ll bite me in the ass.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I reached for it, but Sug nudged me in the elbow. Don’t get distracted.

It buzzed again.

I grabbed it anyway. Two text messages from Darling.

Darling: Patient is stable.

Darling: You okay?

Me: I’m dying.

Darling: Can you step out and take a break?

Nat nudged me again.

Fuck you, everyone here understands that sometimes you have important shit come up. Besides, how much of a fuck should I be giving to a bunch of self-centered sons of bitches big on social media who think their Cajun-inspired take of a Biryani even needs to exist, let alone is some revolutionary new frontier in food? Do your fucking fundamentals well. Do something actually inspiring.

Wait, that actually sounds pretty good.

Fuck.

Photo from Darling. Selfie. She’s lying on her stomach in the bed and has her lip caught between her teeth. She’d been pulling shit like that since yesterday; lip bite, lipstick print on my neck that I had to wipe off before the wider public saw it (turns out I’m still a shy bitch, who would’ve guessed), ghosting her fingers up the inside of my forearm, hugging my arm, wearing those fucking pink fucking heels and that fucking short pink dress, this bright, cheerful color exactly the hue of a split ripe guava, that I didn’t even know I liked until she dared to send me the one photo of her in the pink lacy panties on the one night I got compulsively stuck at the restaurant.

I went back to pretending to pay attention to the panel. Something about leadership in a kitchen. It would’ve been useful for me to hear if I wasn’t getting distracted repeatedly by my phone buzzing.

Darling: You look so good in a suit, Carm.

Darling: I want to bite you.

Darling: I need to buy you nice jewelry, Carm. You’d look like a daydream and a half with a couple more necklaces and a bracelet.

My face flooded hot. Fuck. Fuck me. Shit. How the shit was I supposed to focus now? And since when did Darling want to buy me jewelry?

Me: You’re acting like a brat again.

Darling: You said the panel wasn’t important!

That was true. I did say that. I’m an asshole, though, so I suppose we should keep that in mind.

Darling: Sweetheart?

Darling: Baby, I can’t stop thinking about you.

Me: You keep acting like a fucking brat, and I’m gonna fuck your day up, you understand me?

And I didn’t want to be there at all. But like half the people here know who the fuck I am, and I need to at least keep up the appearance of giving a shit if I’m gonna not be a minnow in this fucking shark tank, okay? My career was hanging on by a thread, my restaurant failed to get a star, my reviews were mostly good but had some glaring bad ones thrown in, my relationship with the kitchen staff was in some perilous fucking limbo, it was damn-near 5 pm on a random fucking Tuesday in Fuck-Off, New York, and my head was fucking killing me and I was being cooked to death.

Another photo from her, this one showing off a pink lace bra that matched those panties I almost tore off her the last time. Even more heat pooled in the pit of my stomach, flooded my face. She doesn’t know when to fucking quit, does she? Is she trying to kill me?

Darling: Well, maybe you should fuck my day up then, sir.

…..

“Carmy, please,” she whined, wriggled, tugged my hair. “Please, sir…”

I tightened my grip on her thighs to stop her squirming and spoke into her cunt. “You did this to yourself, baby girl.”

“But you-you’re being mean, Daddy.” She didn’t even have teeth behind that one.

She was a gorgeous mess. Unruly hair, smudged lipstick, swollen lips, red and purple blooms all over her neck and chest, teeth marks on her breast, just under her nipple. Fuck me, she was stunning. She was fucking delicious lying under me, whimpering as I worked her over, begging for release.

She could wait until I got my fill.

I found her after the panel (which I survived by biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper) lounging in front of the fireplace in nothing but that pink lingerie and her fuzzy night robe, glass of champagne in hand, pager and laptop discarded on the coffee table nearby. Orange-yellow glow lit up her legs and the curve of her breasts like ethereal things. I should’ve taken a photo of her. I don’t think about this kind of shit; I don’t think through the screen, I wrap myself around them (or maybe I wrap them around me?), absorb them, fight through the fog to plant them in my memory, take in every little detail with my own eyeballs in real time. Maybe it made me a better cook, made me better at picking up details.

At least it made me better at picking up her details.

Her eyeliner was smudged, and she looked exhausted. She looked the kind of exhausted that I did when I had a long day of fighting Richie or Syd at the restaurant. The kind of tired that can’t find words or form coherent thoughts, that responds to everything with “I’m tired” because that’s the truth of all matters. It’s this fucking exhaustion that drapes over you like a wet blanket, that makes a coma seem like it might be a vacation. I know I should’ve asked her how she was doing. Having a patient take a downturn like that usually fucks her up pretty bad, but I was screaming in my head to get at her. I needed to sink my teeth into her skin, lick the bite better, suck a hickey onto her pulse, delve my tongue into the wet heat of her mouth, the soft, wet sweetness of her cunt.

Not that she complained.

Well, now she was complaining.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that, hm?”

She whined again.

“You had to go acting like a fuckin’ brat, baby girl.”

“’m sorry. Please, Carmy. Please, Daddy, I’ll be good for the rest of the trip...”

“You better be,” I murmured, tossed her leg over my shoulder, “because I haven’t even started with you.”

“Lemme cum, please…”

“You can wait,” I growled.

She huffed and arched her back, tried to rock against my mouth to get any more friction, but I tightened my grip on her to hold her still. You got yourself into this situation, pretty thing, you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences. I’m going to eat you out, I’m going to make a fucking meal out of you, and you’re gonna lay there and take it. You’re gonna take it and beg me for more, do you understand? Do you understand what you do to me? Do you even know how bad you fuck me up? Do you know how hard you make it to think under normal circumstances? And you had to tempt me with pink lace? Again? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes; is that how the phrase goes?

Her fingertips ghosted along my neck, curled down to pet a line up my throat, hook under my chain.

“Let-let me buy you something nice, Daddy.”

I glanced up at her from between her legs and gave her clit a particularly aggressive suck. She swore and bucked against me. We really doing this? You want to try throwing me off? You want to challenge me? I’ll admit, it almost got me. I don’t get things from people. Gift-giving was something of an artifice in my family, it was a thinly veiled assertion of favors, alignments of loyalties, negotiation tactics. Gifts were weapons of war. Some bitchy part of me that I wanted to crush under my boot-heel wanted to fire back with “why?” Why do you want to get something nice for me? What do you want from me? What are your ulterior motives?

She swept that hand through my hair. Wicked twinkle in her eye. Maybe it was reflections from the fireplace. Maybe I’m getting better at figuring her out. When did she turn into a brat? When did I start to like it?

I responded by pressing two fingers into her cunt, and she rewarded me with the prettiest moan I’ve ever heard. Fuck, it went straight to the pit of my stomach, coiled this sweltering heat into an unforgiving pressure that threatened to turn me inside out. Her cunt was so wet and hot, offered no resistance, welcomed my fingers. One hand seized my hair in a vice grip; the other shot up and kneaded her breast, afforded me a glorious sight of her in the throes of pleasure, back arched, nipple pinched between her fingers, firelight bathing half her form in flickering yellows and oranges, while the other half of her form receded under the ink of winter nightfall, twinkles around her neck from her gold necklace catching the light, and flashes of white, pink, blue, and green from her mother of pearl necklace shifting through its hues. She’s not human, I swear to you. She’s a mythological creature. Not of this realm. A fairy, a spirit, an angel—something distant from the grit and grime that is humanity, another plane of beautiful that escapes the grips of this disastrous world.

I revise my statement on God.

Sometimes he gets it right.

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[nobuverse]

@inseparableduo

twins vc: MIAOOOOOU

Feral Hissing

[nobuverse]

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?! If I knew, don't you think I'd gotten it myself?!"

"Ahem- I mean - Sion did say something about it being in Tyoko in the...1870's ? I think? But do you really expect me to go fetch it in this state? A-and before you ask-! No! I didn't put it there myself! H-help me out, would ya? I can't go around looking like this forever..."

"OH SHIT! WHERE'D YOU PUT IT?!"

[myunghology]

hi hi if your requests are open could I ask for ritsu sakuma and rinne amagi x reader relationship hcs!! Gn reader!

ritsu and rinne general relationship hcs

featuring ritsu + rinne x gn! reader

warnings noneee

genre + layout fluff, crack, headcanons/bulleted layout

a/n SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG $/$/!/)/)

s. ritsu

becomes more possessive once you both start dating, but not TOO possessive to the point where he won't let you go, etc. because he knows you still have things to do.

also on how he confessed.. he probably?? did it on accident ☠️☠️

let's just say on a casual day you were just sleeping with him under a tree; on my because you fell asleep from looking at him. unexpectedly he woke up before you did.

confessed while you were quote unquote, “still asleep”. little did he know you were already wide awake.. ;3 your eyes were just closed!!

gets visibly flustered for about just one minute when he realizes your still awake, congratulations!! you've achieved the achievement ‘flustering ritsu sakuma’! difficulty; EXTRA HARD

feels bad when people talk shit about you just for dating him :(. it can scale from “they're not even good enough for ritsu?” to “why are they even dating him.. he's not all that.”

either way tho, he threatens people to stop talking bs about you. he's like that one meme!! “KEEP. MY. WIFES. NAME. OUT. YOUR. FUCKING. MOUTH 🤬🤬🤬” “RITSU STOP”

bro he is definitely starting a riot. sorry.

you have to patch him all up, plus you have to apologize to the person FOR HIM while he's just like.. “DON'T APOLOGIZE TO THEM. THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES”

eventually. calms down. after like 10 minutes.

anyways,, he gives the bestt cuddles ever. don't we all know that though? this is just a personal hc, but i feel like he does origami for fun.

so whenever he has free time.. and isn't somehow sleeping, he teaches you what he knows. guys don't be like me cuz idk how to even make a paper airplane

+ gives the most RANDOM and OBVIOUS kisses and hickies, and if not, it's on the most personal places. on your (inner) thighs, your neck, your chest, etc.

"wow [name] you look like you just fought with a bear" spoiler alert: you just got a day with ritsu without mika in the room

im sorry if you get flustered obviously by touch, because OH NO.. who would've guessed.. he's so touchy and he absolutely bathes in your reaction whenever you squeal or/and blush at what he's doing.

sends texts to knights saying stuff like, “guys.. i miss them” “BRO STFU 😭” everyone is sick of him saying that, so please be with him 24/7 </3...

also talks about you obsessively to knights, probably even to rei if no one truly wants to listen to him ramble about you.. it's not that they don't like you!! it's just that it's a bit annoying sometimes. but it's also nice to get to know about you more.

just not from ritsu.

a. rinne

im so sorry you have to deal with him. hes so hot tho ill give him that

but when he loves, he loves HARDD, i swear. he'll be spoiling you both with money, and with his affection! it's a win-win situation for the both of you!

like ritsu, he spams his gc because of how much he rambles about you.. whether it be full blown paragraphs of you or little rambles.

these two are actually kind of similar when you're in a relationship with them. rinne is another one who gives very OBVIOUS hickies, and a lot at that. even his unitmates are embarrassed for you atp.. but they're happy!

cares for you a lot, even though it isn't that obvious due to.. yknowww, but it's really heartwarming whenever you see this side of him.

you're hurt by accident? he's already cleaning up your wounds and bandaging them before placing a soft kiss on it, telling you to be careful next time.

not on accident and someone caused it? well... heh... 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞! ahh reaction

likes teasing you a lot! pinching your face and tugging on it right after, just to trigger your natural blush he always loves to see.

HEAVY on pda, doesn't really care who sees, unless you care, then he won't mind! but still insists because he can't get his hands off you (IN A SFW WAY. u guys r gross)

HIIRO APPROVES! you take care of rinne and you look out for him, it's also a win-win for the both of you guys

netflix marathons.. but it's with sad movies. it's either he holds you or you hold him when the other cries their heart out

surprisingly good at comforting?? doesn't seem like it because of his character, but you've learned early enough that he's a good person to rant to!

also because of that, you two have gotten more closer than ever :). thinks you deserve the best— and so he gives it to you. that basically sums up your whole relationship

myunghology: IDK HOW TO WRITE FOR RINNE DIES

[nobuverse]

@mysticallities said:

Cue Reines picking up a mini Nobbu and hitting a homerun with the little runt right in front of Nobu herself! Rare for her to move that much~

"I-isn't that a little harsh...?"

Not that she hadn't punted a few of those things herself - but something about seeing a smaller version of herself being launched in that violent of a manner was kind of terrifying.

"It probably had hopes and dreams of its own or - something like that ....it was just a little guy...."

I'm next, aren't I?

[fea-resources]

Horror Game Commentary As RP Starters Pt.1

TAKING THE MORNING SHAFTS WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT. I mean... shifts. Totally shifts.

I feel like I'm being shafted to be honest.

God that singing ghost lady ruined my life.

Agh, my leg, why does my leg hurt?

It remembers the fear.

I have my gun out, ready for it... not ready for it. Let's be real here, I'm not ready for it.

I hate that I know something's gonna attack me and I know I'm gonna freak out and shoot it.

Preemptively shoot them. Double tap for the fucking idiot who came before you and didn't.

GET THE SHINY. ALL THE SHINIES.

Oh there's something under that car.

Mmm, do I want it? Decisions decisions.

Time for me to like, Die Inside.

Don't get up, gimme your brain juice.

You... got that brain juice. From his ass.

What is that? Its shiny.

Go hug it.

Fuck that lady. She got herself into this mess.

Yes.... extract their anal juices.

Totally brain juice. Right, right.

Shoot her anyway. Shoot her for having a crappy hairstyle.

You start doing some freaky shit like the padre, I'm gonna shoot you.

Oh god she's a crack addict. Run. Run far away.

She's on crack or meth -- either way its bad.

I read '______' as 'Satan'.

I dunno but I think s/he's about to change and I don't like it.

It gave me an angle and I don't like the angle.

Mobius Dick.

Meth does that to a person. God. Its such an obvious thing.

I'm serious. Don't fucking start turning into a Thing. I'll shoot you. This is a small ass house.

And god that fucking thING.

I DIDN'T THINK THAT THING WOULD BE THIS EARLY. W H Y.

Go closer, I can't see it! What is it? I know it will probably kill you but I wanna see it!

OH MY GO-O-O-D. WHY. W H Y. WHYYYY.

That place is glitching out and I don't like it.

This place looks cozy.

Marco...? Better not be a fucking polo around here.

That door is locked. Why is that door locked?

That screen wasn't on!

It was the asbestos.

That's me. I told you what I planned to do to the house.

I don't like the way the lighting is... I don't, I don't, I don't. I don't like... the way the lighting iiiiss.

Its fine -- you just walked in on a man getting his viagra.

Your fear. It fuels me.

I DON'T WANT IT.

IF THERE'S ANYONE BEHIND ME, I DON'T WANT WHAT YOU'RE SELLING.

Okay but... demonic girl scouts.

You most definitely do want what they have.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMM...... HMMMMMMMM. SPRINT IT, SPRINT IT, SPRINT IT.

Something better not come out of the blood I swear to god--

Don't do it... DON'T DO IT.

Little demons that want to sell you death cookies.

Yeah but they'd taste bitchin' in the few minutes before you died horribly.

Were those... tentacles. Because I know where this is probably going if they were.

Just... break your mic. Just straight up shatter it.

We all know.

Straight up the ass.

No. Keep those tentacles away from me.

I know that definitely wasn't there before.

Anything else in here that I need, before I go? Besides ANOTHER HEART ATTACK.

Yaoi hands?

You know that lady with all the spider arms and long claws? Yeah, that was her. I recognize those claws.

OH. I KNOW. I KNOW HIM/HER.

If s/he appears, I'm going to riot.

THERE BETTER NOT BE ANYTHING ELSE WAITING FOR ME OUT THERE BECAUSE I WILL SHOOT IT IN THE FACE.

You all dancing over there across the street? That's fine because I don't want you ANYWHERE NEAR ME RIGHT NOW.

The void.

WHAT IS IT? GOD.

Oh a shiny.

I bet it was weed. _____ out here picking up bad weed.

Whatever. Whatever whatever whatever, I'm just hearing shit.

OH NO. NO NO NO NO. WHY IS S/HE HERE?!

S/he just wants your scalp.

She wants you. She thinks you're her lover. She's the clingy girlfriend.

That's horrifying.

OH MY GOD, SHE DO THAT FAST MOVEMENT SHIT, NO, NO, BYE.

That noise was behind me... that noise was behind me, right? ...that wasn't behind me.

I don't know what's going on but someone's having a rough old time in there.

Someone is having a bad time in the bathroom. They need laxatives.

Oh hello, there's two of you. How the fuck did you get in here?

Bye to your fuCKING HEAD.

Why is there a pile of dead bodies here now? This wasn't here before.

Watermelon head Steve.

Porn. Its their porn.

Nah it'll be singing ghost this time.

Nobody down here and this is what I came to get. This is what I risked my fucking life for.

Please... please... please don't pop up again.

FUCK this house by the way. Like. Fuck this house.

My work place has rat traps so I guess they have vermin problems, and this makes me so happy because if I see one of those fuckers I'ma grab it with my bare hands and wow the whole store. Up my pay grade. I can catch rats myself!

They keep getting into our soda syrup specifically. I don't know why.

I wanna buy my own soda syrup so I can just... put it on pancakes.

I don't think its that kind of syrup.

Try anything once. ESPECIALLY once if its toxic.

Hey man its your life. And quite possibly your funeral, but you know... have fun. Yolo.

You can stay the HELL away from me big thing. Don't want it.

Pro Tip: Since there's a million Subways all over the place, they have lots of bagged pickles and jalapenos and banana peppers and sauces just... right there. Ripe for the taking.

What is that? Is that like a milkshake bar?

Its the mile high club.

Shoot 'em in the ass. That'll teach em.

She's your stalker girlfriend. You will be hers or you will not have the chance to be anything else.

Ditched out on your date with her. What else did you expect?

That's fine, you didn't want to know what it was anyway.

Standing in the bushes. A great strategy. I love bushes.

S/he definitely didn't hear that.

Can s/he ghost through walls? Can s/he open doors?

Bushes are friends.

Glitching blood. Same.

I know s/he can go straight through doors, I just hope s/he doesn't go straight through THIS fucking door.

S/he's coming for you.

Go away, I don't want what you're fucking selling.

S/he's not selling anything -- s/he wants what you tried to sell her/him. Your heart.

You're not helping!

The dead man is mood. The dead man and his glitchy blood -- also hella mood.

He's not dead, he's just resting.

Go out there and just. Run. Run and don't look back.

There she be.

She's a betta fish. Look at her dress. Betta fish.

Or maybe she's a friend. She sings songs. She's friendly. She just wants to make you happy with her singing.

She has all them arms for hugs.

I'm holding my breath for you.

Just keep moving. S/he can only be behind you, right?

I mean... s/he could be above you. Or under you.

My waifu. She's gone.

Damn that bitch really needs to stop harassing me.

File a restraining order.

I hate to be the one to tell you this but... acid beats knife.

Note to self... electric bolts work WONDERS on those things.

Dang. No creepies in the crates.

I'd rather have the ghostie boo instead of that... fleshy thing.

Sounds like they got into the firecrackers again.

He angery. HULK WANT OUT. LET HULK OUT.

Its Hulk's weak bitch ass cousin.

You're dead right? Like, one hundred percent? Because... if you get up... You DEFINITELY better not get the fuck back up again.

Hulk's disappointed in his cousin.

I am doing a concern, friend.

You don't like any noise, ______.

You're right, I don't like any noise, because noise means bad stuff.

I've figured out why its so cold in my room. The ghost lady has come to me. I'm embracing it.

She has many arms for tight hugs.

Technically they're like. Sashes or something. Like a betta fish. Betta fish ghost lady.

That fucking laugh tho. "nyA HA".

Coffee is nasty. Y'all are nasty. Coffee is the devil's brew.

Uuuuuh, this place looks no bueno.

The devil's brew and the devil's lettuce. How many other things does the devil have?

Does the devil live on a farm in the country?

Devil butt. Fuck yea.

Gotta face your fears. Face them like a man. A big, burly man. A bara, even.

Have those huge yaoi hands.

Someone's gassy.

I hear something... where is it? Oh no.

NOOO. ITS THIS BITCH.

Called it.

Even in assumed death, they have a knife. Relatable.

YEET.

BLOW OUT HER UTERUS.

S/HE. EATS. BULLETS.

I'm back. I got sour patch. Hopefully I don't end up choking on it.

Sour patch to soothe your soul.

You know what she reminds me of? The um... Witches from Left for Dead?

YOU STARTLED THE WITCH.

This is me, gonna die and regretting it, a lot.

Best friends kill each other before the apocalypse.

I... sorry, I have to leave because SOMEONE'S being mean to me.

They're having a rave. GLOWY EYES RAVE. *BEAT BOXES*

That's bad luck.

I hate how tight it is and that I'm not seeing whatever is seeing me.

I hear heAVY BREATHING.

That's not heavy breathing -- its purring.

MY SON ISN'T LIKE THAT. MY SON JUST WANTS AFFECTION.

STRANGER DANGER.

Don't blow yourself up.

The green juice is fuji dew.

You're dead, right? ...you're not dead. I'm not gonna bother you right now.

Evil train. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THAT TRAIN.

I love the editions of the flies, but the lack of maggots and decay is upsetting.

That's a big rat.

I SAW IT MOVING. I KNEW IT WAS THERE.

She's busy freaking over the rat.

I haven't seen someone so upset over a rat since my mom found a mouse in her pillow.

She's just mad cuz her tanning bed turned her into jerky.

Head splodey.

You woke them up. What the fuck, that was rude of you.

I mean, you're alive. I consider that a silver lining to this whole situation.

I keep expecting more ghouls in a box.

Ghouls in a box, much like kittens in a box, but now with fifty percent more mauling.

Only fifty?

What, is fifty percent mauling not good enough for you? Is this year's model not violent enough? GOD, not everyone can keep up with your strict mauling standards.

Oh come on my mauling standards aren't that high. I just assumed this wasn't the world of Hello Kitty or MLP.

How safe is the safe house, really?

You can service me any time baby.

Probably cuz you got cockblocked by the ghost lady.

S/he wants you to stay that bad. S/he's such a sweetheart. Clingy and murderous, but a sweetheart.

Oh that looks like a fun time. Let's walk right into the squiggly room.

Hey look its the slow mo brain juice again.

Its just a bullet to the brain, mate. Ain't that bad. I've taken a few of those.

Excuse you. That is called abstract art. And it is gorgeous.

All I heard was the sound of my ears imploding. And then silence.

Its the sound of forgiveness. Screaming and then silence.

OKAY CARL. Get out of here.

No save -- we live and scream and die like men.

Don't get caught by the ghost lady in all that distance.

Wing it like a birb. Caw caw.

Sitting here making noise on the sidelines with the desperate hope it gets you caught somehow.

Midget shadow.

Children are omens of death. Do not follow the pitter patter of feet.

DON'T TALK ABOUT MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT.

I swear to god nothing better crawl out after me. I will throw my ______ and then regret it.

You think a door will save you? You're a stupid bitch.

She's... probably dead... just like... nEVER MIND.

Your waifu awaits.

I really hope nothing is waiting for me. Other than those things across the field-- where'd they go? ....Wheeerre'd they gooo?

Okay now I'm concerned, there were... things. All of the things were-- okay where are they. They were rIGHT THERE.

That's what we thought about the ghost lady.

Well you either run or you die so its really just up to your personal preference.

That is too red to be days old. That is five hours at best.

I have this love hate relationship with kids because part of me is like "satan spawns" but then I just... want to protect them. Like what the fuck is wrong with me?

I hate kids and I have no desire to protect them.

And you are 100% faking death good sir.

There's another little ______ here, but I-- don't wanna be here anymore, BYE.

Yep, don't wanna be here. Don't wanna, don't wanna, don't wanna.

He didn't see SHIT.

That body kinda twitched and it was nasty how it did it.

Please stop yelling. Stop yelling.

Ew. Ew. I mean its a little cool, but ew.

I don't like not having shotgun shells. Shotgun shells are like my security blanket.

"Another doll" how many dolls this fucking kid have?

WHOA. OKAY. That hallway's gone.

ITS THE BAE.

That's a tentacle monster.

I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going. Or, well... I've heard of enough hentai to know.

I have actually seen enough hentai to know.

Sin city poppin' up round here.

Are those human centipedes?

SHE FOUR LEGGING IT.

Even though you're an ass, at least you gave me stuff.

I wanna lick every single window in this place. I'm not sure why, but I just want to.

[nobuverse]

"Yeah...well....you've never had to stand to Darius....or Hercules...I'd bet even they'd make you feel small..."

"You know why nobody ever makes fun of my height? Because I'm big in Japan."

[harseer]

Recurtains on Assassination Classroom

I first watched Assassination Classroom 6 or 7 years ago. All i remembered from it was an overwhelming feeling of bitterness. As i rewatched it yesterday, i found myself thinking "hey, this is not that bad" and "i've seen more anime now, there's a lot i wasn't able to appreciate back then". And yet, now that all is said and done, i don't feel any less bitter. The "overwhelming" part is what's changed, i've seen more premises squandered, more endings pathetically fumbled, especially in shonen. This sort of stuff is just par for the course now. But the bitterness didn't go away.

I actually think Assassination Classroom has good themes and overall narrative. Really good themes, in fact. Too good themes. "Children need to grow up and be educated in a safe environment where they feel they feel valued and are motivated by their own intrinsic interest", the whole "prepare them for life, don't throw them into it", it's great. It's incorporated in unique ways in most characters throughout the entire show. But… The show is called "Assassination Classroom". I came here to see assassination, not just some kids being overprotected by a benevolent omnipotent giant octopus. The entire reason why the show happens is that Koro decided "I'm going to stop killing and try to use my skills for good instead". If the kids are put into danger or risk too often, at some point the viewers would ask "aren't they going through this much danger only because Koro decided to teach them?" and at that point the themes would shatter. So the kids are only allowed to ever really use their training in a few select arcs, otherwise Koro or Karasuma are always there to single handedly save the day. By the second half of season 2 the kids are completely pulling their punches and aren't even trying to kill Koro anymore. So where is the Assassination at that point? They should've just called it "Classroom".

This ultimately culminates in the ending which goes by with the kids doing absolutely jack shit for the whole arc. Koro is cool, but he wasn't who the story was about. It was about the kids, about them getting picked up from a bad spot, discovering themselves and finding their path in life. And yet in that final arc they did absolutely nothing. Actually, they took down the japanese military, who were literally just guarding the perimeter and then they just watched as Koro battled a giant monster all by himself. They didn't even cheer for him or anything, just stood there, mouth open, thinking "damn, we suck". The only one who tried anything was Kaede who went "yo, watch this" and then immediately got impaled with almost comedic timing. Congratulation Kaede, you at least tried. The bad guy's entire motivation was just being an asshole, and then, when he got beat, Koro just laid down and let himself be killed. Just so the kids can say "we did it". I think it makes a lot of sense for his character that he would just let himself die, but the problem is for the kids who've been complaining the whole time that "it just ain't right" if someone else kills him without them getting to prove themselves, only for him to die with basically no effort of their own. It's a disgusting ending.

Despite this rather shitty finale, overall Assassination classroom was... fine. It did well characterizing such a large main cast in the time it had, even if a few slipped through the cracks. The animation was efficient, the OPs were unique. I watched the dub and the voice acting started a bit scuffed, but quickly improved to be pretty good. It seemed to have a lot of rewriting work behind it and didn't hesitate to drop some "fuck"s and "shit"s and a lot of "bitch"s, which is always a pleasure to my swear-loving ears. Also, the principal was super funny. One of his teenage students said "you should be nicer to your son" and he answered by taking off his vest and saying "fight me". Bro is a riot.

Tier list of how characterized each classroom member is:

*Glasses guy gets basically all his characterization from the extras

[nobuverse]

"I am! We all are! Weeell, most of us anyways! Those pseudo-servants are just a silly exception"

[nalanzu]

Episode 25: Ende Des Weiss - To the Knights...

Okay, last episode of the core series, or the part of the show that the western fandom knew best. The comics and the radio dramas never were officially translated into English (to the best of my knowledge), and they were absolutely essential to the canonical storyline.

The episode opens with reports of nationwide riots that the police cannot control and Ken pointing out on a map where girl!Aya and Sakura are being held (how do they know again?). Yohji is in disbelief that someone can be resurrected (ok, maybe they're trying to resurrect a dead guy and not a demon but still). Birman points out that it doesn't matter if it's possible or not, that Esstset believes it and that's what's important.

Weiss fucks off to go derail a bunch of lunatics and a ritual while Birman protests that she cannot get them any backup. Weiss says they never have backup, how is this time any different. Birman is unhappy about this.

In the museum, there is a cheering audience for the resurrection ritual (why). Aya is recklessly rushing ahead in his quest to save his sister and his underage stalker. He's setting the pace for the rest of them, who are not happy about it. It is, however, not difficult for them to break in. Through the front door. Guys. GUYS.

As the ritual progresses, girl!Aya starts to wake up. Weiss continues to be sneaky for once and also continues to murder Esststet's agents. They devise a plan (now? NOW is when you figure out a plan?) and split up to carry it out. More Esstset agents get murdered. Omi finds gas masks and lasers on the floor, then trips and sets off an alarm. Good job, Omi. Yohji is wondering why Schwarz has skin in this game, incidentally, but he's thwarted by the alarm going off.

Aya literally charges five men shooting at him with machine guns who somehow fail to hit him with even a single bullet (WHY). Omi having realized he fucked up, sets off a bomb in the storage room he landed in. This has the effect of setting the building on fire, as the storage room was an armory with Many Explosives. Esstset is determined to continue the ritual.

Weiss interrupts in their typical dramatic fashion, with Aya giving the Dark Beasts speech and everything. Esstset is absolutely unimpressed. They're also psychic, as one of them throws Ken across the room with the power of his mind. Weapons stop just short of hitting them - wire, darts, everything. Esstset gloats that they've lived for centuries and weapons won't kill them as they start absolutely wrecking the place. Masonry crumbling, floors cracking open, the works.

Guys, this is not going to help your ritual continue, ok, if you destroy the building, how are you going to summon your dead soul?

Aya is undeterred by the raw power in front of him and distracts Esstset just enough for Ken to stab one of them in the back. This in turn lets him stab a second. The third and last member vanishes down a hidden hallway as Aya grabs his sister's once again unconscious body. No, wait, that was Sakura all along. Weiss is, uh, perplexed at this reveal.

The surviving member of Esstset is feeling some kind of way about their ritual getting fucked up (and possibly the other two members buying the farm), and starts screaming at Schwarz for not doing anything. At this point, he realizes that Schwarz has girl!Aya and that the ritual was being conduced with someone else.

Crawford boastfully declares that Schwarz will be the ones to wake girl!Aya (I don't think that was the point of the ritual but ok). Remaining Esstset member tries to break the room down around them, but Nagi has it under control and stops the crack in the floor. Esstset dude realizes he done fucked up, because Schwarz is stronger than he is.

Sakura is Not Impressed by the assassin clothes, and Weiss explains that they are in fact a team of assassins. However, Aya says, that's not the point, the point is that Sakura is doing dumb shit. Sakura says she wanted to help Aya. Aya once again does his little song and dance about being a murderer, and Yohji helpfully adds that murder is always wrong. Sakura again attempts to justify their behavior, as she still thinks they are fundamentally good people, but she just cries instead. Aya thanks Sakura for letting him see his sister and reveals that his name is actually Ran.

Meanwhile, Schwarz is now threatening the last member of Esstset, who is attempting to bribe them with powerful posistions in his New World Order. Crawford laughs him out of the room and says they have Other Priorities. Schwarz doesn't want order; they want utter chaos, survival of the fittest and the strongest, and they kill the last member of Esstset.

I feel like that escalated quickly, tbh. I don't recall they were quite so unhinged in the rest of the series, but I could be wrong.

As Crawford gloats that there is nothing to stop them from fucking shit up now, Weiss flings open the metaphorical door with a resounding You're Forgetting About Us. In Schwarz's defense, Weiss has really not been a threat to them at any point.

Aya demands his sister. Schuldig declines, as Schwarz also needs here, and the fight is on. Aya snarls that his sister is not to be used any more, and Sakura goes to drag her off the table and out of the building. Manx shows up just in time to shoot a gun out of Crawford's hand and help Sakura save the unconscious girl!Aya.

The building starts to collapse as Weiss squares off against Schwarz. With shots of the riots outside cut into the fight, Crawford monologues about the evil nature of humanity while facing Aya, Nagi throws Omi into a stone column hard enough to crack it, Farfarello slams Ken's head into another column over and over, and Aya screams that they have hope.

Crawford laughs at him, but Omi tears free of Nagi's grip to launch himself at Farfarello, who breaks Omi's ribs instead. Yohji is trying to choke Schuldig, Ken knocks Farfarello off Omi, and Omi goes right back to trying to murder Nagi. The building, which has been collapsing this whole time, finally falls right into Tokyo Bay. Sakura screams Aya's name from the road overlooking the bay, while girl!Aya wakes up in Manx's lap. I've got questions about muscle tone, but she gets out of the car with zero problems as Sakura says she has a story to tell.

Cut to the epilogue, with the flowershop. Girl!Aya is its only employee (Momoe not withstanding), and Sakura has cut her hair again. Manx and Birman lurk outside, keeping watch. We also see Tot in a field of flowers, and I honestly want to know who's looking out for her, because we all know she cannot hold a job or rent an apartment. QUESTIONS. I HAVE THEM. Maybe Kritiker scooped her up, IDK. The equipment in the flowershop basement is all covered with dustcloths, except for the beanbag sofa and a picture of our four florist assassins.

The final scene is a bunch of presumably muggers running away from our four boys in their assassin gear overreacting to petty street crime.

The implication is that Weiss survived and are no longer part of Kritiker. The subsequent movies, drama CDs, animated series, and comics will indicate that this is not in fact the case. It's not an inconsistent note for the series to end on, but it does rather seem to be saying that Weiss will always hang around to murder people for engaging in crime. This does beg some questions regarding why every member of Weiss feels compelled to continue to murder people to death instead of finding other ways to be productive members of society, but there would be a much less Beautifully Tragic show if they did that.

The series as a whole is very flawed, I cannot lie. It uses a number of actively harmful tropes and conceits while painting them in an aspirational light. There are honestly too many to list, but I think the worst offenders are the idea that one's emotions entitle one to someone else and that pain is an appropriate justification for being an asshole. There's quite a lot to be said about representation of women and how - nearly without exception - they are defined primarily and often only by their relationship to one of the male characters.

The show raises a number of very interesting questions about ethics and morality, and how to navigate justice when the official systems are ineffective. It asks - just barely - what justice really is. It then proceeds to spectacularly refuse to answer any of these questions and throws trauma porn centered on pretty boys at its viewers instead.

Weiss Kreuz teases worldbuilding with the shadowy organization Kritiker, and then refuses to explain how it works either. This is incredibly frustrating to me, personally, because I want to know how the details work. Weiss Kreuz just glosses over the details and gives the necessary information to its characters when it's salient, which keeps the story moving effectively but also provides a truly stunning number of places to apply fridge logic.

As a vanity project started by a popular voice actor, it became more popular than anyone - except, no doubt, said voice actor - expected, because it is very good at its emotions. Those emotional arcs, inconsistent though they were from episode to episode, plus the gorgeous character designs struck a chord with a very wide audience and then it just sort of became a self-sustaining phenomenon.

I had a lot of fun with this show as a baby fan, and over twenty years later I'm still having fun with it. There's surprisingly little that has become more problematic with age (look, I had issues with the age gaps and with the Tot romantic subplot the first time around), and it still provides a fertile environment for speculation and imagination. And, of course, for porn.

[just-horrible-things]

'Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2

Riot, pt3 [Prev | Next]

It’s not new, running the opposite way to the panicked crowd, toward the sound of gunfire and screaming. It’s weird that it’s not new. It’s weird that she’s doing it now, after everything, weird to be doing it in civilian clothes, especially weird to be on the wrong side of the equation with Alex – a warlock for fuck’s sakes – as her only backup.

Every time her shoulders knock painfully against someone running the opposite way, she has to clamp down on the instinct to wheel on them, hit them, beat them into the ground.

Fucking cowards.

It’s all fun and games until the guns come out. They’re brave enough to smash up random strangers’ shit, they aren’t brave enough to stick around and try to help their fellow rioters as they bleed to death in the street.

She loathes them all and still she’s running to their aid.

A glimpse of black uniforms ahead and she stops in her tracks, grabbing the back of Alex’s sweater to haul him down behind the cover of a parked car. She expects him to protest, but he’s already stopping, only half a second behind her.

They crouch there together for hour-long minute after minute until Ari dares to stick her head up to check on the position of the threat.

It’s backward, it’s all backward and she can hardly breathe.

Alex makes the call to keep moving – eye contact and a nod forward and they take the plunge.

Into a side street, out of sight of the uniforms, and they’re running again.

As they get closer, the voices of the wounded separate from the background noise. Panic and grief and pain hang in the air.

They hit survivors before they hit the scene of the shooting. Anyone with any sense and the ability to do so has dragged themselves or their wounded friends away from the cops.

They’re milling in panic – crying or clinging uselessly to one another. Blood-drenched hands press over bleeding wounds. Ari sees it in a dozen disconnected flashes of detail. Panic is trying to claw its way up her throat and she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to try and anchor herself to the moment.

Alex doesn’t slow down until he’s practically on top of the first group, until they’re turning and standing up to question him, then his sneakers practically skid on the tarmac. 

“I’m a healer,” he forces out between breaths. And that’s enough for them to step aside and let him at the woman writhing on the ground.

His hands glow. He works his magic. The woman gasps as the pain clears from her face.

She’s just starting to thank him when he gets up and moves on.

By the time he’s started healing his second patient, people have noticed. They’re dragging their wounded towards him, clamoring for his attention. Alex casts an almost panicked look up at Ariadne, and she understands what she can do.

“Back off,” she tells them, “back the hell off. Wait your turn. Show me where you’re hit.”

Alex doesn’t pick anyone still well enough to be crowding round him. He goes to another casualty still on the floor. Ariadne shoves dressings into the hands of the walking wounded and tells them “you’re not dying, you don’t need healing. Back off, let him work.”

One’s dead by the time Alex gets to him. A bullet opened an artery. He’d have died in minutes. His clothes are dyed with blood. 

A friend clings to the body, weeping. Blood no longer pulses between the fingers clamped uselessly over the bullet hole. The friend’s clothes are dyed with blood.

Alex stoops, touches the dead man’s skin. “Help him,” the friend begs, “save him.” “I’m sorry,” Alex says, already straightening. “I can’t bring back the dead, I’m sorry.”

The guy reaches out a red-stained hand to catch at Alex’s clothes. Ariadne slaps it away, hard enough to make him yelp.

“He’s gone,” she snaps. “Get over it.” “Ari,” Alex scolds her. The reproach only feeds the fury bubbling inside her, but she swallows it down.

Alex fixes half a dozen wounds. A cracked skull. An arm broken underfoot. Ari helps Alex pull it straight. A brief touch of magic while Ari ties off a splint. Another bullet hole, deep and gaping, closed miraculously beneath his touch. 

Endless reaching hands, white-ringed frightened eyes, jabbering voices. Pleading, trying in far too many words to explain what Alex can tell in far more detail with just a touch.

“Back off,” Ari repeats, “back off. Show me.”

The work takes them ever closer to the intersection. Alex is rubbing his wrists and tugging his scarf tighter round his face and neck. He keeps pulling his beanie down right to his eyebrows, and it keeps riding up again as they move.

They approach the corner cautiously. Ari signals Alex to wait while she sticks her head out. Her heart is pounding so hard she can feel it in her teeth. 

This is the place where the cops fired into the crowd, there’s no mistaking it.

The gunfire’s done its job in clearing the dense press of bodies and breaking their will to fight. There are still dozens of people in the street but a lot of them are on the ground now – either injured or crouched over the injured, huddling against the buildings, cowering against the floor.

There was a barricade here – a makeshift thing of vehicles and furniture – and the cops are swarming over it now, dismantling it. Guns are still aimed at the clusters of survivors, but they’re confident enough in their control not to need to actively harass them.

“We grab the injured and bring them back here,” Alex instructs. “Got it,” Ari affirms. Her voice comes out weaker than she expects.

They duck out of cover. Unexpected pain lances through Ari’s chest, too rough-edged and raw to be a stitch. She ignores it. She knows there’s nothing wrong. Her bullshit does not triage as important right now.

The cops aren’t shooting at the injured or the people trying to help the injured. They won’t shoot at two more idiots doing the same thing. They’re dressed just like everyone else. They look harmless.

They grab a semi-conscious woman left alone, and drag her back to the same side street they ducked out of. She’s not bleeding. Ari can’t tell where she’s hurt, until Alex puts his hands on her head to heal her.

Some of the people he healed before have already vanished. Others are grouping up to help each other with smaller injuries. One or two still gravitate to Ariadne and Alex.

“Hey, green hoodie.” She points, gestures him closer. “Stop gawking. Get out there, grab someone off the floor, and bring them back here.”

The fewer times Alex has to go out in front of the cops, the better. If they realise he’s a healer, they’ll round him up for the bonus.

Green hoodie doesn’t bring them anyone before Alex is done with the concussed woman. Ari and Alex sneak out again, grab a youngster who bleeds hot blood into Ari’s clothes as she hefts their body. Her skin crawls.

Alex closes the wound, coughs into his scarf, and meets Ari’s eyes. He’s afraid, and she has no answer. He’s right to be afraid.

Green hoodie brings them a patient. Alex does his thing.  He’s shivering, so Ari shrugs out of her jacket and hands it over. 

An engine starts up, then metal scrapes loudly on metal. The screech sets everyone jumping out of their skins. Ari’s gun jumps into her hand, but she catches herself before pulling it out of her clothes.

No one else is braving it, so she sticks her head out. The cops have gotten one of the vans from the barricade started, and are using it to shove the other vehicles out of the way.

Across the main street there’s another little group forming up, working together to drag the wounded away. Like Alex and Ari’s efforts, the cops are watching but they aren’t interfering. Not worth their time. They’re in a hurry to move on, find more targets who aren’t yet cowering and fleeing.

Another stranger is half-carrying half-dragging another casualty towards Ari. She casts a glance back at Alex, reluctant. But her feet carry her forwards, and with two people supporting the casualty they get to cover in half the time.

Alex is wide-eyed when she returns, hands wringing circles round his wrists. “Don’t – go off like that,” he says. “I’m sorry.” The words to explain are too much effort. It doesn’t matter.

Another patient. Another. Red flesh and exposed bone. Alex fixes just enough to save their lives. The glow around his hands is fainter now, and starts to flicker.

A staved-in rib. Mindless moaning gasps turn to real breaths under Alex’s hands. He stands up, and staggers, and Ari steps in instinctively to catch his arms.

“Okay,” he croaks, leaning against her. “M’done.” “Mm.” It’s not enough answer. She nods her head. “Okay.”

Let’s get out of here, she doesn’t plead. They’re going to. They’re going to get out of here.

Green hoodie has another casualty. Alex looks torn – almost scared.

“He can’t,” Ari says sharply. She shrugs the first aid kit off her shoulder – then stalls. It’s hard to let go of it. She forces herself to step forwards, push the bag into green hoodie’s arms.

“I – don’t know what to do with this,” he says. “Then find someone who does,” Ari snaps.

She doesn’t wait to see if he nods. It’s his problem now.

Hers is Alex.

He stumbles like he’s drunk, trailing half a step behind her. She slows, and offers him an arm, and he takes it. The pace he sets is too slow, but she swallows her frustration and doesn’t force him.

They just need to get home.

All she has to do is get them home.

[Next]

[rookerystories]

Star Trails and Ash Rails: The Ship Part 3

Despite Dex’s warnings, they made it safely into the docking bay of the prison ship and landed. Even before Rei had pulled the straps free, Yllis was at the door, checking corners. They nodded and motioned Dex ahead and things were all business. They were taking no chances.

It turned out, however, that they need not worry about it. The prison ship was, at least so far as they found, abandoned. They found a few bodies that had set about decaying for at least a few years at Rei’s guess, but otherwise neither hide nor hair of prisoner or guard. When they finally reached the engineering deck and the core, the tension had actually increased; with every step they took without finding something, Rei, Dex, and Yllis expected to round a corner on something horrible.

Which, according to Karish at least, they did.

“What in the name of all gods holy and unholy,” Karish muttered and rushed toward the core that was causing so many problems.

“Care to enlighten us?” Dex asked him.

“Wish I could,” Karish said, distractedly. “Someone set this fucking thing to overdrive and the heat cracked the housing. Why in the fuck—”

“Scuttling,” Dex and Rei said simultaneously.

“What?”

“They were trying to bring down the ship,” Rei said with a sigh and slung her rifle behind her. “Means the warden’s dead at least. It’s their last… protocol or whatever you want to call it. Last ditch to make sure the prisoners don’t get out.”

“Think it worked?” Yllis signed, their stance relaxing slightly.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’ll find survivors in the office. How long’s this been going on?” Rei asked Karish.

The man thought a moment as he pulled out tools and diagnostics. “More than a month, less than 6 at a guess. The housing hasn’t started deteriorating, which means the leak hasn’t been aggressive yet. But it’ll start soon, if I can’t get it fixed. As the materials inside degrade, it’ll cause a cascade reaction and blow this thing to bits.”

“See if you can get it fixed. Yllis, stay here and watch his back. Dex and I are gonna see what we can see in that office,” Rei nodded at Dex, who followed her into the hall.

“What are you thinking, Dodger?” he asked.

“You see the bodies?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking something shit happened here. Maybe the prisoners rioted. Warden might’ve put the scuttle on a delay, if it knew it wasn’t gonna get control back. That way the prisoners would die without expecting it.”

“Or they couldn’t kill the damn thing until recently.”

“Or that.”

“Are we sure it’s dead?”

“No, but it’s a pretty decent guess. They don’t just scuttle their ships for no reason. Space the whole population, sure, but they’ll keep their ship in perfect order.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dex replied darkly.

“No sense in guessing, let’s get moving.” Rei started off on a path known more by memory than anything else, a fact that she hated but tried not to think about.

Despite the fact that they were fairly certain the warden — and thus most other threats — weren’t to be found, Dex and Rei proceeded through the ship carefully, checking their corners and ensuring they weren’t about to meet an untimely end. Thus, they eventually, and safely, made it to the sealed door of the warden’s office.

“Think we should knock?” Dex asked with a grin.

“If there’s anyone alive, I don’t really want to screw them over to radiation poisoning.”

“See, this is why you’re the captain. You think of shit like that.”

“One’a the perks.” Rei raised a gloved fist to pound on the door. Assuming there was any atmosphere on the other side, someone might actually hear it.

Judging by the immediate and violent reaction of gunfire tearing through the bulkhead, she guessed that at least one person was still alive. And since they’d shot at her, she cared far less about radiation poisoning.

“Hey Dex, wanna kick open the door?”

“What, so I can get shot?”

“It’s your turn.”

Dex counted on his fingers quickly, realized she was right, and glowered. “God damn it, fine. But I resent this.”

Before she could replied, he’d shot the hydraulics out of the door and begun wedging it upward. Shots rang out again, but sailed wide and left Dex with nothing more than a cause for cursing. Rei didn’t bother waiting for the door to raise completely and rolled under it as soon as there was space, revealing a room that had been ransacked and turned upside down, with furniture forming a rudimentary fortification at the far end.

“If you could stop shooting at us, that’d be great, we’re not here to hurt you!” she yelled to unseen individuals. Rei was willing to bet it worked, since no one tried giving her some fancy new holes.

“Who are?” a voice called out in a dialect her transoft worked with but didn’t like.

Rei held the door for Dex as he followed her example, then nodded at him as they both swung their weapons behind them and held up empty hands.

“We’re humans. We found the ship’s distress signal and came to investigate.”

“What is… human?” the voice called out again.

Rei looked over at Dex. Something was very wrong here.

“Would it be okay if you came out, we’d prefer to see who we’re speaking to,” Rei put on her most diplomatic tone.

“And not worry about getting unexpectedly shot,” Dex muttered.

There was a few moments of inaudible murmuring, the sound of something heavy being moved, and then a rethmoid stepped out from behind the makeshift barrier.

Rei had only seen a few of the species and certainly none quite like this, but she ran through what facts she could remember. Rethmoid were amphibious and capable of rebirthing themselves a few times when they got old. They came from a high-pressure planet with oceans of hydrogen peroxide. And there was something about their adaptability that slipped from her mind.

“You are… human?”

“Yeah, both of us. You’re a rethmoid, right? Where are you from?”

“I am coming from…” a babble of language Rei’s translator couldn’t pick up followed, finishing with, “Near seventh star of Kresga.”

That, at least, gave her something to work with. Kresga had been conquered by the Parishi, according to history, more than 300 years ago. And well before humans had found their way into the wider galaxy.

“How long have you been here?”

The rethmoid shifted from one digitigrade leg to another and Rei could hear their joints creaking.

“What is year?”

“2790.”

The rethmoid did some math in their head. “171 years.”

“Gods,” Rei breathed.

“You are not Parishi?” the rethmoid asked, causing Rei to grin.

“No, we’re not. We’re just spacers. Explorers. We hoped we might be able to help anyone here.”

“You… will not take us back?”

Rei was about to answer when her comm buzzed. Karash’s voice came over it.

“You want the good news, the bad news, or the okay news?”

“Gimme it all kid,” Rei answered.

“Good news is, I’ve sealed the leak. No more radiation. Bad news is this ship’s never gonna fly under her own power again. Even if I knew engines, half of them are slagged. Okay news is that, this thing’s gonna be irradiated for another 20 or 30 years, so if you’ve got survivors, they’re gonna wanna find a new place to live.”

Rei looked over at the rethmoid. “You catch all that?”

“You will not take us back?” they asked, more panicked.

“We’ll take you wherever you want to go, if you want to go.” Rei said. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it, but this rethmoid was clearly traumatized and gods only knew about any other survivors.

“We must ask,” they said and moved slowly back around the barricade. A few minutes later, a dozen people — non-humans all — stepped warily from around the barrier. Two of them still carried weapons, but they obviously weren’t used to them. All of them had been victims of the Parishi warden.

“You’re safe,” Rei said instinctively. It’s what she had wanted to hear. Not that she’d ever gotten the chance to.

It took a significant degree of conversing and coaxing before the group was willing to lay down weapons and return to the Stormrunner with them, but they did indeed make it work. Karash and Yllis joined them on their way out and they all gratefully left the prison ship behind.

Once aboard, Vri worked with several of the former inmates to update their translation software. It was a process that would’ve taken significantly longer if Vri’s brain wasn’t wired like a computer – or at least, that was the joke she liked to make. As it was, a knock came on the door to Rei’s cabin just as the ship got underway.

“Come in,” Rei called, stretching a stiff neck and working the day’s tension from her shoulders.

The rethmoid creaked in and the door slid shut behind them.

“We would like to thank you, captain,” they said. The software was working then.

“It’s alright. I have… uh. Some experience with the wardens. I’m glad you were able to save the ones you did.”

“They saved themselves. I am just… their speaker. Many of the species were young when they were imprisoned, and found comfort in my… age.” The rethmoid offered their equivalent to a smile, inflating small sacs under their mouth.

“I actually meant to ask about that,” Rei said, straightening in her chair. “But first, do you have a name you’d like me to use? And would you like to sit down?”

“My name…” the rethmoid thought for a moment. “My name they always tried to take from me. But I remembered. I made myself remember. I am called... I am called Quelin.”

“I’m glad to know you, Quelin. I’m Rei.” She smiled at the bipedal frog-like creature. “You didn’t answer my question though, about the seat.”

Sacs atop Quelin’s head inflated and rapidly deflated, demonstrating their embarrassment. "Ah, I am sorry. The mind is not yet used to all these things. No, thank you, if I sit, I do not think I will stand again.”

“I’ve known some rethmoid before, and they could kind of… rebirth themselves. When they got old. Does your species not have the ability?”

“Oh, no. I can. I have wanted to for many years. But…” Quelin paused for a long time. “I feared. What they might do to… more pliable flesh. So I resisted. I have waited. Hoping I would not die before I had the chance. I had made peace though. Sometimes, it is simply time to pass. Until you arrived, captain.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you? Or anyone else that we brought aboard? I’ll be honest, I’m not particularly familiar with some of the species. The only time I spent in Parishi territory was either on a prison ship or at war, so I didn’t have a great chance to get to know anyone.”

“There was a war?” Quelin sounded genuinely shocked.

Rei grimaced. “Yeah. I’d… rather not talk about it.”

“Of course, captain. I will ask the others what they require.”

“What about yourself? Can we aid in your rebirthing?”

“You would do this?”

“If I can, yeah.”

“Are all humans like you, captain?”

Rei paused a moment. “No, I don’t really think so. We have all kinds. Some good, some bad. Most just… normal. Like most species, I expect.”

“I look forward to learning more of you. I have not had such a chance in a very long time. I wonder if my place at our Hirance will be open…” Quelin trailed off, lost in thought.

“Quelin?”

“Oh, yes, apologies,” the head sacs inflated rapidly again. “It has been so long since I have been allowed thoughts of hope. If you have the ability though, I would need a peroxide bath and a room that could be filled with more halogens than oxygen.”

“We can definitely do the latter, I’ll speak to the doctor about the former.”

“Thank you, captain. For everything.” Quelin provided a stiff bow and inflated a few lower sacs in respect before leaving Rei to her thoughts.

By the time they reached the nearest starport, Quelin had successfully rebirthed themself into a far younger version and seemed as ecstatic as physically possible about the fact. The other former inmates had been provided for as best they could be, when most were unwilling to speak to the strange new species who ran the ship they were on. Quelin offered another round of profuse thanks as the group disembarked, both to Rei and the rest of the crew.

“Think they’ll be okay?” Vri asked as she withdrew the Stormrunner from port.

“Better chance than they had before. I dunno though. Those ships… they can do things to people. Things that never heal.” Rei stared into space, both literally and figuratively, for a while.

“You did good, captain. Don’t forget that. They’d still be stuck there. Free, but trapped, if not for you.”

“Thanks Vri. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for Cap, saving your ass and looking good while doing it,” she winked and Rei rolled her eyes but felt the smile tug at her lips. If you've enjoyed this story and would like to support me in creating more, considering tossing me a tip on Ko-fi!

[nobuverse]

"Hey, it was a good piece of work. I'm not apologizing."

[ijustwantedtobeoneofthestrokesuk]

Singing For Addiction

Laurie Wright “Blink 182 was the band that got me into music. I was 9 years old and just wanted to be Travis Barker.. and Green Day’s Tre Cool. I pestered my parents for a drum kit, they reluctantly agreed. I rode skateboards and dressed like a greebo it was all there man. I was part of something. 

My brother sorted out all our music, and because he was older and I looked up to him so much I pretty much just trusted his judgment and then fell in love with the same shit. Occasionally we disagreed but on the whole, loved the same bands. 

Hearing The Libertines made me want to pick up a guitar, I was 14 years old, a year later I was on a stage for the first time. It was a full band gig, we were fucking great for our age. I sold out the gig selling 180 tickets at school. The songs were good melodically and with decent chords. Hooks in every song, delivered with urgency but my lyrics, being from a 15-year-old child were horrendous... They were well put together, with decent rhyming patterns but absolutely awful concepts. I once rhymed ‘Carling’ with ‘Darling.’  It’s sweet looking back but fuckin hell do I cringe.  

The gig was great, I let my brother and all his mates backstage and they broke into and robbed the bar. I ended the night with security, trying to keep a straight face as I was shown tapes of my brother and his best mates can-canning round the backstage bar with stolen bottles of wine, boldly claiming that I had no idea who these people were. I was barred from playing there again. There were fights in the crowd it was proper fucking rock ‘n’ roll man. Great night and what a way to start a career! My mind was completely made up, this was it now. 

A few months after the first gig we were already headlining Gloucester Guildhall through Wired, the Gloucester Youth Music programme that was brilliant for fledgling bands, my brother was kicked out for beating up someone who was heckling me and throwing glowsticks, my mate kind of forgot where he was and racked up a line on the bar and was ejected immediately. I was banned for drinking my own cans underage on stage. And we all got the 94 bus back from Gloucester to Cheltenham screaming ‘Cheltenhamshire LaLaLa’ all the way home, challenged by some rugby lads who’d ascended the stairs only to rival our chorus with ‘GLOUUUUUUCCESTER!! GLOUUUCESTER!’ Good times.  

There was another time when we’d been booked to play a boozer but hadn’t told them we were underage, and to their horror all of a sudden there were over 100 underage teenagers drinking in their establishment. They wouldn’t let us play and it all kind of erupted into chaos, there were boos and shouting, we tried to play regardless and managed an acoustic number before heavy hands started turning off the electrics and making it very clear that EVERYONE, band included had to fuck off right NOW. Also, It was the first and only time I witnessed 2 girls physically fighting over me. I was really chuffed to be fair! 

I started writing my own songs when I was 15. It was 2006, Arctic Monkeys had arrived speaking my language. I knew I could do this. Before I was just playing Libertines songs with no idea what Arcady was or Albion or any of that poetic whimsy. I loved it but I didn’t understand it... I understood Arctic Monkeys, I knew what Tropical Reef was, I knew about fighting in parks and riot vans and underage drinking. they were also teenagers, I was one of them. They were like The Streets with guitars and I fucking loved The Streets. That was it, I was now a songwriter.  

Fortunately for me Rough Trade wasn’t looking in the leafy Cotswolds for bands to sign, or I’d have been another Metros, signed as an underage teen, thrown into a world of crack cocaine and heroin and been built up to be slated by the NME, crushing my whole world and pushing me further into addiction and who knows, possibly death. 

When labels did stumble upon me, my addictions got in the way. In 2012 I was busking acoustically outside Sloane Square station. I was spotted by Dougie Bruce who had signed MGMT and Kate Nash, and all of a sudden I was having meetings in Sony at Derry Street, booked in for demos at Universal Studios and introduced to Ollie Slaney, Kate Nash/The Rifles manager. They wanted me to co-write, introduced me to Jim Duguid who’d co-written Paolo Nutini’s biggest hits, and I dragged my feet. I didn’t want to co-write, I write the songs. That’s how it goes and no one was going to tell me otherwise. They told me to come alone to do the demos, I brought my band. They didn’t like that. They then came to my gig at Catch in Shoreditch. I’d been up all night the night before with my guitarist and it was a terrible gig. They left in the first song and that was the end of my chance with Sony. 

Then in 2013 I was spotted by Mi7 records when busking acoustically under the West Way in Portobello. They had Trampolene and had initially signed Mumford & Sons. It seemed more my cup of tea as they were an independent label. I turned up 5 hours late to recording the demos, off my nut on coke and booze, shouting at my band and making the day really difficult for everyone. Dave Pemberton was engineering, he’d done The Prodigy and all sorts, and someone called John who was really high up at Universal was really excited by me (MI7 were an offshoot of Universal). He asked me when I went to bed, I told him 6am, he wasn’t happy. I never saw him again.  

Then in 2014 I was spotted busking acoustically by Sarah Conacher who had managed James Morrison. She was interested in me, and wanted me to come in to Universal to do some demos. By this point I had just started my old band The Lodgers, and insisted on bringing my songwriting partner. She wasn’t interested in him and made that very clear, but I was adamant I wasn’t going to leave him. She lost interest immediately. 

I had my first drink at 11. It was a problem straight away, I spent the evening pinching glasses of wine and whatever I could off the table at a family party and just downing them in one. I ended the night standing up on the sofa singing ‘We Are the Champions’ acapella before being bundled into a taxi by my parents, where I then wouldn’t stop talking for the whole journey home. But I was so excited. This was what the grown-ups did. It’s fun, adult, gives you confident superpowers.  

I used it as a social crutch for the next 17 years. This was how I could talk to girls, tell stories, perform on stage, to be, what I thought, more interesting. The next time I drank without my parents I’d managed to acquire a 3 litre bottle of White Lightning and somehow managed to consume most of it. The last thing I remember was spinning around in circles at the park. My horrified friend called my parents. I was passed out, cock out, sick all over me and my mum had to come and get me. I definitely should’ve gone to hospital but spent the rest of the weekend shaking, sweating, throwing up and feeling sorry for myself. Drink was clearly a major problem already. This was not normal behaviour. By now though this was how I dealt with social situations and for the rest of my teens it continued and progressed and worsened, but I never saw not drinking as an option. I was Popeye and it was my spinach. 

Aged 16 I was playing at Glastonbury Festival, free ticket, well excited, time to give drugs a bash, I’m old enough now… Ecstasy, let’s give that a go. Again I did far too much, I wouldn’t accept that they were working and took 2 more. 3 proper gurners and when it all hit me Christ I hadn’t felt anything like that since my first orgasm. Completely at one emotionally with everyone and everything, the grass felt heavenly, but something was wrong. I was chilling with the girl I was hopelessly in love with at the time and just ditched her to run off into the night in pursuit of this new world of new people to talk to, and more drugs. We were leaving the next day and I resurfaced late as fuck everyone packed down and I’m just disheveled wanting to continue partying. Drugs were clearly already a problem. From now on that was it.  

Ecstasy, then cocaine, then at 17 a massive ecstasy drought saw the emergence of mephedrone, a legal drug that was like ecstasy with the addictive more-more-more nature of cocaine. It was actually crystal meth with Cathinone instead of amphetamine but we didn’t know that, we just knew it as Mcat, Meow Meow or drone. I was a dealer, living between the 2 piers on the seafront in Brighton, dubstep spilling from everyone’s speakers, classic raving clobber and stinking of piss (mephedrone stinks of piss), and my house was a constant party. I once didn’t sleep for a week, and I was 7 stone. When that went wrong I moved up to London onto my brothers sofa, busking. Soon after the crack cocaine started.  There are good memories but on the whole it’s all a massive blur.  

In rehab I had to write my life story and there are whole years missing with only a few key moments. I deeply regret wasting my prime on all of this, for now I’m playing catch-up and doing extremely well, but where my friends are settling down having kids and getting mortgages, I’m like a teenager learning to live alone and keep on top of the rent and laundry and all the stuff that people do 2nd nature. I’m learning now, years behind, but I’m happy and settled and that’s the main thing. 

I went to rehab when I had completely given up on life. I was seeing a great girl, got myself a room but once again fucked it all up. Spent all the rent on drugs, it was my birthday and I was slung out, homeless again, the girl I was seeing also had enough and my band fell apart around me. One of the last things we did was record at Abbey Road Studio 2, the dream but I was 6 hours late hammering cocaine with my landlady’s stepdaughter and having sex. And the cracks within the band had formed into unfixable holes. That was it.  

So with no band, no girl, no gaff I went back to my folks and they explained that they’d sold grans house so there was some money kicking about and did I want to go to rehab ASAP? I cried and cried and cried with such relief that this was an option because all I’d wanted to do for some years was change. I’d tried drinking shandy to regulate my drinking, quit for months at a time but always ended up back at the same place losing everything over and over again on a loop. I had never been more ready for anything in my entire life. I didn’t care that I’d be in over Christmas, and that this was the busiest gigging month of the year. I cancelled everything and off I went for the whole of December, ready to do whatever it fucking took to become a new man. I took it incredibly seriously and did literally everything on offer (addict brain obsessing over the new thing). I was doing yoga and meditation before breakfast, external 12-step meetings every night on top of 9am - 5pm group therapy every day, including weekends. I clung to cigarettes for dear life, I wasn’t allowed my guitar and this allowed me to really process who I was and what I was going to do. This was it now, I wasn’t ever going back to that life. No fucking way was I gonna fail now.  

Lockdown was tough. I stopped going to meetings, couldn’t get to grips with Zoom recovery and instead clung to a girl I was seeing to make me feel better. This did not end well at all and although I didn’t relapse, I wanted to. I felt horrendous.  

The ‘rock n roll lifestyle’ is very real. The problem is we were sold an old format in a new musical world where money was absent, and even more so now. It’s probably for the best anyway or I’d be dead, but no, sex, drugs and rock n roll are very, very real concepts and not to be fucked with. 

I have become completely addicted to my music, like I was before I discovered drugs. I write songs most days and it helps me process pain from addiction to drugs. It’s not an unhealthy addiction, music is power, whereas drugs suck all of your power from you. 

Musicians need more support. From being a teenager you’re plunged into the pub and asked what you’re having, from a very early age. In no other profession are you encouraged to drink and take drugs when you get to work. 

Singing for addiction was a campaign I started in 2020 when a family came to me asking for my help putting one of them through rehab, so I raised half the money, matched by the family and off he went. The problem was I was still a busker living at home with my parents. I am in no position to be setting up a charity, although this is the plan long term. You need 5 grand to set up a registered charity and so this is something for the future.  

The idea with singing for addiction is to put on gigs and create campaigns to be able to put less fortunate people through rehab. 6-month waiting lists for NHS rehabs cause death as people need to go when they decide they need to go, and state-funded rehab is not what it should be. My plan is to get where I need to be financially through music, and then set up Singing for Addiction properly, As I am in no position financially to be putting my efforts there yet but it’s the long-term plan. Through this, I want to raise awareness around the potential decriminalisation of all drugs, and badger the government for better state-funded rehab for the working classes, while funding private rehab similar to what I was fortunate enough to receive through gigs and campaigns. 

Everything is better since rehab. I have somewhere to live, it’s an amazing household of clean living wholesome people. We cook food together and talk and walk, it’s all healthy. I’m seeing a wonderful girl, My room is tidy, I’m writing every day, I have a great tight band and a small loyal fan base country-wide. I’m surviving on my own for the first time ever, and it feels like it’s really going somewhere. I’ve got better at writing and performing, my music is less one-dimensional and my performances are tighter. I’m exercising and happy with my appearance. Everything you could possibly imagine has got better since being sober, and I’ll never turn back. 

It doesn’t get more professional than our full-band busking setup. It’s a guerilla gig on the side of the road with amps, posters, flyers, a sign with my socials on. It’s how we sell all our gigs out. They’ll make a film about it one day I’m sure of it. All-out chaos, usually gets shut down by the police. Proper fucking rock n roll, happy days. 

Success for me is being able to support myself and raise a family through my music, on my terms, no co-writes. Touring the world with my band playing to adoring fans. It’s the dream but it’s becoming a reality 

Playing The Albion Rooms was great! So exciting to be invited to play at your heroes hotel. And record there, and to win that competition and have my heroes Carl Gary and John singing my song back at me (Peter was off somewhere else), was just the stuff of dreams. But Peter tweeted my Christmas single and encouraged people to go and find me. I’ll never forget it, they were the reason I pursued rock 'n' roll. I fucking love The Libertines." 

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