#[baby got acid attacked]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Battery rationality

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/06/shoenabombers/#paging-dick-cheney

After 9/11, we were told that "no cost was too high" when it came to fighting terrorism, and indeed, the US did blow trillions on forever wars and regime change projects and black sites and kidnappings and dronings and gulags that were supposed to end terrorism.

Back in the imperial core, we all got to play the home edition of the "no price is too high" War on Terror game. New, extremely invasive airport security measures were instituted. A "no-fly" list as thick as a phone book, assembled in secret, without any due process or right of appeal, was produced and distributed to airlines, and suddenly, random babies and sitting US Senators couldn't get on airplanes anymore, because they were simultaneously too dangerous to fly and also not guilty enough to charge with any crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/20/damn-the-shrub/#no-nofly

We lost our multitools, our knitting needles, our medical equipment, all in the name of keeping another boxcutter rebellion from rushing the cockpit. As security expert Bruce Schneier repeatedly pointed out back then, the presence of (for example) glass bottles on the drinks trolley meant that would-be terrorists could trivially avail themselves of an improvised edged weapon that was every bit as deadly as 9/11's box cutters.

According to Schneier, there were exactly two meaningful security measures taken in those days: reinforcing cockpit doors, and teaching basic self-defense to flight crews. Everything else was "security theater," a term coined to describe the entire business, from TSA confiscations to warehouses full of useless "chemical sniffer" booths that were supposed to smell out bombs on our person:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2010/01/airport-scanner-scam/

Security theater isn't just about deploying measures that don't work – it's also about defending yourself against risks that don't exist. You know how this goes: in 2001, Richard Reid – AKA "The Shoenabomber" – tried to blow up a plane with explosives he'd hidden in his shoes. It didn't work, because it's a stupid idea – and then we all took off our shoes for a quarter-century:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Reid

In 2006, a gang of amateur chemists hatched a plan to synthesize explosives in an airplane toilet sink, scheming to smuggle in different reagents and precursors in their carry-on luggage, then making a bomb in the sky and taking down the plane and all its passengers. The "Hair Gel Bombers" were caught before the could try their scheme, but even if they had made it onto the plane, they would have failed. Their liquid explosive recipe started with mixing up a "piranha bath" – a mixture of sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide – that needs to be kept extremely cold for a long time, or it will turn into instantly lethal gas. If the liquid bomb plot had gone ahead, the near-certain outcome would have been the eventual discovery of an asphyxiated terrorist in the bathroom, lips blue and lungs burned away, face down in a shallow sink filled with melting ice-cubes:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2006_transatlantic_aircraft_plot

The fact that these guys failed utterly didn't have any impact on the dramaturges who ran the world's security theater. We're still having our liquids taken away at airport checkpoints.

Why did we have to defend ourselves against imaginary attacks that had been proven not to work? Because "no price was too high to pay" in the War on Terror. As Schneier pointed out, this was obvious nonsense: there is a 100% effective, foolproof way to prevent all attacks on civilian aircraft. All we need to do is institute a 100% ban on air travel. We didn't do that, because "no price is too high to pay" was always bullshit. Some prices are obviously too high to pay.

Which is why we still get to keep our underwear on, even after Umar Farouk "Underwear Bomber" Abdulmutallab's failed 2009 attempt to blow up an airplane with a bomb he'd hidden in his Y-fronts:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umar_Farouk_Abdulmutallab

It's why we aren't all getting a digital rectal exam every time we fly, despite the fact that hiding a bomb up your ass actually works, as proven by Abdullah "Asshole Bomber" al-Asiri, who blew his torso off with a rectally inserted bomb in 2009 in a bid to kill a Saudi official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdullah_al-Asiri

Apparently, giving every flier a date with Doctor Jellyfinger is too high a price to pay for aviation safety, too.

Now, theatrical productions can have very long runs (The Mousetrap ran in London for 70 years!), but eventually the curtain rings down on every stage. It's possible we're present for the closing performance of security theater.

On September 17, the Israeli military assassinated 12 people in Lebanon and wounded 2,800 more by blowing up their pagers and two-way radios whose batteries had been gimmicked with pouches of PETN, a powerful explosive. This is a devastating attack, because we carry a ton of battery-equipped gadgets around with us, and most of them are networked and filled with programmable electronics, so they can be detonated based on a variety of circumstances – physical location, a specific time, or a remote signal.

What's more, PETN-gimmicked batteries are super easy to make and effectively impossible to detect. In a breakdown published a few days after the attack, legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang described the hellmouth that had just been opened:

https://www.bunniestudios.com/blog/2024/turning-everyday-gadgets-into-bombs-is-a-bad-idea/

The battery in your phone, your laptop, your tablet, and your power-bank is a "lithium pouch battery." These are manufactured all over the world, and you don't need a large or sophisticated factory to make one. It would be effectively impossible to control the manufacture of these batteries. You can make batteries in "R&D quantities" for about $50,000. Alibaba will sell you a full, turnkey "pouch cell assembly line" for about $10,000. More reputable vendors want as little as $15,000.

A pouch cell is composed of layers of "cathode and anode foils between a polymer separator that is folded many times." After a machine does all this folding, the battery is laminated into a pouch made of aluminum foil, which is then cleaned up, labeled, and flushed into the global supply chain.

To make a battery bomb, you mix PETN "with binders to create a screen-printed sheet" that's folded and inserted into the battery, in such a way as to produce a shaped charge that "concentrat[es] the shock wave in an area, effectively turning the case around the device into a small fragmentation grenade."

Doing so will reduce the capacity of the battery by about 10% or less, which is within the normal variations we see in batteries. If you're worried about getting caught by someone who's measuring battery capacity, you can add an extra explosive sheet to the battery's interior, increasing the thickness of a 10-sheet battery by 10%, which is within the tolerance for normal swelling.

Once the explosive is laminated inside its (carefully cleaned) aluminum pouch, there's no way to detect the chemical signature of the PETN. The pouch seals that all in. The PETN and other components of the battery are too similar to one another to be detected with X-ray fluorescence, and the multi-layer construction of a battery also foils attempts to peer inside it with Spatially Offset Raman Spectroscopy.

According to bunnie, there are no ways to detect a battery bomb through visual inspection, surface analysis or X-rays. You can't spot it by measuring capacity or impedance with electromechanical impedance spectroscopy. You could spot it with a high-end CT scan – a half-million dollar machine that takes about 30 minutes for each scan. You might be able to spot it with ultrasound.

Lithium batteries have "protection circuit modules" – a small circuit board with a chip that helps with the orderly functioning of the battery. To use one of these to detonate a PETN-equipped battery, you'd only have to make a small, board-level rewiring, which could deliver a charge via a "third wire" – the NTC temperature sensor that's standard in batteries.

Bunnie gets into a lot more detail in his post. It's frankly terrifying, because it's hard to read this without concluding that, indeed, any battery in any gadget could actually be a powerful, undetectable bomb. What's more, supply chain security sucks and bunnie runs down several ways you could get these batteries into your target's gadget. These range from the nefarious to the brute simple: "buy a bunch of items from Amazon, swap out the batteries, restore the packaging and seals, and return the goods to the warehouse."

Bunnie's point is that, having shown the world that battery bombs are possible, the Israelis have opened the hellmouth. They were the first ones to do this, but they won't be the last. We need to figure out something before "the front line of every conflict [is brought] into your pocket, purse or home."

All of that is scary af, sure, but note what hasn't happened in the wake of an extremely successful, nearly impossible to defeat explosives attack that used small electronics of the same genus as the pocket rectangles virtually every air traveler boards a plane with. We've had no new security protocols instituted since September 17, likely because no one can think of anything that would work.

Now, in the heady days when the security theater was selling out every performance and we were all standing in two-hour lines to take our shoes off, none of this would have mattered. The TSA's motto of "when in trouble, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout" would have come to the fore. We'd be forced to insert our phones into some grifter's nonfunctional billion-dollar PETN dowsing-box, or TSA agents would be ordering us to turn on our phones and successfully play eleven rounds of Snake, or we'd be forced to lick our phones to prove that they weren't covered in poison.

But today, we're keeping calm and carrying on. The fact that something awful exists is, well, awful, but if we don't know what to do about it, there's no sense in just doing something, irrespective of whether that will help. We could order everyone to leave their phones at home when they fly, but then no one would fly anymore, and obviously, no one seriously thinks "no price is too high" for safety. Some prices are just too high.

I started thinking about all this last week, when I was in New Delhi to give a keynote for the annual meeting of the International Cooperative Alliance, which was jointly held with the UN as the inauguration of the UN International Year of Coops, with an address from UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres:

https://2025.coop/

When I arrived in New Delhi, my hosts were somewhat flustered because Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi had just announced that he would give the opening keynote, which meant a lot of rescheduling and shuffling – but also a lot of security. I was told that the only things I could bring to the conference center the next day were my badge, my passport and my hotel room key. I couldn't bring a laptop, a phone or a spare battery. I couldn't even bring a pen ("they're worried about stabbings").

Modi – a lavishly corrupt authoritarian genocidier – has a lot of reasons to worry about his security. He has actual enemies who sometimes blow stuff up, and if one of them took him out, he wouldn't be the first Indian PM to die by assassination.

But the speakers and delegates gathered in the hotel lobby the next morning, we were told that we could bring phones, after all. Because of course we could. You can't fly people from all over the world to India and then ask them to forego the device they use as translator, map, note-taker, personal diary, and credit card. Some prices are just too high.

They took a lot of security measures. Everyone went through a metal detector, naturally. Then, we were sealed in the plenary room for more than an hour while the building was sealed off. Armed men were stationed all around the room, and the balcony outside the room was ringed with snipers:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54165263130/

We were prohibited from leaving our seats from the time Modi entered the room until he left it again, despite the fact that the PM was never more than a few steps from the single most terrifying bodyguard I'd ever seen:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54164805776/

And yet: the fact that we were less than two months out from an extremely successful, highly public demonstration of the weaponization of small batteries in personal electronics did not mean that we all had to leave our phones at the hotel.

After that, I'm tempted to think that, just possibly, security theater's curtain has rung down and its long SRO run has come to an end. It's a small bright spot in a dark time, but I'll take it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Seeker of Cradles.

He swore to protect them. His children, his princess, his country.

Lives are precious, and he will not see them snuffed out prematurely.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Lilia acts before he can think.

He pays no mind to the audible gasps of the senators, to Baul’s worried pleading. The only voice he listens to is the one that draws him like a moth to a glowing flame.

It’s a shrill cry, the sound any infant makes. But the sob is filled with an overwhelming sadness, a deep desire that resonates with him. Lonely, longing for love.

It breaks his heart, makes him tear up.

“Wait for me!" he shouts. "I’m coming to you right now...!”

He thunders up the steps of Cradle Tower, bracing himself against the lightning hurtling his way. His hood is thrown off, hair whipping, slapping him in the face and standing on end. Lilia fears no man--but in the presence of such sheer, raw power, he's compelled to cower.

He soldiers through, forcing himself up another step. Right as his foot connects, a wild bolt comes down hard, striking him.

Lilia lets out a guttural cry, his small body keeling over. Every fiber of his being screeches in pain.

"Vanrouge-dono...!!"

He stays stationary for one long, awful moment. Then--a sharp intake of breath--and he miraculously rises on trembling legs.

"H-Hah..." he grits out, clutching onto himself. "Is that... Is that all you've got?! It'll take a lot more than THAT to take me out. Your mother has made me deal with tantrums far worse than this!!"

Lilia resumes the arduous climb. More lightning is lobbed at him. Wincing, he wills his aching muscles to weave as best he can around the incoming attacks.

He's nearing the top of the stairwell now, where the power is most concentrated and the wind howls like a banshee. Lilia raises his voice, calling over the storm.

"Are you upset because no one's paying attention to you? Well, you're wrong!! Everyone... Everyone is terribly worried about you!!

"You're such a spoiled child, rejecting your grandmother's magic. Do you know what will happen to you if you don't take it?! You'll die. You'll DIE, and all the people who sacrificed themselves so you could live was for nothing. You don't have the luxury of choice!! You MUST live!!"

The future depends on you.

He doesn't know if the unborn child can understand him or not. It must, to some extent, because the screaming in his head escalates to a frenzied pitch. A strong gale nearly knocks Lilia off the tower--he grasps onto a column and inches closer to its treasure.

The dark, speckled egg floating inside of a barrier.

"You stubborn thing!! Lilia scolds, pushing against the magical shield. His palms burn, as if coated with acid. "If you still refuse... then take me instead of Maleficia...!! I'll give you everything."

He pushes, the barrier holding firm. Pain climbs up his forearms, eating him alive from the inside out. He feels his energy being leeched, his flesh screaming, on fire, as it is sucked out.

"My love..."

The barrier shudders, shakes.

"My magic..."

His biceps are searing, his blood, molten.

"My life...!!"

A crack.

"Accept it all, Malleus...!!"

It breaks.

Lilia falls through, arms extended toward the egg. He entraps it, hugging it tightly against his chest. It’s warm. Malleus is warm, and Lilia can feel a faint flutter of a heart on his skin. Contentedness floods him, even as he feels the pull of magic as it is drained and hungrily devoured.

The egg gives off a green glow from within. The light grows brighter and brighter, until—

“Kyuuuuuuuuuuu!”

Suddenly, an explosion of blinding white. The shell splinters and sheds.

There is no egg in Lilia’s arms, but a lizard with raven scales and a violet underbelly and spines. It blinks up at the general through round, reptilian eyes, belching a line of emerald fire.

“A-Ah… You are…” Lilia’s knees go weak. He falls to the ground, still cradling the baby to him. “Malleus…! You’re here at long last. I… I-I…”

He doesn’t realize it, but he has started to cry uncontrollably. Fat tears dribble down his cheeks and land on the baby dragon’s hide.

Lilia allows himself to wail. It’s ugly, full of raw emotion. Less human and more like the cry of a hideous beast.

From below, cheers and praise float up to him.

“Our hero!”

“Congratulations, Vanrouge!”

“The prince owes his life to you.”

Their words sting his head. The world wavers, wildly distorting--Lilia can't tell if it's his tears blurring his vision or not.

He crumples over with a groan. "M-My head... Agggh!"

"Kyuuuu?" Malleus pads a claw onto his cheek, confused.

The senator's voices are growing louder, angrier.

"VANROUUUUUGE!!"

"What has he done?! This is going to be a scandal--a scandal, do you hear me?!"

"Oh, to think that a disgusting bat has tainted the noble Draconia bloodline...!"

The contradictory shouts mix. It feels like there are fists beating his skull in from both sides. Lilia hangs his head, pulls at his hair, tries to understand the clashing sounds.

That's when he senses the presence of a shadow standing over him.

"I’ve found you at last, Lilia.”

He slowly raises his eyes, careful to keep Malleus guarded with his arms. There is a man in black robes towering over him, his mouth fixed in a frown. A pair of horns protrudes from his head, crowning his ominous yet regal aura.

“What… Who are you?!” Lilia demands of the stranger. “That face, those horns…!”

They're just like Levan and Meleanor's.

The stranger ignores his question. His expression has morphed from displeasure to anger. "Insolent fools!! How dare they speak ill of you. There will be severe consequences for this.”

The air stirs, chilling. Thunder crashes in the distance, seemingly in response to his fury.

He regards Lilia again, his voice dropping to a dangerously dulcet coo. “Ah, but you needn't concern yourself with them."

He takes a stride forward, and Lilia shrinks away. "S-Stay back! I'm warning you...!"

"What sort of a dream would you like to have this time, hmm?" he asks nonchalantly. "A dream in which mother and father are still by your side? A dream where you can live freely with your children? A dream for you to find true love? Just say the word, and it is yours."

With each suggestion, Lilia backs up further and further--until he is nearly at the platform's edge. Wind blows from below, sending hair and fabric flapping.

Here is the devil, come to tempt, and the jaws of death behind him.

The stranger bends down, his smile serpentine and eyes iridescent, twisted with obsession. Charming as a snake. He extends an arm, palm open. "Come, Lilia. Take my hand."

“FATHER!!”

CLANG!

A bolt of silver arrives, expertly blocking Malleus's outstretched hand. He stumbles back, glaring at the two bodies that put themselves between him and Lilia.

“You are…”

“Are you alright?” The quiet question comes from a boy with aurora eyes—clear as a cloudless sky.

Silver.

“Lilia-sama, stand back!!” His partner, Sebek, barks, baton at the ready. “We will protect you!”

“What nuisances,” Malleus snarls. “Still you insist on disrupting these dreams? It is a hopeless endeavor.”

“Maybe it is.” Silver tightens his hold on his own baton. Resolution threads his voice, and he stands his ground against the encroaching monster. “But we will never stop trying until we’ve broken through your blessing.”

“Bless... ing?”

The single word is like magic. One droplet rippling in a pond, setting off a chain reaction.

Memories fire off—the departure, the packing, the party, well wishes, the thorns. Someone screams, jet black tears streaming down their face. The wrath, the hurt.

“I DON’T WANT TO LOSE YOU!!”

The fog lifts from Lilia’s head, and the world clears. The identity of the horned stranger, the same as the baby dragon he holds.

Malleus… It’s you. It was always you.

Lilia gives a shaky laugh. "This is no blessing, boys. It's a curse."

Malleus glowers. “… You’ve awakened, haven’t you?!”

“That’s right. It seems I was dreaming for quite some time too—but I’m alright now, thanks to Silver and Sebek~”

“Father…”

“Lilia-sama!!”

“You too then… You’ve decided to turn traitor on me.” He hisses it, loathes the taste of treachery.

“No, Malleus.”

“Kyuuuuuu?”

Lilia steps beside his students—a general joining his knights. Ruby meets emerald, glittering with defiance.

“We’re going to save you, simple as that 🎵”

[teddie-bear420]

This angel comes in many varieties!

Main characters (Charlie) (Emily) (Adam)

I love the vaggie I made and so I made more, each vaggie has been attacked by lute, but cold and acidic vaggie won that fight. Hot vaggie got her ass handed to her lol. They all have their own Charlie (who is either born in hell or heaven)

Hot vaggie is your bog standard vaggie, good with spear, a bit hot headed, very self conscious, hella ripped, classic vaggie from the show. She loves Charlie and her friends more than anything.

Cold vaggie is a BEAST!! When lute attacked her she got this huge rush and beat lute within an inch of her life!! This vaggie is closed off and violent. Her Charlie is more naive than a baby so cold vaggie latches onto her for some reason. Also cold vaggie is more suicidal than her counterparts. She’s always trying for fight people to the death.

Acidic vaggie is a well mannered training officer. She was promoted to a cushy job after she was attacked by lute. She is the most stable of the three, her Charlie is very protective and treats her like a pet sometimes.

[louebel]

— [ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒. ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 1,655 wc. mentions of the law novel and spoilers for his backstory, descriptions of his trauma, panic attacks, angst, hurt with comfort, law slowly tries to embrace his past, rushed + not proofread. divider by @ benkeibear. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: law has a nightmare. he appreciates your comfort.

“Hnn..!”

It was one of those nights again.

Sweat tumbled down his temple. No source of light. The polar tang was deep in the abyss. Your soft snores. The blanket hooding you both.

His hands were shaky. His chest was pounding. His lips agape.

“U—uh…”

Just a dream. Just a dream. No.

Not a dream. Reality. The past. Their corpses. The ruins of his city. Bestowed upon him, the laments and dirges of Flevance. They chanted and howled, damned souls who shrieked and condemned the morose government, a newborn Canto VI; Dante’s most passionate inspiration. Mystical, a fantasy, but no dream it was. No, it was not.

If only it could be.

The repugnant fetor of sulfur and acrid smog, ingrained in his nostrils, the buzzing of the flies as he walked among the stench of methane. It was a remote remembrance, clear as a fragile vase of glass, one that would shatter over and over and make his sluggish heart weep, no matter how many times he fixed and carried it. A life torn piece by piece by what was, and is, the ruthless world.

Gone were the days he could live free from his mind, the faces of those he yearned to meet once more, nothing but an ignis fatuus, one that served heartache and warmth in unison. Acerbic, pungent, more than any fruit, acidic upon his tender skin, spilled upon his skull and dissolved it without an ounce of control.

His favorite comics brought dolor. What was formerly one of his dearest pages developed into the fuel of his insecurities, thoughts.

“Look, brother! Sora didn’t die! I told you he wouldn’t!”

His sister’s giggles, nebulous; muffled, lost in time.

“Is it clear, Law? If you’re uncertain, tell me, alright? I’ll explain it to you as many times as you need.”

His father’s lessons but a distant reminiscence.

“Like this, sweetie. You’re a fast learner! Look at you, my smart baby. Mommy’s always here.”

His mother’s delicate hands guiding him, now a phantom.

His childhood companions’ cheering whenever he scored the max on a test, quieter than the gale. The nun’s concerned gaze when he carried Lami and asked to bring her home when she got wounded, forever gone. Corazon’s clumsy scenes he wanted to see again. His smile.

“I love you, Law!”

All their unconditional love.

Love. Love.

He shut his eyes.

How much he craved it. Tore apart in a single night, shredded in another after so thoroughly rebuilding it. And now here he was, trying again. But oh, was it difficult. His breathing often faltered, one false move able to destabilize him. Reconstructing it with paper was an enterprise. A fragment given by each of the people he met — little ones by the citizens in Swallow Island, bigger ones by Wolf, Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, his crew, and what survived of his fractured history was utilized as a base. Yours was almost a blanket. It was a prodigious sheet.

They all supported themselves simultaneously. But it wobbled. A lot. Often he couldn’t manage it. Terrified, alone, as he watched all his efforts about to topple. But it never did.

“… Law?”

Oh no. He woke you up.

“Go to sleep.” It came almost like a snap — to not show he was suffering.

Just go to sleep. Don’t bother with him. Don’t.

“Well… now I won’t do that.” you groggily said, his fingers clenching as you propped yourself up with an elbow. “Nightmare?”

You couldn’t see him in the darkness, but he was still an open book. He couldn’t lie to you, nor did he want to. He tried his best to change his mannerisms and patterns.

You’re his partner. Not a stranger.

“Yeah.” he exhaled tremulously, thorns in his throat.

He heard the rustles, the heat of your frame radiating against his. He couldn’t see you, but he imagined you — feeling your massages and head upon his shoulder. It tickled his neck a little.

“Mh. Baby … it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Obscurity and death clutched him with crisp, meager bones and itching shadows. However, a minor light banished them all; tender, so generous. That sound, yours… Fleeting fingers and honeyed pampering.

His droopy and heavy eyelids fluttered open, those golden eyes that carried unspoken anguish all but courageous; what was a mask he got used to wearing now sunk in the void, crystal tears brimming and gushing down his visage, scrunched up and full of lineaments. Quakes wracked his body, hisses leaving his quivering lips.

“I—I…” Nothing came out. Yet your arms remained still around him.

“Sh … Slowly honey. Take your time. I’m here.”

Here. With him.

“I… I’m so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me. Please.”

Oh, that poor, poor man … What did he do to deserve this? To experience a catastrophe?

“M—Mom… Dad…”

“Law, hey—”

“La—Lami, Cora… Cora-san..!” He couldn't stop. As one sob wrenched from his lungs, another came, and another, and another, and another. His spine twisted, facing down; curling against you, your lips on his brow.

"Law." You called him gingerly, smoothly, hugging him close. Don't let me go, was all he thought.

"It's not your fault. Never. It's okay. Shh… Honey, hey… It's okay baby, it's okay. You're okay. Shh… Look at me."

And he did. Your palms seemed so much more real. An opportunity, some place to run. A light.

"There we go. Good job sweetie. It's okay. You're okay. It's not your fault."

"… N—not …"

"Not your fault. Never your fault, sweetheart. Everything is okay."

"… Mh. Mmhm."

He responded, unable to form coherent sentences, and cradled you close like a lifeline — the only anchor in this storm. You held him just as tightly, grazing his tense, knotted back. He was shuddering so much.

"Good job. That's my Law. Shh…"

It hurt. It truly did. To catch him like this, to see him so bare. No child, person, should ever go through such horrible things — you remembered how you both cried when he opened up. That confidence he wore for all of his crew finally crumbling at the ounce of vulnerability the universe granted him.

Shachi and Penguin never mentioned it. They divulged tales about Swallow Island — but they kept quiet about Law's other past, respecting his privacy. Bepo was a bit more clumsy with his sayings, information slipping from his fangs before he could stop it. (He'd quickly cover his mouth, a little squeak escaping it.)

When Law revealed everything, it was chaotic. You both had an argument some hours before. You were shocked he didn't crumple in your arms.

Seldom you’ve seen him cry.

"They—they would've liked you," he mumbled between hiccups, the tinge of nostalgia palpable.

"Law…"

"I wish you could've met them. I- I really wish they were here." They’d be proud, wouldn’t they? He could’ve worked with his father. His mother. Lami would’ve been a wonderful nurse or a doctor. Corazon would have joined him.

In another life, perhaps. Now the Rose held them.

"I wish I could've met them, too. I know you miss them… But they're—" his skin molded under your pointing finger as you pressed right on his sweet, scarred heart, "—right here. Forever. They're proud of you. I know they are."

"… I … hope so." he believed so, too — but saying it felt too egoistic of him. If you knew, you’d knock his head. He could tell.

"No no, baby. They are. I'm proud of you, too. So proud. Okay?"

He breathed deeply, nodding slowly.

"Okay. Okay."

“Good. You’re getting better,” you assured him, and those words never felt more gratifying. He had to be kind to himself. Gentle. The mind is fragile. He hopes — no, he knows you’d forgive him for being harsh on himself before. He knows. He knows.

“I try. I do. It's so hard, though,” he sniffed, resting his forehead on yours, to feel your warmth, your breath, your vitality, his "Beatrice", “they went too soon, sometimes I wish I could’ve followed them.” he admits, and your eyes grow more compassionate.

“But … my friends. My crew. The people I’ve met. What my family would want, Corazon’s wish. You. I’m glad to be here,” he says, taking deep breaths between. He’s safe in your arms. He can go at his own pace.

“Are you glad to be alive?” Some might see your question as idiotic, but Law knows the difference.

“That … I cannot tell. Sometimes I still feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Mh.”

It was rather quiet after that. Only your breathing and his. The stirring of your pajamas. The hushed buzzing of the submarine.

It was welcome, though.

“Change is complex,” he then spoke, looking at you with a glimpse of hope. “but … I’m willing to try. I have to. For the crew, for you, for—for me.”

Tranquility took him when you smiled, something unlocking in his spirit. It wasn’t onerous anymore.

“Good. Especially for you, honey. We appreciate you being so tough, truly, but…” you brushed your lips on his jaw and peppered soft, tiny kisses. “There's nothing wrong with being weak. We all are. If you fight it, it hurts. It’s just us. Our feeble little selves. Give yourself a break from time to time. You are doing well.”

Law deeply appreciated your snogs, his frantic heartbeat calming. You led him down onto the mattress again, covering both your forms with the blanket.

“Let go, honey. Cry. And don’t hold back. You’re safe now.”

Tender murmurs filled the night. Law's head rested in the crook of your neck. His frightened mourns eased, his restless limbs no longer a problem — caresses and soothing, calm words eased the poor child, who wanted nothing but to live in peace.

And so he reached Eden, your pious hand accompanying him to Paradiso.

[violetlunette]

You know in original Beanfest, Lilia couldn't find either Silver or Sebek when he defeated Malleus. But with your Yuu hovering around Silver suddenly his "protecc baby son" was activated and he wiped out both of them 10 min into the game 😂 Unfortunately it means they got to spend time together in Beanfest time-out, so Lilia lost this round

(Alternative scenario, Yuu spent the entire Beanfest looking for Silver but he cannot find him anywhere so automatic W for Lilia)

(referencing this series)

Funnily enough, I was just thinking about this. XD

Believe it or not, Yuu would actually do pretty well here as the only rule seems to be “no magic” and despite all appearances, he’s in great shape. (Remember this is a guy that regularly gets tossed around by Lilia.) Once he’s motivated, he can be like Rambo, and spending time with Silver is great motivation. (He and Silver would actually be a decent team if Silver could adapt to his whackiness.)

Yeah, I think Lilia would definitely want to hunt Yuu first just because at this point it’s become instinct, and he's not going to leave Silver along in the woods with that animal. Meanwhile, Yuu would look for Silver, but will he find him? Who knows.

Don’t wanna say too much as I may write this as a story one day.

But for fun--

-- (Based on this)

*Vargas explaining the rules of bean fest*

Vargas: And NO hatchets!

Yuu: *Holding hatchet* I can’t help but feel I’m being singled out here.

Vargas: Yuu, no.

Yuu: Aw, c’mon!

Vargas: No!

Yuu: But what if--

Vargas: No.

Yuu: Fine! *Tosses hatchet, narrowly missing Azul who screams like a Sebastian about to get boiled* Yuu: What about guns?

Vargas: No.

Yuu: Chainsaws? *Revs up saw*

Vargas: No.

Yuu: swords?

Vargas: No.

Yuu: Brass knuckles?

Vargas: No.

Yuu: Acid attacks?

Vargas: You’re going to hell, you know that right? I know as a teacher I shouldn’t say that, but you are not seeing heaven, ever.

Yuu: That’s okay, I figured that out a while ago with the experimentation and unlawful taxidermy.

Yuu: Anyway, what about nuclear weapons?

Vargas: …

Riddle: No.

Vargas: Aw, c’mon.

Riddle: No!

Vargas: I mean, I don’t think he could do it, but I mean if he wants to try I would want to see… No, no you’re right.

Vargas: *To Yuu* No nukes. (Though I’m open to discussion.)

Yuu: Okay, got it. No Phantom Thread shit, but nukes are an option as long as Riddle doesn’t find out.

Everyone else: NO!

[bullet-prooflove]

4000 Follower Celebration: Cufflinks -Mitch Ripley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @spaghettificationandpretzels @mini-bee-bee

Trigger Warnings

Hitting the 'And what if I don't accept it? Will you scream at me? Hit me? Again?' Square on the bingo card.

It’s the wedding that prompts Mitch’s mother to try to insert herself into his life again. He doesn’t know how she hears about it, only that she spends the next couple of days blowing up his phone. He ignores it the same way he has every other time because he doesn’t want his mother to ruin all the good things he has in his life.

It’s a couple of days before the event that she manages to track him down. He’s sitting in the café at the hospital going over the final revision of his speech when she drops down into the seat across from him. His breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest. Just being in her presence drags up all of those memories, the ones he’s spent years trying to forget.

“I wanted to give you this, it’s a wedding gift.” She tells, setting down a small box in front of him. He stares down at it frozen, unable to move a single muscle. She scowls then, opening it herself. It’s a pair of cufflinks, the tag from the pawnshop still attached.

It takes him back a couple of decades, to the last time he was in his mother’s custody. He’d been eleven years old when she’d forced him to break into a house in Forest Glen with her, he’d pawned a set of gold cufflinks the next day to pay for food. Only his mom had come back from the store with a couple of bags of meth and box of booze. She’d had a party later that night, got Mitch a little drunk.

“Don’t worry baby.” She had told him as she poured vodka down his throat. “It’ll make it easier.”

It was the first time she sold him to her dealer. He still can’t look at a bottle of vodka without his skin feeling like it wants to crawl right off his bones.

“I don’t want it.” Mitch rasps back in the present, shoving the cufflinks away from him. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Mitchell.” She chides, pushing them back in his direction. “Take them.”

It’s another echo, a man’s heavy breath in his ear as he’s held down, face pressed so hard into his pillow that he almost suffocates.

Take it like a man.

“What if I don't accept it?” He asks her, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’ll scream at me? Hit me? Sell me?”

“Why can’t you ever just be grateful?” She snaps at him, gesturing at the cufflinks. “I came here with a gift…”

“Grateful.” He repeats, the word tastes acidic on his tongue. “I’m supposed to be grateful that you sold my virginity to your dealer and his buddies? That it’s taken until my late thirties to actually form a healthy relationship because before that I was incapable. I’m supposed to be grateful for that? I’m supposed to thank you for it?”

His eyes are fucking stinging as he raises to his feet, clasping his tablet to his chest. He knows he’s on the fringes of a panic attack, his chest heaves, his throat constricts. His head  starts spinning as the edges of his vision turn black.

It’s Sean Archer that intervenes, that grasps his arm and guides him towards the sensory room they use for kids who are neurodivergent.  He closes the door, shutting out Mitch’s mom as Mitch drops into a chair, his trembling hands covering his face. He’s so bitterly ashamed right now, it leaves him feeling hollow and vacant as Sean kneels in front of him. There’s a calmness in the other man that he finds grounding, it anchors him in the moment, bringing him back to himself as they work through the breathing exercises together.

In for five, hold for five, out for five.

His hands stop shaking, his nerves began to settle.

“It happened to me too, at Sea Cadets.” Sean says quietly into the space in between them. “It’s why I went off the rails, became an addict. My dad doesn’t know. It was his idea for me to go, a way of following in his footsteps. He didn’t understand when I wanted to quit…”

Mitch understands what he’s not saying. Sean can never tell Dean about what happened to him. It’s always been the crux between the two of them because on some level Sean blamed his father for making him go back to that place week after week. It’s only through therapy that Sean’s learned to let go of all of that, that he’s managed to regain a relationship with his father again.

“I can’t forgive her.” Mitch tells Sean as he looks away. “I can’t have her at the wedding, my past and present colliding like that, I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to.” Sean reassures him, his palm coming to rest on his friend’s shoulder. “Do you want me to call Marley?”

“No.” Mitch says quietly, running his hands through his hair. “She’s on shift and I’m not…”

He trails off and Sean gets it. He’s not ready to talk about what happened to him back then. It had taken Sean a long  time to trust someone else with that information, there had been some triggers when it came to sex, things he’d had to explain to his partner.

“Alright.” Sean says softly before he pulls out his phone and holds it out to Mitch. “Wanna read through my best man speech? Tell me which embarrassing stories I can’t tell.”

“Yea.” Mitch says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a smile for the first time since this whole ordeal started. “Yea Sean, I do.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lipglossanon]

Hey You, Would You Help Me To Carry The Stone?

꧁ ஜீ✿•.¸¸.•*`*•.•꧁꧂•.•*`*•.¸¸.•✿ஜீ ꧂

Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

This is part ii for Mr. Sinister ☽☪︎⋆ Remix

Warnings: 18+ so minors DNI, dark!leon, yandere!leon, threats of bodily harm, vomiting, obsessive!leon, stalker!leon, just Leon being absolutely bonkers insane 👌

Kinda looked over but not really proofread 😅

Title from Hey You by Pink Floyd (really fits Leon in this part)

꧁ ஜீ✿•.¸¸.•*`*•.•꧁꧂•.•*`*•.¸¸.•✿ஜீ ꧂

It feels like you’re swimming in molasses; your consciousness is fighting to the surface in fits and starts. The first thing you notice is a slight ringing in your ears followed by the realization that you passed out. You open your eyes and squint at the low light saturating the room.

Trying to move your body leads to nowhere. You’re sitting in a chair with your legs tied together at the ankles and thighs; you can feel the constriction of rope wrapped around your middle, pinning your upper arms in place. You look down at your wrists and see them tied together in front of you with what looks like cloth, almost like a handkerchief.

“Oh good! You’re awake.”

Your attention snaps to the cheery voice on the other side of the room; you didn’t see the door before when looking around, but to be fair you’re still slowly coming to grips with where you are and what has happened to you.

The officer walks into the room until his boots are inches away from your own flats. Crouching down to be at a more even level with you, his lips tick up into that charming grin that tricked you in the first place.

“Sweetheart, don’t look so down. You don’t know how lucky you are,” he chastises, nudging your chin up with the knuckles on his thumb and forefinger.

“If you hadn’t have run, why we wouldn’t be here right now,” his full mouth turns down with faux sympathy, “such a shame you got caught so easily though.”

“Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone—“

He laughs, “I know you’re not. And I’m not letting you go just yet. Want to make sure we’re clear about some things first.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to stave off the tears threatening to spill.

“Please, officer. I just want to go home.”

“Aww,” he coos, running a thumb underneath your eye to catch what tears fall. He sucks the thumb into his mouth and hums at the salty taste, eyes hungry and dark.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he leans forward and nuzzles your cheek before giving it a soft kiss. “Gonna take care of my sweet girl, give her all the love she deserves.”

At that admission more tears fall from your eyes. You can feel a panic attack hovering, ready to sweep over your senses. Your fingers feel numb and your chest’s tight.

“Baby,” his voice low and soothing, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I just want to go home,” you tiredly whisper, voice clogged with tears.

“For now you are home,” he kisses your cheek again, tongue darting out to lick the tears dripping from your eyes.

Your vision goes woozy, bile rising in your throat so fast it makes your nose run. 

“‘m gonna be sick,” you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, “really, I-I’m—“

You gag and thankfully Leon pulls away from you with soft words of sympathy. He pulls a knife from the holster on his side and quickly slices through the rope binding your chest and arms then the one circling your thighs. 

“I’m going to pick you up and bring you to the toilet,” he slips the knife back to his side, and eases you from the chair. 

He picks you up bridal style and carries you out of the room; stepping into a short hallway, he takes you into the door directly across from you. 

He eases you down onto the floor next to the toilet, ankles and wrists still tied limiting your movement. Quickly, you flip the toilet lid up and retch into the bowl. 

“There, there,” he rubs your back, making you flinch and gag harder, “you’ll feel better once it’s all out.”

Tears splash into the dirty water, snot running freely down your face as you retch again, stomach acid coating the back of your throat leaving a sour and bitter tang on your tongue. 

He continues touching you, petting your hair or rubbing your back while you puke up what little dinner is in your stomach. After you dry heave a few times, your body slumps back in exhaustion. 

“I hate that my pretty girl isn’t feeling good,” he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss on your head. 

You’re so wrung out that you can only feel despair at the situation, no tears left to shed. Leon leans past you to flush the contents down the toilet. 

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he stands then bends down to scoop you up in his arms bridal style again. 

He takes a few steps to set you down on the sink countertop. You watch in numb dissonance as he wets a cloth under the tap. 

“Close your eyes for me, sweet girl,” his lips curl up in a facsimile of warmth.

Not really having a choice, your eyes shut bathing your thoughts in darkness. You feel as Leon gently wipes your eyelids with the warm damp cloth. He diligently cleans up your face, making sure to clean off any traces of snot and vomit. 

You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see his crazed eyes anymore.. not wanting to deal with the reality of this situation. A few small tears drip from your closed eyelids making Leon tsk at you. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his low voice humming in your ears. 

Eyelashes fluttering open, you watch as that crooked smile slides over his face. 

“There she is,” he coos, “just one last thing, okay?”

You flinch at the sound of plastic cracking open and look down at his hands. He pulls out a new toothbrush from its package. Reaching around you, he runs it under the hot tap again. He pulls it back and after squeezing toothpaste across the damp bristles does he offer it to you. 

You stare at it, mind blissfully empty for a moment before Leon’s sigh jerks your attention back up to him. 

“Well I guess it would be awkward for you,” he pushes closer, titling your head up and holding your jaw, “open up for me, sweetheart.”

Keeping your mouth shut, you press your lips together more firmly. His eyes narrow down at you, a mean pinched expression coming into his face. 

“Don’t be a brat,” his thumb presses on the pressure point in your jaw making you open your mouth to stop the pain.

He slips the toothbrush past your parted lips, “See? Behave for me and everything will be just fine.”

As the minty flavor hits your tongue, humiliation bubbles up in your chest paired with white hot indignation; in this moment, you hate Leon with every atom of your body. You’ve never felt like this about anything or anyone, but you hope you convey how you feel with your eyes as you watch Leon focus on brushing your teeth. 

He lets go of your jaw to grab your chin and open your mouth wider. 

“Gotta make sure we don’t miss any spots. Don’t want my pretty girl getting cavities now, do we?” 

Before you can even think about it, you’re spitting in Leon’s face. You watch with slow dawning horror as toothpaste and spittle slide down the straight line of his nose. His pouty mouth thins, eyes darkening instantly. 

He sets the toothbrush on the counter and takes the cloth from earlier to quickly wipe down his face. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” his deep baritone makes you draw in on yourself, “apologize. Now.”

“S-s-sorry,” you finally stumble out, lips clumsy, “I-I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

His demeanor softens, but his face stays unreadable, “If you keep up the attitude, I’ll be forced to fix it. Do you understand?”

Fear seizes you by the throat so you nod jerkily, tears pricking at your waterline again. 

“Good girl,” he pets your hair back, “I’m going to finish what I started, but if you act up again I’ll backhand that pretty mouth, okay?”

Hands shaking in your lap, you wilt under his intense gaze, “I understand,” whisper sounding loud in the small bathroom. 

“Good,” he picks up the toothbrush and rinses it off before reapplying toothpaste. 

He holds it in front of your lips and you open your mouth without any prompting. 

His lips tick up into a mean smile, “Good girl.”

You stare at the wall just past his shoulder and let him brush your teeth. He tilts your jaw as needed, the silence so loud you can hear your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. 

You start when you feel cool plastic touch your bottom lip. Your eyes jump to his face, his own darkened gaze watching you. 

“Need you to rinse, pretty girl,” he raises an eyebrow, “not going to have any repeats, right?”

You softly shake your head no, mouth too full of foamy toothpaste to answer. He angles the cup up, water trickling slowly into your mouth. You swirl it in your mouth and angle your head to the sink and spit it out. 

“Good girl,” he praises, hand stroking your side.

You stiffen as he picks you up again, quickly carrying you back into the bedroom where you woke up. This time he sets you down gently on the bed, bypassing the chair he had you tied in earlier. He kneels in front of you, similar to earlier, and checks the bindings on your wrists and ankles. 

“Why are you doing this?” hands twisting in your lap, you bring your gaze up from them to look in his face. 

He frowns at you, “Do you really not know?”

Anxiety spiking in your chest, you frown back at him, “No, I don’t. I just want to go home. Please.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “You know I can’t do that. You really don’t know why? Or recognize me?”

That draws you up short. Your lips part to ask, but you pause, trying to think past the horror of what’s happening to you, to think back on any time you may have run into this crazed man. 

He watches the emotions flit over your face with rapt attention. 

“I-I don’t rem—“

“Sure you do,” he gently massages your calves, “there’s that one time at the grocery store.”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Unbeknownst to you, Leon’s been stalking you around town for a long time.

His shifts at work fluctuate, but he’s always clocking out in time to tail you. This past week, in particular, you haven’t really gone out much after getting home from class. Once to the grocery store, where he discreetly followed you inside.

However, this isn’t the incident he’s referring to; the first time he ever caught a glimpse of you was after a grueling sixteen hour shift. He was burnt out. Completely dead on his feet, he’s just standing in the canned food aisle blankly staring at rows of green beans. 

Laughter snaps him out of it. It feels like his soul slams back down in his body. Blinking rapidly, he turns his attention to the end of the aisle and sees... 

You.

God, he sees you. 

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

You’re not really paying attention to him, on the phone with someone as you laugh and smile at whatever they say, but it’s enough.

It’s. 

Enough. 

He feels lighter than he has in months, in years. Just seeing your face soothes that horrible nothingness that has started to blanket his life. Everyday the same gray monotony. And now?

You’re beautiful and sweet.. perfect, you’re perfect.

He watches you now, as you shuffle along pulling cans off the shelf to drop in your basket. He stands in the same spot, hoping you’ll look at him, notice him. 

Please. 

He knows he looks like death warmed over; he’s been in the shit all day today, helping this backwater town tread water a little while longer. But he has hope. 

The little thing with wings. 

His breath catches in his chest when you walk past him. You glance over at him as you’re passing and smile. At him. 

You smile at him. 

You keep walking, attention going back to your phone call and he watches you the entire time until you’re out of sight, leaving the aisle to finish your own shopping. 

From there, it’s simple to memorize your tag and get your information. It’s simple to figure out your schedule and follow you home (for you own safety of course). 

It’s simple to see that you need someone to take care of you; you’re far too trusting— too nice to people who don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you. But Leon’s got it. He’s got you even though you don’t know it yet, but one day, you will. 

He’s saving you from those plebeians. Like that annoying library aide who didn’t get the hint you weren’t interested, who suddenly resigned and moved away; kinda odd how he favored that left side pretty severely as he avoided you on his last day. 

Or the guy at the coffee shop who slipped you his number and later found himself severely beaten by an unknown assailant; funny how the cops never found any suspects for that case. The guy stopped showing up at the coffee shop and last you heard he moved back home to be with his parents. 

This last guy who invited you out to Lovers Lane is in for a fun surprise once Leon is comfortable in leaving you here alone for a long period of time. He has lots of plans for him that he’s excited to test out. 

There’s a hungry, dark part of Leon that he doesn’t let out very often; oh it helps with his job, being around the vilest scum of the earth always brings out that nasty part of his psyche, but it helps keep the trash in check. 

It’s always boiling under the surface, lurking and waiting, but now that he’s seen you—has you— it’s like a shark scenting blood. All of his senses amplify, wanting to protect you, keep you safe from the awful reality that is the everyday in this shithole town. 

He’s prepared to do everything and anything to keep you here, to himself, and show you that only he truly knows what’s best for you. 

That stupid boy you went out with doesn’t stand a chance once Leon gets his hands on him. He touched you, had the audacity to toss you to the side— Leon pushes that from his mind before he spirals.

The chase you gave him earlier in the night ignited his blood, brought him alive like nothing has in quite some time. He felt disappointment when you were so easily caught, but you at least tried to get away, tried to fight him off; that alone sent elation and arousal buzzing through his body to the point he was afraid you would slip from his grasp in his excitement.

The fear in your eyes made his heart race, although there’s no real reason to be scared of him. Leon will never hurt you in a way that matters. Correcting your behavior isn’t hurting you, it’s only teaching you how to treat yourself better. 

Leon feels like Lady Luck is finally shining a light on his life. You’re so perfect for him. He wants to sink his teeth in your body again and again— mark you where everyone can see you’re off limits. That you belong to him. 

Your quiet voice pulls his attention back to you—back to the present. 

“I think I saw you once,” your eyes are so earnest, so lovely, “I was on the phone with my mom. I remember seeing a cop at some point while shopping.”

He smiles at you all sugar sweet, “There we go. See? You do remember me.”

“B-but I know we’ve never even talked to each other. I don’t really even know you,” tears fill your eyes, making Leon ache to take you apart with his mouth but he refrains from doing so—even though it’s so hard not to. 

“Well, now you’ll have plenty of time,” he takes your bound wrists in hand and kisses your fingertips, “you’ll get to know me and see how much you belong here.” 

His chest feels full while he watches your eyes widen, anxiousness pinching your features as you fold in on yourself. Sorrow and fear enhances your beauty to the point Leon almost feels suffocated. 

Almost. 

He smiles tenderly at you, kissing your fingertips again, “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’m here to take care of you.”

Your shoulders hitch as you sob quietly in front of him, face turned down but he can still see those glittering trails of saline caress your cheeks. That hungry want rises in him again, but he keeps it in check. 

He ticks your chin up with his knuckles and coos at your distress. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, indulging himself again by lapping up your tears, “my sweet, pretty girl.”

Your eyes cut to his once he pulls back and it makes his cock throb and kick in his boxers. So hateful. He can see how much you want to rip into him, how you’d love to take him apart with your bare hands. He tamps down the urge to let you go, to really see what you would do to him. 

He smiles widely, gleefully, at you, but your eyes are still smoldering with hate and anguish. 

“There she is,” he purrs, voice smoky, “the perfect girl for me.”

He drags a thumb from the apple of your cheek down to your bottom lip. He sees the instant you think about lashing out, biting his thumb, but you reel it in. 

He’s dizzy at your restraint. The utter lack of action makes him want to push you further, see how far he can go, but he also reigns it in; he wants you to be on the same page. He needs you to see things his way—the right way, the only way. He’s so hard now that it hurts. 

Leon glances at his watch and frowns in distaste. 

“I hate to cut this short, but I’ve gotta go.”

He stands to his full height making you crane your head up to keep looking at him. Looking down at you, he wants you so much he’s sick with it. 

“Won’t be gone too long, sweetheart,” he slips his hands under your arms and places you back in the chair. 

“No, no, please,” you tremble, “I’ll be good, officer. Please don’t tie me up again, please.”

He watches you, sea dark eyes roving over your lovely features. 

“Promise to behave until I get back? I won’t be gone long,” he narrows his eyes at you, “and if you try anything. Anything. It’s going to be bad for you.”

You nod your head quickly, “Promise. Thank you.”

That makes him pause. He smiles at you again, brushing wisps of your hair away from your face. 

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Such a good girl I have. Let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

You nod again, eyes wide in your face. 

He caresses your cheek with the palm of his hand and then steps completely away. 

“Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t try anything silly while I’m gone,” he laughs, a spark of excitement warming his chest, “or do. I guess I wouldn’t mind either way.”

He gives you one last lingering look as he closes the bedroom door. He locks the door lock along with the padlock he has bolted on the outside. Always better safe than sorry he thinks. 

He listens at the door for a moment and after not hearing anything except your soft crying, he steps away. Following the short hallway that opens out into the living space, he easily makes his way to the front door. 

Leon steps outside and takes his time securing the front door with a padlock on the outside as well. This place is isolated, but he’s not wanting to take any chances. Even if you did make it out of the bedroom, all of the windows have bars on them. There is no back door and the front door is made of heavy oak so there’s no way you’re kicking it down easily. 

He’s truly only worried that if you do make your way out his little hunting shack that you’re going to be set upon by a wild animal. He’s seen things like it before; careless hunters or drunk idiots coming into the precinct spouting off about the wild coyotes they stumbled across or a lone wolf, even the occasional badger or snack attack. 

You’re much too precious for him to lose in such an awful, and preventive, way. Leon tugs on the door harshly and is satisfied to see that it doesn’t budge. He pockets his keys and turns away. He whistles a jaunty little tune to himself as he takes the barely visible trail away from the shack. 

The tree trunks eventually narrow as he leaves the small clearing surrounding the place, pushing past brush and thorn bushes. Leon grins to himself as he makes his way out to the hidden area he parked his car. He’s so excited to get back to you, but first he has to make sure you’re not missed elsewhere. After all, you’re perfectly safe and content where you’re at now, he guarantees it. 

[talkethtothehandeth]

As much as I agree that people who have EDS shouldn’t talk over people who have worse disabilities than us, and as firmly as I believe that disabled people should let other disabled people speak about their struggles without comparing it to EDS, I need you to know that having EDS, especially my type— the one you find more often than other types, is not just “being bendy”.

I was diagnosed with EDS when I was a baby. I was very lucky, and was able to receive treatment (whether good or bad) quicker than others. However, EDS caused my hip dysplasia, it caused the condition that affected my mobility to the point where I needed three corrective hip surgeries; it was the cause of my bone not forming, I needed a bone donor to aid in correction. I have three long scars on my bikini line where Dr Caroll (from Shriner’s in Utah) cut into me in order to give me a better chance of having less limited mobility.

EDS isn’t just me being able to play bendy straw with my hands, it isn’t just me having to deal with “fake dislocations, it’s subluxations so it’s not that bad”. It caused my scoliosis, it caused my arthritis from my joints going out of place so often. I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis as a child, but as I got older, my arthritis spread to more places. I have burning nerve pain that makes me want to die, I have partial paralysis whenever my body decides to attack me spontaneously, I have dystonia, I have hearing loss, allergic reactions, and pain in every joint in my entire body. From head to toe, all of my joints, all of my muscles.

EDS is something that has severely impacted and negatively effected my entire body. It took everything from me, it took my already limited mobility, it took my peace, it took my mental health, it took my most beloved hobby ever— riding horses. I cannot sit to play piano, use my hands for my guitar, sit in a chair for more than 30 minutes without my back muscles screaming.

I took 14 pills every single day with multiple prescriptions because of what EDS has caused. I am undiagnosed with something that nearly killed me last year, everyone was preparing for me to die, and it has been dismissed by anxiety or an eating disorder, it is caused by my disease. EDS will affect me for the rest of my life.

EDS isn’t “just” being hyper mobile. This isn’t just a small disease that people go through, it is life altering and life compromising and life threatening from all of the comorbidities that come along with it; it is debilitating, it is isolating, it is pain that cannot be treated with even IV morphine, it is a constant, unrelenting acid rain condition just as many other physical disabilities.

People who have EDS shouldn’t try to play the Sick Olympics, we shouldn’t go to someone’s page and say “I’M JUST AS SICK AND DISABLED AS YOU ARE”. We should take the time to listen to people who have it worse, because so often they get ignored by abled people, they don’t need other disabled people to say that their conditions aren’t worse just because we have it bad. So many people are definitely more disabled than I am, and that absolutely does not erase my struggles.

Every physical disability affects the body in different ways, and every physical disability isn’t necessarily comparable to others. My degenerative arthritis isn’t the same as someone’s ankylosing spondylitis. My joints are fucked and my mobility has been significantly decreased as my disease has progressed. I am not going to compare my knees that will need to be replaced to someone whose spine is literally fusing together. Even though it’s a form of arthritis, it isn’t the same as mine and it isn’t my place to pretend it is.

But someone saying “it’s just hyper mobility” is perpetuating a harmful narrative, because people already don’t believe us, our stuff doesn’t show in labs and it only shows during further and extensive testing that many doctors don’t want to pursue because we’re “faking” or “being over dramatic”, because it isn’t “that bad”, it’s just bendy joints, it’s not debilitating./s It isn’t just being bendy, it is so much more and doesn’t need to be dismissed solely because it isn’t the same or as severe as someone else’s condition. Even if someone does have it worse, it doesn’t mean that EDS isn’t bad, and just because someone has EDS, it doesn’t mean it’s always comparable and needs to be shouted to the world on people’s posts about a completely different situation.

[salllzy]

The deal #1

Being an omega in Hell was not ideal, being an omega in a contract with the King? Was far worse. The terms of the contract were simple, he was to provide the King with an heir, male or female it didn't matter. After the birth he was to cut all contact with the Royal family and never interact with them again, to say that the interactions with the King were cold was an understatement, once a week he was called to the king's room where they would have sex and he was left dissatisfied and longing for more. The deal with the Queen hadn't been intended, rather he had been trapped between a rock and a hard place. Vox had greatly injured him during the last extermination, the media demon had used it to attack him while he had been fighting with angels. The Queen had found him before he could get to his daughter and she had tortured him until he had agreed to her demands. Once he provided an heir, he would be set free, or if the King grew bored of him. They were the only ways he could get his freedom back. The only reason he kept going was because of his daughter, his princess, he endured so that he could go back to her. Then he got the news that he had been dreading, he was pregnant, the King had taken the news in stride, but other than a brief flicker of interest? Alastor was left to do it himself, attend the appointments, shop for maternity clothes, he dealt with the cravings, the pain in his breasts, the lactating, he dealt with his swollen ankles and bad back by himself. It was times like this that he wished Sarah was here, she would make a wonderful older sister if given the chance. She had always wanted a sibling or two, but well, her mother had run off with a French man to have a better life. Afterwards, he had been left to care for an infant daughter, and the thought of having another relationship didn't cross his mind. In Hell he had tried his hand once more with Vox, only it hadn't worked out and it had led to a toxic relationship. Vox had always been pushing him, to modernise, to change his appearance, to try different things. Alastor had no problem with wearing different clothing or changing his hairstyle every once in a while, but he was the Radio Demon, radio was his medium and as much as Vox hated it, he wasn't going to change. It had led to a fight of all fights and they had broken up, or rather he had beat Vox into a bloody pulp and then tossed the ring that Vox had gotten him back at the media demon. Sadly Vox hadn't received the message and for years afterwards, he had been constantly trying to 'woo' Alastor back. He had no intention of ever going back to Vox.

Then his due date arrived and he had wrongly assumed that the King would perhaps be a bit more interested, but he wasn't. The birth had been long and difficult, there was no midwife to help him and more than once he had feared that he would lose the baby before they had even taken their first breath. When he had heard the cry of a baby he had almost collapsed with relief, but his work hadn't been finished, there was still the afterbirth to deal with. Once he had cleaned her up, a daughter, he had given birth to a daughter, there had been a knock at the door. He wasn't even given enough time to answer before the King walked into the room and removed the baby from his arms, he was then grabbed and tossed out of the mansion, blood and amniotic fluid still covering him. Acid rain began to pour down, causing his skin to burn. A brolly appeared and he looked up, red eyes meeting red. "Oh papa, let's get you home." With that the pair of them disappeared into the shadows, unaware of the figure standing near a window watching them. Gold eyes turned to his daughter when Lilith had proposed the idea he hadn't been on board at first, then Lilith had told him not to worry and that she would take care of everything. Silently he would admit that the Radio Demon was everything that he desired in a partner, powerful, cunning, and unafraid to get his hands dirty if it meant protecting his own.

But what he couldn't abide by was a cheater, he wanted someone who would commit to the relationship with him. The Radio Demon was incapable of it.

[raevenlywrites]

Some various tips about food that prove helpful to me when times are tough

Veggies you buy raw for eating with dips can be roasted when they are no longer crisp and delicious for dipping. Toss in olive oil, salt and pepper, and whatever other spices you like (cumin roasted cauliflower is my fav!) and roast 30-40 mins at 400, stirring once or twice (unsure if your particular veggie is good for roasting? give it a roast just to see. its better than tossing it)

meal shakes are your friend! a shake for a meal is better than no meal at all. my go-to is a high protein carnation instant breakfast in my afternoon coffee. its shelf stable (so it can live in my work bag or back pocket), nutrient dense, and turns my cofffee into a mocha

A handful of crackers and some juice is better than no dinner at all. If you know youre in a "food, bleh" place, get yourself some juice boxes and a favorite snack cracker. Some food, even "bad" food, is better than no food

speaking of, if you like French onion dip, try making it with greek yogurt (my fav is fage with hidden valley dill dip). it packs a lot of protein into a comfort food

(there is no such thing as bad food, btw. some food is more nutrient dense than others, but all food is good food that nourishes your body and fuels your brain. Eat the "bad" food)

((also also not eating makes your brain feel like shit. That baby sucks up soooo much of your daily caloric needs. Please feed your brain so you stop feeling like shit. Eat a snickers, youll hate life less))

a can of V-8 can go into so many broth based dishes. My go-to chili recipe is brown up some ground beef, drain it, then chuck two cans of chili beans and one mini can of v8 into the pot. Boom! food. Tomato pairs great with anything beef, adding a depth and acidity that makes other flavors sing. Plus the bonus veggies of a v8? Excellent

popcicles are an amazing way to keep fruit in the house. we're currently on an Outshine Pomegranate kick in this house. Yes, they can be pricey. But they dont rot out from under you waiting to be remembered. The cost of a popcicle that will keep til you eat it is worth more than the cheaper fruit you just throw away (bonus: the lime ones are great for halting anxiety spirals and panic attacks. cold + sour can help shock your brain out of its doom spiral)

frozen veggies can be chucked into a lot of things at the end of cooking. my go to is keeping a bag of frozen peas n carrots to toss in ramen, rice, and pot pies - plus they help cool the food down so i can eat it :P

finally, consider looping your friends into your eating habits. get a soup buddy you can swap leftovers with. ask your friends to help you remember to eat. A simple text or DM to remind you to eat might seem like a silly thing to ask for, but it offloads rhe burden of remembering and reminds me that im loved and cared for. its easier to dredge up the will to eat when i know someone loves me

take care of yourselves and remember that every victory, no matter how small, is a fucking victory!!! celebrate your successes, dont hoard your failures. You got this :)

[concook20]

The Virus (AU)

Survivors

This is who survived the apocalypse, where they would have to work together to survive! I did want to not use Paisley and Rex, but I started to like the idea of them being there, so I've decided to add them!

Part 1/Part 2

Pt 1: Crew

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

Mention of body horror, acid like effects, cannibals, sexual assault, pregnant, and death

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

Martin Kratt

Age: 26 years old

Mental Status: Unstable, somewhat, but is also unpredictable

Inventory: Map, canteen, binoculars, picture of Chris and his family, pistol and ammo, an axe, bandages, CPS, and knife.

What happened to Martin?: Martin saved Chris from a hybrid monster like zebra that tried to bite at Chris (which was weird since zebras are herbivores), but something happened that, not only caused Martin's arm to be bandaged, but to also have Chris's face to be brutally ruined. They survived, but half of Chris's face is hidden with Martin's arm being blistered, while the guilt of not protecting his brother made him begin to protect his friends and the villains.

Martin, immediately, became over-protective of the group after they went on crazy adventures like running into cannibals, SA-ers, and the zom-animals, while beginning to make Martin paranoid and, sometimes, reckless, to the point he would brutally murder someone.

Chris Kratt

Age: 23 years old

Mental Status: Stable, somewhat, but has some break downs

Inventory: Binoculars, machete, picture of Martin and his family, notebook and pen, pistol and ammo, medicine, and CPS.

What happened to Chris?: Chris was the first one who saw the zebra biting Dabio, only for the monster to attack Chris. Martin saved him, but with a bad cost. Chris hated how he looks now, and has to use a hearing aid to hear now, his eye is melted into the melted skin, and Chris couldn't even look at himself without feeling sick or crying.

Chris tried his best to protect the group, but he either had PTSD or a panic attack, cause he couldn't do anything, until someone snapped him out of it. He tries his best to get over it in secret, even writing down his progress, but deep down, he's terrified of the animals...

Aviva Corcovado

Age: 23 years old

Mental Status: Stable, but very exhausted

Inventory: Voice recorder, med kit, knife, pistol, lighter, picture of the crew, radio, notebook and pen, and charger she built.

What happened to Aviva?: After she aided the brothers and saw what went down, she began to document about the monsters, what caused it, how dangerous they are, and what it does. However, she was still horrified at how the humans act during this, to the point she's disgusted by them.

Even if she hates him, Zach and her begin to work together to find the cure, even when she's asleep, he helps her out, and when Zach is struggling, she helps him out. She gets stressed and upset even more than before, but still, she's alright for now... for now.

Koki Thompson

Age: 24 years old

Mental Status: Stable, a bit, but traumatized and scared

Inventory: Tool kit, cross bow and arrows, knife, blanket, med kit, picture of her dad and brother, map, and canteen

What happened to Koki?: Even after all that happened, the thing that really scared her was carrying a baby. It happened when they went to where the SA-ers are, where they succeeded, but she got knocked up. She was now stuck debating on keeping the baby or not, scared of what would happen afterwards. No one even knows, but they'll find out soon.

Martin finds out and helps her out whenever she needs it, and keeps it a secret from her. She decided on keeping the kid, and she will protect her/him against anything... Unfortunately... Fate had another idea.

Jimmy Zane Sanders

Age: 22 years old

Mental Status: Stable, but mostly has break downs

Inventory: Snacks, butcher knife, pistol, stuffed animal, canteen, sleeping pills, and his grandparents heirlooms (a necklace and ring)

What happened to JZ?: He's stressed to the extreme after he sees the brothers in pain. He couldn't sleep, cause he thinks about blood, his body melting, and the zom-animals that tears him apart, he is so traumatized, he couldn't even be left alone most of the time he thinks about it, cause he would run out of nowhere.

Chris understands and helps him try to face his fear alongside him, even if both of them are terrified, but they know it's for the best to do it, since if they're alone and can't face them... What if they die?

Sadly... One goes missing... And two won't be around... Who would that be?

Part 2 Will Be Out! Just give me time! Hope you like my Gacha form!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Bonnie Petrie

When Garret Beckner was 37 years old, he started having chest pains.

“I remember going to the doctor and getting that checked out,” Beckner said. “They said, ‘Hey, you're almost 40, type 2 diabetic, with a sedentary office job. Let's check your heart out.’”

At the time, Beckner was a pretty typical American office worker, with his "butt glued in a chair" at least eight hours a day. He hiked some on weekends with his wife and baby daughter, and his type 2 diabetes was well controlled, but, he did do a whole lot of sitting around.

“So they gave me the stress test,” Beckner said. “They gave me all the different diagnostics, and looked at my heart. I had no issues.”

Beckner said his heart was declared healthy, and he was then referred gastroenterologist who diagnosed him with acid reflux.

“So at least as far back as 2017 I know that my heart was in good condition” Beckner said.

He had no reason to believe that had changed when 2020 rolled around, and a novel coronavirus moved into town.

The Beckners had what he describes as a strong, reinforced bubble that included other COVID-conscious people. Their daughter went to daycare, but it was an in-home situation with other people in their bubble.

They made it through the first year of brutal COVID waves unscathed. But the coronavirus caught up with them eventually.

“We'd moved to San Antonio in October of 2021. We wanted to be closer to family. We were kind of chasing a dream,” Beckner said. “We couldn't find an in-home daycare, so we had to bring our daughter to one of those places that’s got multiple rooms, multiple classes.”

Within a week, Beckner said, his daughter had brought COVID home. All three of them got sick. His daughter shook it off quickly. His wife got quite ill but then recovered quickly and fully.

For Beckner, it was not like that at all. He didn’t recover quickly. In fact, he said, he hasn’t recovered at all. Beckner developed long COVID, and while trying to uncover the causes of his multiple, debilitating symptoms, his doctor sent him to a cardiologist.

“They said we'll do the full workup, kind of similar to what I'd had done years prior,” Beckner said. “Only this time, I couldn't make it through the stress test. I couldn't even get through it.”

Beckner was quickly scheduled for an angiogram, a test that would look at his coronary blood vessels to see if they were blocked. He was sedated for the procedure, and when he woke up, the person who performed the test was by his side.

“I just remember seeing his face as soon as I woke up,” Beckner said. “He was like, ‘you have three clogged arteries. We're gonna have to get you to a specialist.”

But wait, Beckner thought, he was only 42, and when he had that cardiac workup back in 2017 he got a clean bill of health. This couldn’t be right. But it was.

“Literally seven days after that consult, I was in surgery” Beckner said. “I had three arteries on the left side that were basically completely blocked, and if they didn't get me into surgery for bypass…inevitable heart attack, it was a matter of time.”

His heart had been a ticking time bomb.

And Beckner is not alone. Research beginning early in the pandemic and continuing to today has consistently found that for at least a year after being infected with the COVID virus, people may be at increased risk of developing a new heart-related problem. Those problems can range from blood clots to arrythmias to a sudden, catastrophic heart attack.

What’s going on? Researchers are slowly beginning to tease that out, and the answer may come down to a single word. Inflammation.

In this episode of Petrie Dish, Bonnie talked with Dr. Dara Lee Lewis, a Harvard Medical School instructor in medicine at Brigham and Women’s, and director of noninvasive testing and co-director of the Women’s Cardiology Program at the Lown Cardiology Group in Boston.

[hunniegl4zed]

And finally we have Patch 🫶💙💙

Sweet baby boiio > to calm kid, questioning why he feels off all the time > to nerd all the way, trying to find anwsers > to ''back to basics'', owning his new/old self.

He got the scars due to acident during training with Nazo. Wanting to defeat him so bady, Patch learned about the master emerald and Nazo stopped/attacked him during powering up. Mayhem gave him the glasses and the jacket after Patch eventually learning about who he is.

Masterpost

[teddie-bear420]

SPIN THE WHEEL SEE WHAT YOU GET!!!

Main characters (any characters swapping places with Charlie in the narrative)

Ok more on cold and acidic hazbin hotels!

Hot charlie is your classic charlie! Shes just like the show charlie except shes got a fat tail cuz its cute

Adam sucks so he falls from heavens graces into the acid pits of hell (either greed or sloth) and then lute falls when she attacks vaggie. They are piss babies over in acidic hazbin hotel.

But cold is a lot more fun!

Instead of lucifer falling all those years ago, hes replaced with sera. Who then goes on to have emily! And emily cares more about the infrastructure than sinners tho. The ex head seraphim is extremely depressed in her old age and hell starts to freeze over.

The main cast are also swapped! For example lute and vaggie!!

Their girlfriend. (A character swapping places with vaggie in the narrative)

I’m very willy nilly with vaggies names in these aus but hot vaggie is your classic prime tv cartoon with a more masculine take. She’s hot headed, loyal, and extremely self critical!

After her attempts to kill vaggie failed she has been trapped in hell under a contract with a demon!! Cold lute is filled with regret and paranoia, she is sure that the demons around her are out for angel blood!!

So hot and cold lute are kinda weird about their obsession with vaggie and their feelings so it’s just a whole mess I love it. Loot has no real beef with viola, she just wanted the second in command spot she tried to off her competition alright? Once she’s cast out she has a huge identity crisis and starts living a life of crime idk . loot is so cute

And so on and so forth you get the gist of it tag me if you wanna play with these guys like paper dolls

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Hand So Tight

Past =-= Next

Author's Note: More of Draco in Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland. Thank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Erriox and Lenora and your help with editing and other things :)

Summary: Draco and Lana finish their conversation. For now, Draco is allowed to live, and has to abide by the rules and restrictions that she and the Gannet Harpies put into place. It remains to be seen whether or not he'll actually follow his word or not...

Warnings: Panic, Bond Denial, blood, yandere tendencies, unwilling Identity reveal, let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

All Astartes had to overcome their own set of challenges during their time as neophytes and aspirants, some worse than others. Some chapters had harsher tests, harsher training than others. All chapters had rigorous testing to ensure only the very best succeeded in becoming full battle brothers. 

But what the Gray Knight had done, had been excessive, since Claude is not of the same Chapter as the Gray Knight. Also, Claude had not asked for training from the Gray Knight, nor had he been chosen to become a Gray Knight.

They know this because they see no new colors forming in Claude’s tail, no silver and gold covering the black and gray of the Raven Guard. Zariel pointed out that fact. Lana and Mara frown at that. 

“With his lineage, it’s easy to hide such things,” The Gray Knight points out, narrowing his eyes at Zariel, “Hydras can change their colors and skin to scales very easily.”

“Not necessarily while distressed.” Lenora chimes in. 

“You say that, as if Claude can shape shift,” Zariel points out with a frown, something flashing across his face.

“How do you know that?” A lot of Space mer-ine voices ask Lenora simultaneously. Curious to see what she means by what she had said.

“I’ve seen Claude’s true form and true colors when he had been in mental distress. He is teal, navy blue, and dark gray and resembles Zariel and his brothers. There is nothing of silver and gold in him.” Lenora much rather have it kept secret as per Claude’s wishes, but the Gray Knight had laid everything out in the open now. 

Erriox is scowling at everyone in general, Lenora had told him about the panic attack that young Claude had, as well as had questions about ‘shape shifting astartes’.

Which had given him a near coronary attack. He understand why she said something, the Gray Knight was trying to pull some fuck-shit move to try and turn them against Claude for some reason or another.

He’d talked to Claude about it- and the youngling had admitted to his chimeric gene-seed including more than just Raven Guard and Night Lord- with Alpha legion as well.

So this doesn’t come as a surprise to him. Erriox has seen Claude’s true form once or twice, Alpha Legion breeds true- he’s got their tentacles, with spots and stripes of Night Lord and Raven Guard in his colorations and physical features.

He’s just really fucking pissed that the Bastard Gray Knight just outed this about his poor shy son to so many people. He’s watching the way Roland and Arnault twitch when they realize that Claude is part Alpha Legion as well as a Psyker.

“If you go after Claude for this,” Erriox warns, glaring at the two Black Templars, Arnault and Roland, “I will skin you both and throw you into acid and vinegar and never, ever let you see any of my sons ever again.”

“We share the boys!” Roland and Arnault protest. Even if… certain revelations about Claude had been rather… shocking.

Arnault is scowling, but his lovely Bonded is fond, very fond of Claude, the other little witch in the group of Primaris Marines. This Uber-witch is trying to twist them against the babies.

Fucker. It might have worked, had Roland and Arnault not met and gotten to know Claude. Seen the measure of his character. No wonder he was a jumpy Scout-ling. 

They really, really, need to talk to Cedric and Ramiel to see what the boys know about their brother-cousins. Also why in the flying fuck they hadn’t been told certain very important details about them.

Still- with how this Gray Knight had harmed Claude- and the way that he’d threatened them… They understood their wariness for First Born Marines, even if they felt a sting in their hearts for the boys.

Lana scowled, angry at the Gray Knight’s attempt at manipulation, “I don’t want to hear your excuses and anything of your twisting words. Do you promise or not!”

“I promise that I won’t be heavy handed in punishment and training for the Fledglings and Scouts. I will abide by this condition, and not be heavily punished in  or after training.” The Gray knight replies smoothly.”However, we will need to discuss what you want as limits for punishment.”

“Words are cheap to you it seems.” Lana scoffed. 

“My word is my bond,” The Gray Knight says with a frown, stung by her comment.

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Zarius says hesitantly, frowning, hating the fact that he’s play Devil’s Advocate, and hating every word that comes out of his mouth, the taste is bitter and disgusting on his tongue, “To know what you deem as unacceptable for punishment. Him wanting to know how far he can go.”

“I guess.” Lana sighs and leans against Keed’s chest, “I guess. I’m scared that he speaks so smoothly, promising things that I find hard to believe that he would abide by…. I’m so tired.”

“It’s understandable,” Orlys says earnestly, “he’s a scary fae-like fucker.”

The Gray Knight could hear their conversation. His bond calls him to comfort Lana. He should be the one with her resting in his arms. If only he could move… He twitches his hands slightly, but the pressure on him only increases at all angles from the lesser cousins who have him pinned to the ground.

The Alpha legionaries know that the Gray Fucker can hear them, they just don’t care. Their concern is for Lana, he can go dive into an active volcano. If only that wouldn’t hurt their beloved Lana as well.

“Don’t try it,” Erriox warns as he leans more of his weight into the blades that he’s sunk into the bastard’s tail. He can feel the blades sink into the sands beneath the Gray Knight’s tail. Hopefully that will help to keep him more pinned. He had noticed the way the Gray Knight’s muscles were shifting and tensing, he was thinking of doing something.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Mara asks, concerned for the member of her Colony, gently resting a clawed hand on her shoulder, “for a little while, then finish this later?”

“No. I need to finish this now.” Lana replied stubbornly. 

“Very well dear,” Mara says, with a nod.

“My second condition,” Lana states, as she thinks over what it is she wants to place as boundaries and conditions on this unfortunate Bond that snapped into place so rapidly, so strongly. It wasn’t like the Bond that had slowly built stone by stone with the Alpha legionaries, or the potential one that had been broken by that Black Templar. 

It scared her how powerful, how strong, how intense it was, and they didn’t even know each other. “Is that you have to learn to get along with Zariel and his brothers, they are my Bonded, as much as… you are. You have to promise to get along with them. You have to promise that I get to have time with them, they were here first, after all. And I want, no, need to know what your Name is.”

“... I will learn and do my best to get along with the Hydras,” The Gray Knight grumbles reluctantly, feeling rather incensed that he has to get along with the fucking Hydras.

All five of the Hydras glared at him, with scowls on their faces, they didn’t want to get to know him either. But they do like that he will have to share, and not steal all of her time from them.

They had already figured out a sharing time schedule, something they had developed with Lana and between themselves, they will have to renegotiate- to include the giant silver and gold bastard.

They are going to start plotting to see the edges of this asshole’s temperament. See what makes him snap, snarl. They are going to go on a one sided prank war with this fucker and have him fuck off.

Lana is theirs! They don’t want to share her with this Gray Fucker. And sure he is making all of these promises. But they aren’t. Sly, devious expressions flicker across their faces for a moment, before they smoothly go back to scowling at the Gray Knight.

“I wish for only Lana to know my name,” The Gray Knight requests. The Name of a Gray Knight, both the Battle Name, and the secret name are some of the most jealously guarded and protected things for a Gray Knight personally. “My names are kept secret for protection and safety reasons. I don’t want -Chaos filth- to learn of it.”

The Gray Knight glares at the Chaos Space Marines that are still hovering nearby- some of those disgusting creatures daring to touch and keep him pinned down. He does not want all of these beings to know, his Bonded and, ugh, perhaps, the Hydras, provided that they promise not to speak of his name to others without his permission.

“I have several call signs that can be used in public,” The Gray Knight says slowly, “One of my titles is Brother-Captain of the Stormbreakers.” 

“Fine. Brother-Captain Stormbreaker, we will agree to that.” Lana concedes to his request. It felt a little strange on her tongue, but names are important and it is best that his request is at least respected. The Gray Knight had… accepted all her conditions after all. It is the least she could do in return. “If the boys don’t want to train with you, then you must accept that.”

She’ll talk to Lenora and Erriox- if Claude really does need Psyker training… then they can cross that hurdle when they come to it. And not with someone who’d nearly beaten the poor boy to death and tormented and kidnapped him for a week.

“Upon my honor, I will follow your conditions as best I could so that I may prove worthy of you. Will you be willing to accept our bond now?” The Gray Knight asks.

Lana pauses to take a few moments to think, so far he’s spoken well, at times. He’d agreed with only some minor arguments to her Conditions for this Bond between the two of them.

She’ll have to think about what limitations she wants for punishments and overly harsh training methods- talk with her boys, and Erriox as well to see what was considered ‘normal’ and ‘too far’ by their standards and then come up with her own decision on the matter. She likes the idea of someone watching Brother Captain Stormbreaker training the boys. 

“I…” She pauses and sighs, “I will be willing to accept our bond, for now.” Lana says hesitantly. “Erriox, Roland, Arnault and everyone else… Please release him.”

Erriox nods, and pulls his knives out of the Gray Knights tail, backing off and away from the Shiny Fucker. The rest of the space mer-ines who’d been keeping him pinned immediately release him per Lana’s request and backed off. All still watching him with hawk-sharp eyes.

“Thank you,” Captain Brother StormBreaker says, bowing his head a little to Lana, the relief he feels, at her agreeing to their Bond. To be his, to try and follow this Bond through. He wonders if the relief that she feels is just as great. “May I hold you, my Lana?”

The five Alpha Legionaries all growl and snarl at him, backing away from him, all of them carefully, lovingly holding her and scowling fiercely at the Gray Knight. They do not want to let her go, and they do not want this bastard to hold her. 

Lana quietly pleaded with them, “Please, Zariel Zarius, Talos, Orlys, Keed. Let him hold me for a while.”

The reactions she gets from her boys are devastated teal eyes peering down at her with hearts-broken expressions on their faces. They really don’t want to let her go, but do so, slowly, reluctantly, to do so, one by one they let her go. Until Zariel is the last one holding her and he has a stubborn look on his face.

Lana smiles, nuzzling him, “It will be alright. I promise.” She kisses him when he bends his head down. 

He nuzzles her with a soft churring noise, pleased at her attention and affection. “Very well, Lovely Lana.”

Zariel slowly releases her, and the Gray Knight moves swiftly to rise up to where she is, gently holding her in his arms and nuzzling her cheek with his. Purring deeply and loudly when she shyly reciprocates his affections.

The Bond is suddenly warm and quiet, happy and content. No pain, no screeches of discordant agony. Both Lana and the Gray Knight let out a sigh of relief. 

She is the most precious thing he’s ever beheld in his life, and he will do everything in his power to keep her safe and with him. He will follow her conditions, and negotiate what is considered ‘too harsh’ for punishments and training later. 

He’d heard something about the teal Psyker potentially not being trained by him but he internally scoffs at that. He’s a highly trained psyker, and a very powerful one at that, who else would be the one that they have to train the Scout?

None of the Alpha legionaries, besides Claude, has enough psykery for more than the telepathic grox-shit and the shapeshifting abilities. And the winged Son of the Ninth Primarch is too young to train someone his age anyways. Not experienced enough, and really should have more training overseen for him as well.

For now, he will hold onto his bonded harpy for as long as he can, “Thank you, Lana.” He repeats as he kisses her forehead, then her brow, then her cheek, making his way downwards to her mouth. He pressed his lips gently to hers, “Thank you for accepting this bond.” He murmurs. 

“You’re welcome Captain Stormbreaker,” Lana flushes, slightly caught off-guard by his tender treatment. 

He huffs quietly as he remembers his promise to the harpy. He whispers in her ear, “My name is Draco Kai.”

“Draco Kai…” Lana murmurs almost inaudibly. She nuzzles him, “Thank you for telling me.”

Draco purrs loud enough for Lana to feel the vibration through his armored chest. Hearing his name spoken from her lips settles the remaining restlessness in his mind. He can listen to her repeat his name again and again. 

“I think you’ve held her for long enough,” Zarius says sulkily as he swims through the air closer to the pair of them. 

He gives Lana a pleading look and scowls at the Gray Knight Brother Captain Storm-cunt. He reaches out towards her tilting his head to the side, widening his eyes imploringly at her.

While he does that Orlys is sneaking over to where the Gray Knights helmet is and grabs it. Turning away to block other’s view- Erriox glances over and lets out a snort of mean laughter as Oryls fills the shiny fucker’s helmet with beach sand and sharp pebbles.

Mara sighs and claps her claws, “That’s enough. We are done here. Let’s go home, we still have the wounded to tend to. And Orlys, clean out the helmet.”

“Aw… yes Mara,” Orlys says with a pout on his face as he cleans the helmet. He gets a mischievous look on his face as he lightly tosses the Gray Knight’s helmet from hand to hand, planning on accidentally dropping it in the ocean.

The old harpy gave him a hard stare, “Clean and return it now, Orlys.” She says sternly, not in the mood for his mischievous nonsense. She did not need the Alpha Legion brothers to get into a conflict with the Gray Knight so soon after things had been resolved.

Orlys finishes cleaning the helmet and swims through the air up to where the Gray Knight and their beloved Lana are, “I've got your helmet, Gray Knight.”

He has it in his hands, but isn’t holding it out for other mer space marine to grab it, not yet as he waits for the Gray Knight to respond to him. The Gray Knight and Mara gave him a look and he handed it over with a sullen pout on his face.

[heraldofcrow]

Hey Crow! I'm sending this to you since I wanna talk about the Crowmen from Gloomwood! And I think you'd like them. For obvious reasons.

The Crowmen are probably the scariest enemy in the game by far, and the strongest. They can crawl through vents, jump across gaps, spit acid, and rend you with their claws. Plus, they can peck you which I find funny. They also take 4 revolver shots or 2 shotgun shells to take out, the most out of any regular enemy so far (other than the Goatman but that's a boss in my eyes). This is a problem since ammo is rare and the shotgun only holds 5 shells at a time (you can guess how many bullets the revolver holds), and reloading takes a while. Running isn't really an option either since they outpace you. Even worse, you can't see them in the dark, and holding out the lantern means you can't hold the shotgun. You can't even backstab them due to their spines being made of steel! They got baby versions called Baby Crowmen which will pop out of eggs on the ground, if you go near said eggs. They don't do much. They look funny when you hold them after killing them though.

Finally is the Crowking! They don't have clothes and resemble the Crow babies more. They take 3 shotgun shells and do the same things as a regular Crowman, but they also vomit up eggs and can screech to hatch all nearby eggs. They only appear in the deepest regions of The Hive, in a weird ancient city. As I send this image, I just realized they seem to have eyes? I can't exactly tell if those are eyes or eggs in the skull. Likely eyes.

The Hive is full of some weird green mucus/webbing, which I assume comes from the Crowmen.

We have no clue what the life cycle is but I think it starts with the Baby Crowmen digging into the body of a human host, and when they mature, they then break open the skull like a chick pecking out of an egg, replacing the head with their own. Maybe the spine is replaced too or something, since the spine is steel and looks to pop out of the back. I imagine the mutation of the legs and hands comes soon after. I assume the Crowkings are either the very end of the life cycle, or are some form of sexual dimorphism. I have no clue. One thing about the Crowmen is that they seem to eat everything and anything, even the corpses of eachother, or the corpses of their infants!

If there's something edible around and they're not actively attacking you, the Crowmen will drop everything they're doing to consume it. They seem to be focused on nothing but eating, since you can walk right next to them without even needing to sneak when they're gorging. Strangely, we never see them attack each other, so I can only assume that Crowman 'culture' is first come first serve and they all respect that for some reason.

And that's what I've to say about our dapper little corvid monstrousities.

DUDE I FUCKING LOVE THEM OMG?!?? DAPPER CROW MONSTERS?!!! I AM SIMPING!! I GOTTA PLAY THIS GAME THANK YOU FOR THE CROWMEN PROPAGANDA!!