#{a specter speaks (ooc)}

[amostfascinatingpuzzleindeed]

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

The Professor Is Not The Cruel Judgmental Sort. I Believe That In A Sense, A Loose Handshake Would Be Endearing, As That Typically Is A Sign Of An Unconfident Person And Someone Who May Be Timid, People Who The Professor Would Without A Doubt Help Throughout Their Journey With Him And Give His Gentle Encouragements , Advice, And What Not, If Needed. What Specifically Goes Through His Head Is Other Observations About Your Person And How He Should Greet You, What To Refer To You As. The Handshake Is Just One Thing About Your Character Which Someone Like Him Would Use It To Branch Off Of Initially.

[kinships]

That time of say where I show off one of my favorite covers of one of my favorite PVs.

[guav]

ᥫ᭡ for sanzu haruchiyo,

⠀⠀⠀⠀DISCIPLINE

what is sanzu to do when his waging rampage is met with a boot to the face? answer's simple: wag his tail.

⠀⠀⚠︎⠀⠀bordering on dark! graphic descriptions of blood, violence, suggestive themes, like one sex scene if u squint, y'know how it goes. ooc sanzu because idfk either. like 4.8k words.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo,” tensions rise with a simple roll of the tongue. the waters have been tested, they seem to be riddled with piranhas. “yet, i can’t say im loving this death stare of yours.”

if you’re not careful, he might just eat you alive. sanzu is not above murder, if your forerunner is anything to go by. his stare is cold, calculating, mapping out your body of weak points. 

“manjiro tasked me with you, but i’m not a babysitter.” that got half his attention, the mention of mikey piquing his interest. “my job is to make sure you’re useful to him.” 

like food thrown to a starving animal, his full focus now preys on you.

sanzu has beautiful eyes, you notice. they widen at your words in utter disbelief. perhaps he’s a sleeper agent, ‘sano manjiro’ being the only whisper necessary to kick him into overdrive.

sanzu is an exquisite asset, isn’t he?

ever the shrewd character, you’re quick to notice his change of nature isn’t desperate. sanzu haruchiyo is not some helpless schoolgirl chasing after manjiro. there’s layers, a bond that transcends time itself. 

he is loyal, just not valuable enough; and that breeds desperation.

“useful—” sanzu clears his throat, “useful how?”

he can’t remember the next minute very well.

the first two seconds he wastes time blinking, the fourth is spent in a panic—you’re no longer within his field of vision. mark the fifteenth second, you reappear. one moment you were staring him down, sitting on piled up boxes, the next you’re beside him.

at the twentieth, his instincts go into overdrive. there’s no escaping the inevitable now.

sanzu is agile. sufficiently lithe to brace for impact before you slam him into the wall. his ears ring, and there’s warm liquid seeping out of his ear. he’s agile enough to survive a hit from you, perhaps that’s better than most. 

the alleway starts to spin, and the remainder of the minute is spent trying to stay afloat. it’s useless though, soon enough his legs give out and he kisses the ground hello.

there’s a sizeable dent in the concrete where you absolutely smashed him into. it reeks of danger—thrill.

“am i gonna have to teach you manners, too?” you click your tongue. “you live up to the fame, aren’t you the cutest rabid mutt?”

sanzu feels your fingers on his chin. he can’t fight back against the grip, not when he can’t tell if there’s really two of you or if that’s the work of a concussion. “rule number one, haruchiyo. you only speak when it’s something worth wasting breath on.”

he’s going limp. “is that clear?”

in all the two minutes he’s known you for, sanzu’s learned better than to go against your word. or words, he’s starting to hear double.

“yes.”

you make a mental note of his impeccable survival instinct. “good.”

RULE NO. 2: do as you’re told.

“you’ve already ditched the mask once, i don’t know why you backtracked on it.” 

sanzu remains motionless. your voice may as well have been a specter the way it goes ignored. and yet, his actions (or lack thereof) are not countered with another pummel on the drywall.

your line of work dictates a healthy dose of studying enigmas. speech, actions—none speak louder than the subconscious fidgets that compose body language. sanzu’s straightened back, clasped hands behind, and distant, firm gaze communicate enough.

he’s awaiting approval to voice his thoughts.

and that earns him another mouthful of dirt.

“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo. did i really need to repeat myself?” he looks helpless on the ground, breathing a string of curses into existence at the strain of his muscles.

his hands curl into the ground below, nearly pulling out the grass within his grip in frustration.“no, there was no need.”

sanzu does try to get up, overworking the already-sore body left from your strenuous training. (why you were expecting him in his kitchen first thing in the morning, only to drag him out to do fucking burpees, he’ll never know). 

however, once again, his efforts are fruitless. muscles fail to respond, and sanzu is left to lay on the ground. pathetic. the sudden pressure on the back of his head doesn’t allow for much struggle either. it’s heavy, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s your boot on him.

“it appears you’re misunderstanding our relationship.”

there’s not much left for sanzu than to succumb to your weight. it’s not pleasant, not in the slightest. nothing about impotence is.

“i’m going to make you into the best right-hand man. you’ll follow some rules, but you’re free to act however you wish. i’m not-”

“my superior.”

that seems to please you.  

sanzu breathes a sigh of relief when your footing no longer uses him as floor. he dares peek at the sky, but your figure blocks the sun from blinding his eyes. so why does he squint, still? your sole presence burns just as fiery.

“this is the second rule. if you plan to become useful,” suddenly he’s listening closely, attentive. “then you best honor commands, right now they’ll come from me, soon they’ll be your precious king’s own.”

sanzu bites back a scoff, draws blood from his cheek to cut any rash thoughts short. he could do this all by himself. obedience runs deep within his veins, preaches every demand as a devoted knight would to a throne; no different than a sunflower in pursuit of sustenance light years away.

he doesn’t need you.

“i understand.” so why does he follow you, no second questions asked?

a smile blesses him from the depths of hell, though your eyes don’t squint in the slightest. scary. you raise a finger to your cheek, tapping the skin twice.

sanzu proceeds to discard the black face mask without a single word of protest. it makes your lips stretch farther up.

the same boot crushing his head mere minutes ago nudges his body, sanzu now lies on his back. there’s no escape from your words, stare ever so omnipotent. “the difference between mucho and i is simple.”

is it? you’re both equally sliceable, nothing more than cartilage and bone. maybe next time you make an appearance he’ll cut you into pieces.

regardless, you’re slippery (maybe the polarity lies in that, sanzu muses). you stood proud one second, the next make of his abdomen a seat, cold hands cupping his face like he’s fine china and you, an avid collector.

“i love my hounds as they come,” you get closer, dangerously so. “snarly, scarred—they’re all the same to me.”

turquoise eyes are left to watch his destiny play before him. snap his neck, take a bite out his neck and tear the skin apart, anything could go with you.

“let’s change the second rule, haruchiyo.”

sanzu‘s breathing rags, your hands increase the pressure, and you might go for the alternative of crushing his head like a can. effortlessly.

“rule number two, you do as you’re told, but my word comes above everyone else's.”

your fingers travel north past his cheekbones, resting just below his eyes. he’s alert. you wonder what kind of canine would quiver the same way he does right now.

“is that understood?”

woof. “yes.”

RULE NO. 17: if you’re not useful, you’re out.

“don’t you get fuckin’ tired?” sanzu all but groans, drop of sweat joining the hundreds more pooling down his shirt. “surely sittin’ around while i do all the damn work wears you out.”

his words are poison, the katana in his hands is deadly, and yet, you giggle. “nah, keep doing your thing.”

there’s a fleeting thought to ditch this fight and have your head instead. although admittedly, he’d rather learn some spanish before fleeing to nicaragua with your body in five different plastic bags.

another nameless thug lunges, and it makes for another squirming body on the ground. “when you said we’d be taking care of business i thought you meant toman business.”

you know, mikey business?

sanzu bites his tongue after the sentence rolls out his mouth. as much as you’d grown accustomed to his character, he’d be sure to join the rest of motionless, bleeding goons if he disrespects you.

“toman’s dead, lost cause.”

that makes him stop the slashing. “fuck’s that mean?”

you’re satisfied with the fight for the evening, glock in hand shooting the last of targets. one bullet per head, not a single wasted. “we’re here on business to make sure there’s a place for you in the close future. bills are also due this week, two birds, one stone, yeah?”

“elaborate, “ sanzu actually growls.

“haruchiyo.”

the calling of his name makes sanzu’s shoulders roll back, back straightening out. it’s reflex now, really.

“tokyo manji is child’s play, you can’t possibly think i’m training you for them, right?”

“no, of course not,” what are you hiding? what do you really know?

your boot steps on too many limbs to reach his position, fresh blood joins the old on your sole. “correct! you’re so smart!”

sanzu misses his face mask. with it, you would be oblivious to his sneer when your hand comes up to ruffle his hair. it’s demeaning, probably intentional on your end. makes him seriously reconsider whether you’d look best with a sword through your chest.

“if you complete your training well-enough you could rule tokyo.” your eyes bore holes into his own. “wouldn’t you say all of kantou is more appealing?”

“sure?” 

you turn away from him. sanzu can finally stop holding his breath. 

“you don’t sound too convinced, haruchiyo.” only a fool would fall for your fake distress and pouty face. you’ve lost your stoic facade—deep down you’re but a childish merc with enough brute force to rival an elephant.

two fingers are raised over your shoulder, follow.

“i’m only interested in-”

“manjiro, i know.” you’d heard this story a thousand times. mikey, mikey, mikey. “and what’s gonna happen when he starts going for bigger fish? delinquency is a slippery slope into the world of crime—a rich one, too.”

sanzu can hardly picture mikey, in all his glory, waving a gun around. “you don’t know anything about him.”

you stop in your tracks.

he stops too, a good meter from you. 

“this isn’t about tokyo manji, it’s about sano manjiro.”

“they’re one in the same,” sanzu bites back. you’re not his superior, he can do as he wishes.

“haruchiyo,” your gaze is cold. “sit.”

he kneels, swallows his pride for the hundredth time.

the abandoned warehouse breathes death and rot. there’s barely moonlight dropping from the ceiling to light his path of carnage. whatever job this was had nothing to do with mikey. it makes sanzu boil over with rage. you’re wasting his time.

“what good are you to toman if there’s no mikey?” you step closer, sanzu leans forward to meet your hands. they’re cold, caressing the diamonds carved by the latter. “how are you going to serve if you’re useless?”

he avoids your stare. “i am useful.”

one of your hands moves from his cheek to stroke his hair, gently freeing the locks from his ponytail. “you are, look around.”

sanzu can distinguish around four men crawling for their life, the rest a mess of broken bones and mangled slashes. “if mikey needs to take a life, you’ll be more than prepared to strike.”

he thinks back on mucho. the thrill that kill brought him made it hard to function the rest of the day. now it’s second nature; sanzu bites and rips apart with no hesitation, takes life as if it was never there to begin with.

“listen, haruchiyo,” your hands are clean from all ichor, and he hates how good they feel on his scalp. “think of it like a mechanism.”

eyelashes flutter prior to closing, isolating his sense of sight to fully indulge in the rest. the smell of blood, sound of your analogy, a gentle caress on his face making him wish he didn’t enjoy it as much. sanzu wishes you were dead.

“a machine with bolts, springs and wheels, synced together, with purpose.”

he pictures a shrine, lost in the midst of a sea of faceless pawns. fifth farthest from commander, or founder. he pictures kids playing; a toy plane; the first command he’s ever received—he knows things are meant to be. 

“those who can't be a cog in our wheels are just scraps.”

as with any commandment you dictate, sanzu engraves the saying in his mind. carves each letter, memorizes every syllable, savors all implications.

“are you scrap, haruchiyo?”

“never.”

“good,” you coo, leaning down to graze his forehead with a kiss. the devil’s touch. “good.”

RULE NO. 99: know your place.

sanzu has come to the conclusion you’re a fucking parasite.

autumn witnessed development from cowering at our very presence, winter tied a ribbon to the unlikely friendship, and spring arrived with you at his doorstep every other day. 

you’ve become the first thing he sees in the mornings (somehow you’re always dressed by the time his eyes flutter open, janking his blankets to drag him to train: “let’s go for a walk, haruchiyo!”)

every single evening would be devoid of any personal space. whether it’s his couch being invaded, to his kitchen becoming an absolute mess with whatever recipe you’re trying to put together. no, it’s not the thought that counts, even if the heart-shaped burnt cookies were for him anyway.

the nights were probably the worst.

sanzu had long-forgotten his closet being only halfway full, nor does he know when you had practically moved your entire wardrobe into his. there’s not enough space for the two of you, and he absolutely despises how everything smells like you now.

“haruchiyo, bathtub’s ready.”

you’ve somehow achieved the impossible by making bubble baths the worst thing he can come to think of. hates the thought of getting dragged to it, absolutely detests how he tosses and turns in bed whenever he doesn't have one with you.

there's a nice scented candle on the counter serving as the lone light source within his bathroom. an obscene amount of foam clings to your hand as you test the temperature. save for the swoosh of the water, it seems sanzu might be granted the miracle of having a relaxing moment of silence in his bubble bath.

you stand, "turn around, 'm taking these off."

never fucking mind.

begrudgingly, sanzu complies. he starts to discard of his own clothes, too. his hands barely make it to the hem of his shirt before a piece of fabric lands perfectly on his head. god, you're gonna make him pop a vein.

"i'd love for you to not throw your underwear at me," sanzu has half the mind not to throw them back at you, opting for hooking a finger in the undergarment and throwing it as far away as possible.

"my bad," you're not in the least sorry. the water is too perfect to dwell on past mistakes. "c'mon, chop chop."

soon his body enters the water too, bubbles parting way as his skin kisses the still water. sanzu leans back on your body, not minding in the slightest the feel of your naked skin against his own; your body warmth rivaling the water's own.

(okay, maybe he minds a little)

"isn't this nice?"

"no," sanzu doesn't miss a beat. "have i ever told you how much i hate you?"

a good amount of shampoo is combed through his scalp by your fingers, gently massaging the area. "a couple times, yes."

let's make it thrice then: "well, i really fuckin' hate you."

what's most thrilling about sanzu haruchiyo is the double-edged blade his persona holds. failure comes with crystal clear dangers of getting diced alive, success offers a never ending supply of amusement. 

you push his head further into the water to rinse the shampoo off. there's no struggle from sanzu, you could very well drown him right now and there'd probably be no fight coming from him.

"you're seriously useless, i don't need you tellin' me what to do to appease mikey."

"close your eyes for me."

he follows your demand without missing a beat, basking in the water you pour on his face to rid the last bits of foam. "i want you dead."

early are the mornings your movement would be restricted by a pair of arms, late are the nights you'd walk home from a hit only to see his room's lights go off as soon as you enter the building. 

"you gonna leave me to shrivel like i’m raisins? get on with it."

you reach for the soap, "aren't you needy, haruchiyo?"

sanzu groans, this would seem like the perfect moment for a meteor to strike his building. rather than feeding into your delusion he keeps quiet. it’s better than talking to the wall you are. teasing, threading the rope that is his patience for you. 

hands travel across his skin, tending to it with soap that’s gonna leave sanzu reeking of your strawberry soap. “you’re funny, haruchiyo.”

it’s a shame there’s no sharp objects within his reach. “can’t wait for the day you slip and die.”

his half-empty threat procures a giggle from you. “see!”

“or the long fuckin’ awaited night you get stabbed and dumped in an alleyway.”

your laughter reverberates and bounces off the walls, and yet sanzu can’t tell if it’s sincere or genuine. 

banter ends at that, and soon he is clean. though there’s no change in position to allow for sanzu to even attempt to wash you, too. strange as it is, the peace and quiet are both rare enough, perhaps the universe has been kind enough to grant him this one moment of silence.

“but really, you are funny — i get the impression you’re all bite no bark,” enough instances of carnage and gargling on metal could easily refute this observation. you don’t care. “you whine, cry, complain, and yet you never ask for anything.”

just this morning he asked you to do the dishes (which you never did: “can’t make me”). perhaps dementia was knocking on your door a good thirty years too early. however, it’s implied you're not referring to such superficial instances.

“haruchiyo,” your body draws him impossibly closer, “what is it you wish most for?”

he tilts his head back, leaning on your shoulder. the new position allows for a better view of your face. momentarily, perchance a slip of character, his eyes wander. glance at your lips, the bubbles hugging your body from his view, squint to see what the water hides. “hell if i know.”

a hum is enough reassurance that you won’t contest his blatant lie. “okay.”

a splish, splash, and overflowing water hitting the tile, sanzu is now the one kneading at your hair, soap lathering and cleaning. intimacy at its finest. delectable sweetness as you lean back, and take a nibble of his jugular. it earns you a pinch on your hip.

“say, you in the mood for a new addition to the rulebook?”

“not in the slightest.”

his honesty is met with a splash of water to his face, “too bad, take note.”

sanzu rolls his eyes, cost of opportunity heavy with regret since, of course, he forgot to carry a toaster into the bathroom to finally take you out.

“know your part wherever you are—learn when to be the hanged, and when to be executioner.”

it’s random. it’s ironic. “if we’re playin’ like that, then your authority’s worth jack shit to me.”

“is that so?”

once again, the question is left unanswered. hung and forgotten.

“i think your act and place should always be by my side” you muse. it’s custom you add a rule to the list and immediately reform it.

a phantom feeling tugs at his throat, like a collar being yanked. hands that operate under your every order move to rest on your thighs. underwater, there’s no hierarchy; nudity knows no ruler from subject. “and if i say no?”

“you won’t.”

a horrifying realization dawns on sanzu haruchiyo that night. as his fingers inch dangerously higher, and higher, as the water turns cold, carelessly splashing outside the bathtub. as his teeth sink everywhere and two become one, sanzu haruchiyo comes to a gut wrenching conclusion.

‘you won’t.’

it’s true. maybe words can’t ever describe what he wishes for, but it’s easy to cross out what he doesn’t want.

sanzu knows he doesn’t want to stop. doesn’t wish for your hand to ever release his bicep from that deathly grip, or for you to stop making those noises, nor does he want anything but your warmth once it’s all said and done.

sanzu knows he doesn’t wish for you to ever leave, and maybe that’s enough.

RULE NO. 275: forget everything i've taught you.

"..what?" sanzu is beyond confused.

"yeah, you're good to go, no need to follow anything i've said anymore."

the room was empty. manjiro had long since left, the eldest haitani had grown bored of your mongrel staring him down with every flirt he shot your way, and the rest of kantou manji had simply shown themselves out for their own various reasons that no one truly cares for.

the gears are still turning on his head, cerebrum working overtime to decipher the new mandate, or lack thereof? schrodinger's rulebook, perhaps?

“you look good in white, you know.” as if you hadn’t just nuked everything he’s ever known, you lean forward to adjust his collar. your favorite pretty boy, dearest psychopath. “let me tie your hair for you.”

“what the fuck do you mean?”

he hates the feigned confusion you present him with. hates the tilt of your head so much he actually unsheathes his katana, blade steady and barely a few inches from your neck. it further irritates him your obvious lack of response, not even a flinch.

any other day you’d play the clueless game, but there’s really no one paying you the hour anymore. “it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“why are you acting like you’re,” sanzu bares his teeth, disgusted at just the thought of the word, “like you’re ditching?”

interesting phrasing. not ‘leaving,’ that would imply abandonment, a cry of weakness. ‘ditching’ pins blame from the moment it is vocalized, like whatever you’re doing, actions sanzu is still trying to decode, is irrevocably your fault.

steel kisses your neck, close enough to feel the cold, and the lack of wavering. you’re proud of haruchiyo, really. “gonna miss me?”

“you don’t leave a gang.” there’s the helpless child in disguise. 

“manjiro took you in as vice,” you don’t bother with swatting the katana away, instead moving close enough to feel his hitched breath on your lips. arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers combing and threading to jail his locks into a ponytail. “i’d say my work is done.”

triads of protest die in his throat. shackles finally dissipate into thin air, long were the solstices he prayed for this day to come. yet sanzu feels himself floating away at the lack of grounding. he’s gonna be sick. 

for once the silence is suffocating. overwhelming. unwelcome. the katana slowly scurries back into hiding, desperately like an animal rolling over to flaunt it’s belly; a last ditch effort of submission.

“aren’t you excited?”

he can finally kill you. he can finally roll over in bed and not find you there. he can finally return to being alone, and the strongest, and-

sanzu doesn’t do as he’s told. 

“you finally have what you want.”

sanzu isn’t useful.

“you’ve been acknowledged.”

sanzu doesn’t know his place.

“you’re finally free.”

sanzu shoves you with enough force to stumble back onto the wide table in the meeting room, it’s surprising how it doesn’t shatter. there’s not enough time in a second to allow a reaction, not when he overpowers you for the second time, back slamming against the wood, sanzu’s body nestling between your legs. you can let him have this.

sanzu is stiff. he’s not used to being the one to leap first when it comes down to your dynamics. it feels unnatural to cage you like this, for your legs to wrap and pull him closer, like you’re mocking him. “you’re not my superior.”

one of your hands trail up his arm. “that’s correct.”

“then you’re my enemy.”

you tug him down, lips finding themselves naturally drawn right under his jaw. there’s no verbal answer to his introspection. 

“then i’ve beat you — i’m stronger than you.”

sanzu most certainly did not miss the floating sensation your attacks give him. by all means, physically, he should be stronger. so, physically too, it’s odd when your hand pushes his weight effortlessly, and your leg locks on to successfully beat his ass and pin him down. it sucks feeling a concussion in the brewing. 

he’s always looked prettier under you. “now that you’re on your own, haruchiyo, prepare to make mistakes.” his hands instinctively fly to your waist, “learn from them.”

sanzu groans, he himself doesn’t know if it’s the pain speaking or the built up frustration, “‘s that a new rule?”

the juxtaposition of slamming sanzu on the table and the gentle hands that come to tilt his head is a little funny. his skin smells of strawberries as you ghost your lips across it. “they’re parting words.”

it’s by no means a new position he’s found himself in. and yet he feels stumped. helplessly watching as the fire crackles its last sparks, as the last train starts to close its doors. even your body starts to feel like a distant whisper.

"haruchiyo, i want you to remember me." you're positive even the idea is far-fetched. the way his muscles tense and eyes narrow at your every call is automatic now. "memorize how my fingers feel on your jaw."

sanzu nearly purrs at the contact, and it's pathetic. he could never forget the grip, your hand looks best when it's on his face. 

"memorize my voice, you must."

it goes without saying he already has. plenty were the nights he woke up in cold sweat, hallucinating you in every shadow and crevice; many more he’s coped by turning in bed and found the warmest embrace in your arms.

he can't live without you.

"haruchiyo, what else can i do for you to remember me, forever and always?"

'what is it you wish most for?'

he remembers the seventeenth rule, remembers the day you promised him a reward far beyond being an asset to mikey. sanzu had reflected on it far too long. what could he possibly ask from you?

power is all he ever wants. being of importance, too. both are things he could never have from you. 

you have it all. you best him in every way possible. 

maybe, in just one thing, he can overthrow you. "a kiss."

sanzu has come to the conclusion there's no healthy middle when it comes to you. his mind splits between wanting your head on a stick and fighting urges to leap and bite at your lip until blood is drawn. 

perhaps an impulse to prove himself useful so you stay. a test of courage, his mouth wherever you need it most, whatever it is that will make you forever forget the thought of leaving him to fend for himself like a mutt.

"a kiss?" you've never looked more inviting than now, leaning back to stare him down, slowly blinking, a stray lock of hair falling out of place.

you’re making him feel real stupid. a small fraction cringing at his request, as if he had been reading the mood wrong and just completely ruined the moment (as if you straddling and leaving a mark or two on his neck could mean anything else). 

eyes never once stray from his stare. sanzu really is funny.

you lean back down, unamused with the shit-eating grin that’s stretching across his face. first comes the corner of his lips, a fleeting brush of your lips, a ghost to acknowledge his diamonds. sanzu’s fingers dig onto your hips as, painfully slowly, you align with his lips. 

sanzu haruchiyo, akaashi haruchiyo, your pride and joy. only way to commemorate would be by taking a bite out of him, how could you not?

your teeth sink mercilessly on his bottom lip. sanzu fights a choked cry, it hurts, and you don’t pull away until he’s left bleeding, panting, and so very dissatisfied. unfulfilled. bested again. 

“find me again,” as a treat, you kiss the half of his lips, stealing the red drops for yourself.

“money,” you kiss his cheek. “power,” he seeks your lips again, struggling for his wish. “influence,” you pull back.

sanzu grumbles a protest or two, flailing in a last ditch effort to claim what was his. your hand on his neck kills any hope of that. 

a finger swipes his bottom lip, teasing the lack of prize right in his face. “become someone with all three under his sleeve and you’ll find me again.”

the frustration is building back up. murderous desires. the need to fight you for control.

“is that understood?”

nevertheless, you’ve disciplined him well. “yes.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list.⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

⠀⠀also hbd to my least favorite person @k9wa

[killerheelsonadiscodancefloor]

seeing with new eyes | egon spengler x reader

author’s note: so hi! this is my first little story i’m posting on here, very exciting stuff! i love love love requests so feel free to hit me with them :) i’m planning on putting together more of a comprehensive list of what i write for and such, but for now, ghostbusters fanfic

warnings: purposeful lowercase, jealousy, distant egon, flirting to make someone jealous, possibly ooc (it’s the first time in writing for ghostbusters), lmk if you guys see any i missed

it had only been a few weeks that i had been working with the ghostbusters to help janine take calls and make appointments, and thus far, they were the most exciting few weeks of my life.

i could hardly remember what my day-to-day was like before i scored my job at the fire station. coming in every day at eight to help janine schedule appointments, starting the coffee brewing for the boys, making sure the proton packs were ready for the specters they would face that day. it was all a routine that flowed so well it was practically second nature.

i even fit in well with janine and the ghostbusters themselves. well, almost all of them anyway.

there was ray, with his kind eyes and bright smile, who had immediately gone out of his way to welcome me to the station. he gave me the tour, teaching me all the little tricks along the way- “if you ever have business around here later at night, that stair kinda creaks—peter hasn’t gotten around to getting it fixed yet, you know how that is,” -and always made sure to keep me in the loop regarding information that referred to before i was hired. ray was easy to joke with and fun to share a snack with on our lunch break.

then, of course, winston. he understood better than anyone else what it felt like to join the gang a little later and made sure i knew he was always available to chat with. while spending time with him i learned more of the practical parts of hunting ghouls, “just in case!” he always said. winston was also one to not sugarcoat things and had pulled me aside after my interview to kindly but seriously caution me as to what the job entailed. i cherished the time we spent walking to the local sub shop and fixing up the ecto-1 together.

peter was an unavoidable presence around the station, although not an unwelcome one. the whole flirtatious douchebag bit he had going was a lot less obnoxious once i got to know the snarky but sweet man that laid behind it. peter was truly devoted to dana and seeing them together put a smile on face; this was due in part to how nice it was to see the two in love, but also because it gave me ammunition to make fun of him with. we playfully messed with each other often, switching between several of our running jokes in the same conversation—much to the confusion of the others.

and finally. the ghostbuster that seemed none too fond of me at all: egon. i admired him greatly for all of the things he’d invented while discovering more scientific information about ghosts than anyone in the field before him. and, sure, maybe i also admired the way his hair fell into his face when he was examining a new specimen and the way his eyes lit up as he jotted new findings down into the various notebooks he had scattered about. but that’s not very relevant. at least, that’s what i try to tell myself and janine. but after my first week working here, our interactions had been extremely limited.

———

while on my tour from ray, we wandered down to the lab. “this is the spot egon frequents, so if you ever need to find him, this is the best place to look.” ray informs me in a quiet undertone. the stark contrast in the boisterous way he’d been speaking upstairs sobered me. suddenly this whole operation felt much more serious-more real, even. we continued further into the room from the staircase to find egon bent over a microscope.

“egon!” ray greets with a slap on his friend’s shoulder. “ray.” egon mumbles back distractedly. his brows furrow as he adjusts the magnification on the equipment, before moving back and shaking his head.

“hard at work figuring out the molecular breakdown of that goo?” i ask, testing a joke to gage just how professional egon truly was.

while ray smiles, egon merely stares. he seems to be at a loss for words as he considers me and before i can apologize, he rushes out, “yes, actually. we got this when peter got, well, ‘slimed,’ we’ll call it. figuring out it’s exact components could help leaps and bounds in figuring out how exactly these specters manifest and what we can do to stop the influx new york has had thrust upon it.”

“oh! so this is definitely some, uh, important ectoplasm then. i have to admit, i don’t know much on the science side of all of this. would you mind if i borrowed your notes sometime?” i asked, shifting my feet. while it was slightly painful for me to have to ask egon for help understanding, i figured, who better than the brains of the bunch? if i was going to be working here for the foreseeable future, it would be good to have a deeper understanding of the creatures i’d be (indirectly) dealing with.

again, egon hit me with that look, as though he’s never seen something like me before. after an awkwardly long beat of silence, ray nudged egon with his elbow. egon suddenly sprung back to life, quickly maneuvering himself off of his stool and to a desk on the other side of the lab. he grabbed a stapled packet of paper and arrived in front of me, offering it to me with a fully extended arm. “it’s a thesis of sorts, you can read it before i submit it to the new york times.” egon says after i take it, tucking it gingerly into my bag.

i expressed my appreciation and shook his still outstretched hand, introducing myself despite the fact that janine told me she had already told all the guys about me. egon shot me a tight smile, and sensing rather than guessing that he wanted to get back to his ectoplasm, ray moved forward to continue my tour.

three days later, i ventured down to the lab on my own to return egon’s thesis. despite his occasionally overly scientific language, the paper had been a good read. i told him as much when i handed him the papers, making my best attempt at ignoring the flutter in my heart when our fingers brushed. “you thought so? it’s good to hear, peter was saying it may be too advanced for ‘normal people,’” at this point, he did air-quotes with his fingers and i tried my hardest not to be endeared by it. “i think he was just messing with me, ray agreed with me that it was a good middle ground of being too academic and too simple.”

with a jolt, i realized his dark eyes were directed to me for my opinion. “definitely! anything that was kind of complicated, you can deduce through the context. and from what i can tell, peter is always messing with everyone, i wouldn’t take his critiques too seriously.” i reassured, a broad smile on my face as i did so. egon opened his mouth to respond when the siren blared, signaling the beginning of a new case and then end to our conversation.

“well, i’ll catch you later! maybe you can brief me on your goo findings.” i added a wink at the end, trying to get a bit more friendly with the doctor. he stumbled his way through a goodbye before leaving the lab-not seeming to realize that he had his suit down here.

———

since that day, it seemed like egon was avoiding me. i wasn’t sure what i had done wrong. maybe the way i joked about his work? but no, he’d seemed fine when i did that before. the fact that i’d read his thesis? then again, egon had been the one to offer it to me.

i took my concerns to ray, where they were promptly overheard by peter.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it, newbie. egon gets freaked about my jokes all the time and we still put up with each other!” he said bracingly, shaking my shoulders to make his point.

ray looked as though he wanted to interject, but winston called him from downstairs. he grinned apologetically and slid down the pole to see why his friend was calling him. before long, peter and i were sharing the left over lo mein on the table and discussing golden girls (a guilty pleasure of his.)

egon entered midway through this conversation without even glancing our way. he began to brew a new pot of coffee with his eyes fixed sternly on the machine. i felt a frown tug at my lips before i was able to pull myself away from analyzing this behavior and back to peter’s reasoning about how sophia was the best character. something was different though, i noted as peter scooted his chair closer to mine. my mind switched rapidly between peter’s sudden flirtatious behavior as he hooked his foot around mine to egon’s tense shoulders and white-knuckle grip on the cabinet.

“what do you think?” peter’s voice drew my eyes to him as i tried (and failed) to not notice egon in my peripheral. “about sophia.” he prompted again.

“oh, well i guess i would agree with you-” i began, before peter whooped excitedly.

“yes! i knew there was a reason i liked you!” he proclaimed, snatching my hand up and pressing a dramatic kiss to it. i raised my eyebrows at his prolonged eye contact before drawing my hand away with a chuckle.

“peter, we both know you only like me for my pretty face.” i joked. “well, it certainly doesn’t hurt.” he fired back quickly. suddenly egon snatched the whole pot of coffe, turning swiftly on his heel and closing the door harshly on his way out. “sheesh. looks like someone’s a tad jealous. you know, for egon being the scientist here, i’d sure love to study his brain. not for his supposed genius either.” peter scoffed good-naturedly.

i blinked at him in shock. “jealous? egon? no way.” i denied easily. the guy was extremely pragmatic and intelligent, i doubted he would let something so petty effect him. that and he’s completely avoided me the past couple weeks.

“watch, i’ll show you.” peter insisted. i stared at him before finally relenting with a roll of my eyes. “what’s in it for you anyway?” i asked. “well, an opportunity to bother egon, not to mention flirt with a beautiful lady-” i cut him off quickly, “goodbye peter!”

and so peter’s plan commenced. he flirted with me to apparently make egon jealous, despite the fact that i was sure egon despised me. when i told ray how ridiculous i felt this whole charade was, he agreed but chimed in with something that shook me. “although, if this is what it takes to get egon to make a move, i guess it’ll be worth it.”

i spluttered in shock. “what? it’s true! me and the other guys are sick of him being too skittish to do anything but stare at you.” ray continued as if he hasn’t just flipped my world upside down.

before i could retort, the door swung open and egon, the man of the hour, entered. ray quickly switched the topic to our shared favorite snack, cheez-itz. i stared incredulously at the choice in conversation but he gave me a look back that said ‘just go with it.’ we continued talking about cheez-itz until he left the room. “that was ridiculous.” i mumbled, putting my head down on my arms. ray patted my shoulder sympathetically, unable to reassure me because it really had been.

the following day, there was a new box of cheez-itz on my desk. i stopped a couple of feet away to examine the scene. “what’s the matter with you? you’re blocking the space.” janine said as she steered me to my desk. i silently pointed at the box.

“oh. huh.” she said, apparently also stumped. “wasn’t there yesterday.” i mumbled. she hummed as she took in the scene, before we flinched in shock as ray roughly opened the door. “(y/n)— oh, did you get more cheez-itz?” he asked reaching for the box.

“no, i guess someone… got them for me.” i concluded with a smile. ray handed them over with a shrug. “wasn’t me.” him and janine chorused. i shook my head. that much had been obvious. i sank into my chair as i tried to figure out who would gift these to me, when peter strolled in.

“venkman! what is this, some sort of courting gift?” i asked with a raised brow. “courting g—what are you talking about?” peter replied in bewilderment. i held up the cheez-itz in answer. “ah, no. not from me anyway. also you’re gonna have a visitor soon—” before he could finish speaking, egon hurriedly enters the room with winston trailing behind him.

“so there’s a party and no one invited me? real cold.” winston joked, coming to stand next to ray at my desk. before any of us could retort, egon turns to me and clears his throat.

“could i talk to you, (y/n)?” he asks, eyes shifting from me to the rest of the room.

i blinked in surprise. what was with these guys and catching me off guard today? “um, sure!” i replied, standing up so quickly that my chair rolled back. egon nodded appreciatively and walked back out into the stairwell. with a nervous glance at janine and the guys, i followed.

i shut the door behind me, finding egon standing tensely in the hallway. “are you alright?” i asked gently. he looked at me contemplatively before asking, “did you know peter is attracted to you?”

my eyebrows raised in shock. egon took this to mean no and continued. “that’s the reason he’s asked you out to dinner. he wants it to be a date.” he stared at me as he waited for my response. “oh. huh.” i said intelligently. i hadn’t been informed of this plan. i guess peter may have just started saying whatever he could to make egon jealous. i refocused when i saw egon take a deep breath in.

“do you want it to be a date?” his voice was strained. “um, i’m not sure. i guess i’d have to think about it.” i trailed off uncertainly. egon’s gaze lingered on my fidgeting hands before he burst out, “(y/n), i’d like to tell you something before you consider this date with peter. i… i have feelings for you.”

my mouth parted as i stared at him in complete shock. sure, i’d been told that egon liked me. peter had even started this whole scheme to prove it. but i never really thought it was possible. now though…

“well. this definitely changes things.” i mumbled, my mind going a thousand miles a minute. egon seemed uneasy and maybe regretful. “i-i’m sorry if i’ve ruined things—”

“you haven’t.” i replied firmly. i stepped closer and took his hand in mine. egon’s dark eyes searched mine before he slowly leaned in, bringing the hand not holding mine to rest against my collar bone and play with my hair. a smile involuntarily curled my lips up until i couldn’t contain myself anymore. swiftly, my hand caught his tie and i pulled him to me until our lips pressed together.

egon’s hand moved from mine up to my back and he pressed me closer to him, deepening the kiss with the new angle. i brought my other arm around his shoulders to keep my balance. he was a bit taller than me, and kissing him had me on my tip toes.

“does this mean we aren’t going out this weekend?” venkman’s pouty voice broke me and egon apart. his grip on my waist tightened slightly. “the jig is up peter. you can go crawling back to dana now.” i snickered. “yeah, well, sacrifices needed to be made. she’s been waiting on you two to get together longer than me.” peter replied with an overly dramatic roll of his eyes. he exited with a ‘you’re welcome!’ called over his shoulder. loud cheers erupted after he entered the room again.

“going off all the noise, i guess everyone knows we’re together now.” i hummed, turning to look back at egon. he stood with a puzzled furrow between his brows. “so all of the flirting peter’s been doing, it was all to make me jealous?” he asked. “yeah, he said there was no way you’d confess otherwise.”

at egon’s scoff, i raised an eyebrow. “well, would you have? confessed?” i inquired with a grin. his silence was answer enough. i began to giggle while egon merely shook his head and pulled me closer. “maybe venkman’s smarter than we all think.” he mumbled into my hair. i only laughed harder at this, clutching egon’s shoulders.

“so, wait—” i said, pulling away so that i could see egon. “the cheez-itz, were those you?” i asked in wonder. egon ducked his head, smiling bashfully. i gasped dramatically. “look at you being all romantic with the secret admirer stuff!”

egon moved closer once more, pressing another gentle kiss to my lips. “well, it’s not so secret anymore.” he whispered, before i pulled him in once more. at least now i knew that egon definitely didn’t dislike me.

tags! @maraudermap000

[hellsmouthhq]

HELLSMOUTHHQ EVENT: SPECTER.

what is haunted but another word for grief?

it lurks in the back of your mind without remorse. this isn't new to you. it's always been attached to dread, anytime it peeked from the dark you tried to think of anything else. in those small and far between moments it's truly gone, that's when it hits the hardest with it's terrible reminder. you can't let me go. difficult to ignore and impossible to forget, haunting and persistent. why couldn't they let you go? or, perhaps, was it you who couldn't let go of them? for the words that had never been spoken, for the blood you shouldn't have shed, for the i'm sorry's that couldn't be heard.

for all you couldn't forget, the apparitions were new. they were vivid and varied, nothing like you'd experienced before. a voice that should have been long quiet whispering the words you always feared to hear, a face that was once unmoving and cold now in the corner of your eye, the mangled corpse of your regrets suddenly at your feet instead of far behind you, the thoughts you never dared to speak suddenly written on the wall. all it took, however, was a blink. a singular blink and it was all gone. chopped up to a dream, a hallucination, the manifestation of ever churning guilt that suddenly burned more prevalent then it ever had before.

unbeknownst to you, or any of the supernatural among your ranks, these visions were far from accidental. in fact, they were heavier on those who carried the burden of guilt deeper then the rest. perhaps it was because they had less power to cause turmoil, but humans weren't haunted at all.

maybe it's the hellmouth, you think, or maybe i'm losing my mind.

NOTES.

ooc;

this event begins 10/01/24.

part 2 will drop 10/18/24.

conclusion will be 10/31/24.

while this is classified as an event ( at the time being ) it's something in the background rather then forefront. some muses aren't experiencing these visions at all, or to the same extent.

the specters needn't be the sole focus of your characters unless you wish it to be, and feel free to continue on threads without it's presence.

your muses could theorize it's the hellmouth's influence but there is nothing concrete for anyone to find just yet.

perimeters;

it's important to note that any specters are not necessarily built in reality, but your muses impression of it. a specter blaming them for something doesn't mean the actual person blames them, only the muse thinking they do.

any specter your muse experiences isn't something that remains any longer then a 'blink and you'll miss it'.

muses could conclude it's a manifestation of guilt or unresolved feelings rather then assuming supernatural based change.

the specters aren't something that could have a physical effect on your muse unless your muse brings harm unto themselves (ie; breaking a mirror, trying to punch a memory, etc).

humans are the only beings are not affected by specters.

the severity of the impact ties directly with how deeply your muse feels about the corresponding event. it could be a voice in the wind of someone they loved or the sight of all their victims in a bloody heap.

while guilt is the umbrella factor, it needn't only be about actions that were regretted. it could very well be about how relationships ended, hurting the people you loved, not having been able to save someone else or even regretting the person you have become. some regrets could even be about lack therefor of, something awful you've done that you should regret but don't.

optional task;

the specter:

why does this specter haunt your muse?

the why:

what caused this action? was it something they didn't even think about when it happened? a spur of the moment choice?

the impact:

what were the repercussions this caused? were there any at all? if not, how does your muse feel about it? (this doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing).

the alternative:

what would be the result if they hadn't done this? or if they did something else entirely? what if they weren't there that day? was it worth it?

[i-heart-soil]

An account for one of the Anons from @soilanonlorelmao.

[Soil Anon is busy at work digging yet another hole. They pause for a minute, setting up a sign next to their digging site. The sign reads as follows; ]

"Hello! I'm Soil Anon. Please check out the blogs of my fellow anons and of my ███████."

[There is a small list below this.]

" @flower-anon-blog is my ███████, Flower Anon. @sand-anon is Sand Anon. @sicklyanon-blog is Sickly Anon. @bringeroftheapocolypse is Zombie Anon. @tar-anon is Tar Anon. @unstoned-anon is Stoned/Unstoned Anon. @goose-ann0n is Goose Anon. @scpectreanon is Ghost/Specter Anon @lava-anon is Lava Anon."

[You notice that there are 2 words scratched out of the sign, below them Soil has written 'WIFE.' in all caps with several underline marks below each of them.]

[There is small writing sprawled across the bottom of the sign, it reads..]

" I love soil. soil is life. "

OOC // If I'm using brackets, I'm narrating rp. If i'm ' Talking like this, ' ( with ' or with " ) then Soil Anon is speaking, though usually they only say "Soil". \\ OOC

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft Edition, Dementlieu Arc part 2

Alright, it's night. Jonni: “The best time for arson!” Jonni, you are up spending some quality time with Vesh. Jonni: “The best time for arson!” "YOU COME INTO MY CITY WITH A PARADE, PUTTING ON A FARCE FOR THE MASSES, YOU FOOL THEM BUT YOU DO NOT FOOL ME. NOW FACE MY JUDGEMENT." They point a bony finger at Vesh and....nothing happens. They point a few more times, expecting something to happen. Vesh sighs. "You done?" “Hey, buddy, I told you, she’s a Princess. Maybe not of a big nation, but a Princess is a Princess.” "...Well I guess she is. Sorry for disturbing you." And the spirit then awkwardly shuffles out. "That reminds me, I will visit Semprini, warn him of this Red Death." “Or, hear me out, we don’t and hire a bard to follow him around and then show us what happened later in moving pictures.” "Come on, you know how well I can fit in with high society, Steve. I can speak Snob." "Steve... He really moved up in the world after he died. I'm proud for him." "Social gatherings...I can be nice and polite, but high society tends to leave me cold. It all seems so...fake." “Yeah. But I usually get to fork some ashholes [sic] trophy wife in the cloak room, and the food can be good.” "Look it's easy, you go to some parties and dinners at some places, see the sights, smile and laugh, and we're golden. "And if anyone gives us any shit, we just grin and take it, and then track them down after the party and light them on fire." "We've come on behalf of a young lady whose parents have been afflicted with a curse..." “We need that lifted before we have to adopt again.” "None of the rest of you better pull an Edmund on us." Gorbash: "Okay Marshal's not allowed to speak for the group without approval. Jonni was already not allowed to speak for the group. God... am I the diplomatic one here? How the hell am I the diplomatic one?" Jonni: “Hey, I can be diplomatic. In a skeevy way, sure, but diplomatic.” Jonni: “Back of the line, new Eddie. Gorb’s in charge unless I have a better idea.” "Some specters showed up while you were out, but Kyra and Simone drove them off....Where's Marshal?" Jonni: “Getting ready for me to kill him when he gets back.” Seoni sighs, "Of course he did." Gorbash: "Yeah, he's joining Jonni in the 'not allowed to make decisions without group permission club'." Jonni: “Wait… Marsh is gone! No one will stop me from killing Semprini!” Gorbash: "I am still here." Jonni: “I’ll bring you his mustache.” Gorbash: "You may continue." Gorbash: "...Gods, I'm the leader... How is the guy who spent a year in a fracking asylum the one people look to for leadership?" OOC: Gorbash is going to be referring to this kind of epic stupidity as Pulling an Edmund for at least as long as it takes us to save Edmund. OOC: I haven’t seen a robot do something that dumb since Optimus’ Primes comic death. And his brain fits on a 3x4 floppy. Gorbash: "I've been to Blutspar. I don't need eyes to see horrors everywhere. Give me the tour." Nyx: "I would like to go some place without horrors for once. I'm guessing that is too high an order around here." Gorebash:

Yeah she had a holy symbol of Asmodeus on her armor. “Oh, hey, we got that douche canoe back home” Jonni says, very loudly. “Demon Prince of tiny dicks.” Jonni: “I don’t go to plays with ‘king’ in the title after the incident. “Course, most of the plays I go to have titles that are parody’s of other plays. They usually involve some kind of food delivery that can’t be paid for.” Gorbash grabs Irost by the collar. "Entire city. Mass suicide. Rivers of blood centuries later. GIANT MAN MADE OF BUGS!" Irost: "....That could possibly be classified as urban improvement..." Irost: "But then we'd miss the ball, and the excitement, and the chance to make names for ourselves." Jonni: “New Eddie is dumber than old Eddie.” Gorbash: "My old crew and I once infiltrated a gods damned apocalypse cult-a-polusa! I damn well know my apocalypses." “We’ll get you a red snapper, it’s okay. The things beyond the veil aren’t going to tear your soul out and wipe their ass with it tonight.” The stall has three barrels around the stall, and a large crate with a sign that says "Stikk hand in fer big serprize." [sic] Gorbash: "This feels like a trap. Hey Jonni, come here!" Jonni: “Want me to light it up?” Upon you saying that the crate grows a mouth and begins inching away. The crate and the three barrels, as well as the sign, all get up and move towards an open manhole. The lead mimic turns and spits at you, "Damn adventurers, this used to be a nice neighborhood." Jonni: “Hey I know where you can find a really dumb guy. I’ll tell you if you bring us his mustache.” "How dare you, we are not vagrants nor tramps. We are guards for a traveling merchant caravan. And adventurers who solve problems and help others." "Right! They're Hobos!" Jonni: “Cool. Cool. So you’re a colossal asshat, your god sucks, and virtually no one I care about will mind if you die. In fact, the nicest member of my party thought about doing it herself.” Jonni: “Hey! One last thing? Go fuck yourself with a cactus you racist piece of devil-worshiping pig fart.” Linxia takes a deep breath. "We will settle this another time I think. But keep in mind;" she reaches out, grabs a caterpillar from a tree, and crushes it in hand. "Vermin always get crushed in the end." Gorbash: "B!+ch, we're Pest Control experts." He is wearing a "I survived the Organ grinder" TY shirt over his armor, and is also covered with popcorn, soda and other stickyness. In one hand he holds a handful of balloons, and in the other a large stuffed purple teddy bear. On his head is a hat with cat ears. Jonni: “We met new people to kill and you’re not allowed to tell me no anymore.” Gorbash returns the favor that Marshal did for him back in Hazlan and tightly hugs his metal friend. Irost would hug him from the other side as well, squeezing tightly. You are stuck fast to Marshal now, he is very sticky. "Uhm, do we need to get out the special scrubbing alcohol to clean you guys off now?" Marshal: "Fire." Jonni casts the “create campfire” cantrip. Irost: "WAIT! Wait we're still-AHHHHHH!" Marshal ties a blindfold around his helmet's eyeholes and sticks a cigarette in just in time. Jonni: “Sorry, reflex.” Marshal: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe." Jonni: “I’ve fucked things you wouldn’t believe. Anyhow, walk it off. We got crime tonight.” “It’s that or wait for the play that pinged Gorb’s 'end of world' alarm to finish.” "What you did Marshall... Sainthood should be being considered." “If they gave out sainthood for being a moron Semprini would be a living god.” You guys become aware, that there things watching you. Or rather watching Marshal. You see countless tiny stuffed animals of varying types: bears, foxes, rabbits, but with horrific twisted features. Some have obviously human eyes or teeth, others are bulging with strange contents. Gorbash: "How is it, that Marshal is the one with the most Stalkers?" Marshal: "Co-workers on break." Jonni: “They forming a union?” According to Vesh, the boat will be arriving at Midnight with cargo, among which will be the box. It will unload the cargo in the shipping company's warehouse. where it will stay until it is shipped to the D'honaire estate on the night before the ball. The docks are silent. No one on them. The niight is clear, with stars in the sky and a huge moon. So what's your plan? OOC: Fireballs. You see the bizarre scene of a bunch of demonic beanie babies smoking. After about fifteen minutes, the bay is rocked by a massive explosion, as the galleon bursts into flames. "Jonni!" Jonni: “Gods I wish that was me.” OOC: Great things happen when Kreuz has a Paladin Moment. OOC1: This other crew is going to find we aren't harder to deal with than most adventurers, we fight smarter, not harder. OOC2: Also, we are more mentally unstable and prone to dickery. OOC: To be fair, the rules don’t say I have rocket feet. The power gamer in me says no, but the nerd in me says “ROCKET BOOTS!”

[vfdlibrarian]

So instead of doing drafts (or anything else) I made this nifty pie chart to display the frequency of causes of death in ASOUE:

[ffxivimagines]

FFXIVWrite 2019 | Prompt 27: Poor Unfortunate Souls

FFXIV Write 2019 | Prompt #27: Palaver | Rating: T

Warnings for: SHB spoilers, very possibly OOC emet, vague body horror (very vaguely creepy mer designs), Emet/WoL, general Emet-Selch related psychology

((If anyone would like continuations or to yell about the detailed designs I have for this, feel free to message or send an ask!))

Emet-Selch knows himself to be a rather generous individual. He has a gift, the power to spin countries into being, and uses it to help others. He charges a price, of course. Any self-respecting witch would do the same. The lawfulness of his contracts is known, each of them fulfilled to the last letter. He is fair with his terms. An eye for better hearing, a name for the ability to shapeshift, a voice for legs. That kind of thing. 

He has seen many an unexpected customer wander into his city, but the champion of Hydaelyn? He’s positively tickled. He flicks some poor, unfortunate specter aside and dismisses them without thought. It wouldn’t do for him to welcome such a prestigious traitor with his home in such disarray.

He does not hurry to greet them, but it is a very near thing. He covers his lack of regular nonchalance with a quick summoning. “Lahabrea.”

His fellow Amaurotine slithers out from Zodiark-knows-where and grins, rows of teeth peeking out from betwixt his lips at the expression. He doesn’t mind how his scales scrape against the walls (and Emet-Selch buffs those! He aims for authenticity since exile and he would suffer no immature immortals ruining it!) when he slithers forward to rest against the smooth surface of some nameless, faceless statue. “What is it?”

“They are here,” Emet-Selch replies, “and wish for a deal. Do not interfere.”

“Your Pers─”

“They are not deserving of that name,” he hisses. “Begone with you and take Elidibus with you. Sentimental fools, the lot of you.” Lahabrea shrugs and swims his way down the halls, cutting out via a window with a powerful flick of his tail. For a snake, he is so very prone to fits of unadulterated affection. Even more so toward Emet-Selch’s ex-intended. 

What a pair they’ve become; an exiled architect and an ostracized sentry of the state. He only wishes he had the person who forced this upon him stuck at his side. They could suffer together through the eons while the world completes its sundered death throes. Him and his actualized lover. 

The one coming to see him, only a handful of times Rejoined, cannot compare. 

They speak to him with hesitance and confidence bundled into one and glance all too openly at his many fins and stiletto-like claws. He can see the tremor in their gossamer aether where it ebbs and surges against his own. It’s too gentle, to intimate of them to let it loose in that way, but they do not seem to notice how they instinctively reach out toward him. Searching. Seeking. 

He will not allow them any of him. They are wholly undeserving of even so much as a fraction of his devotion.

He draws his aether back inside and allows it to burn hot inside his core. It would not be the first time he has spat out boiling water or allowed himself to flare brilliantly. His photophores light as if in warning, a low glow lighting his face eerily when he answers their query for his assistance. “What is it you desire that Hydaelyn has not yet given you? Beauty? A lack of chronic pain? Your true memories?”

“Mortality,” they respond, following after him and struggling against the current he creates. Ah, they’re so small like this. A truly pitiful being. “I know you can grant it to me, Hades.”

He frowns and looks down at them, snagging a long line of octopus eggs as they pass through one of the many caves among his domain and drapes it about his neck and robes as if playing at mortal fashions. There is not a bit of care in his voice when he warns, “Now, that’s a dangerous wish. Are you so keen to squander what little favor Hydaelyn has given you that you would forsake your fate for a Spoken princeling?”

They flush from their cheeks down to their chest, even their fins flicking about in agitation at his guess. “Yes,” they confirm. “What will it cost?”

“Well, only your heart,” Emet-Selch says, “which is a small price to pay, really. I am an exceedingly reasonable man.” He snaps and unfurls the length of a shimmering, golden contract before them. “All I need is your signature right here─” he instructs, tracing a line with one taloned finger “─on this contract and I can begin.”

“A heart, only?”

“Your heart, yes,” he clarifies. “Given willingly. You’ll have it back the moment the contract terms are completed.” He hands them the contract and they read through it. He can all but hear their brain attempting to process Amaurotine language and chooses to play the part of lawyer to break it down section by section. By the end, he’s tired and dead set on keeping them within his grasp (which is to say, within the Tempest. All those on land are far from his reach unless he is in the mood for a masquerade). It’s a shame they aren’t quite what he can trust with his beloved’s memories quite yet. Maybe one or two more Rejoinings and they would have been a passable vessel for such knowledge. In the meantime he asks, “Do you accept?”

They flounder before accepting and signing with a flash of aether from the tips of their fingers. “Three days. You’ll give me back my heart in three days.”

“As soon as the contract is fulfilled, yes,” he agrees. “Now, be grateful. I’m giving you a chance at mortality like your dearest little… what is its name again?”

“G’raha.”

“Like your G’raha,” Emet-Selch continues. “I do believe you’ll find it lacking, but never let it be said that I am not, at least, kind.” He sorts through a great number of materials, tossing potables and herbs into a cauldron of sorts, and pays no mind to the worryingly acidic taint to the water that is a result. Hydaelyn’s champion simply sets their jaw and watches him brew them the curse fit to steal their heart and grant them such a handicap as true mortality. They can already bleed. What else could they wish for? Death? A want to grow old? Wrinkles are passé among that society as much as they are among Amaurotines.

He reaches toward them and they press their hands to their chest when their heart jumps. He would have it as collateral at the least. It’s a foolish endeavor, their want to court and live with that Allagan prince (nevermind how Emet-Selch had allowed his family such a thing as the schematics for that empire) but he does not break his word. He’d hold their heart until the contract is fulfilled one way or another. 

If they manage to have their love reciprocated, he will give them back their heart and watch the Allagans crumble just to bring them despair. If they fail, well… he can keep all of them. It’s a win-win situation when either outcome will have them come crawling back to him like the imitation immortal they are. 

He pulls, rending their vital aether from their chest and watching their magic short circuit at the loss. They could die without, but that is none of his concern. It wouldn’t break the terms and he would still have what he wanted. With something like their heart, he could find the remaining pieces of them and slot them all together by force. The vessel may have perished, but he is not above making them a new one (a better one, the one that matched him in size and prowess). 

He inhales, consuming what they’ve given, and the cauldron fizzles, aether settling down into a stable curse. “Come here, little one, and let me grant your wish.”

They do and he watches them change. What blasphemy it is to discard their semi-blessed form for something so wretched as legs and a need for air. Their fins run ragged, thin membrane melting into the waters while bones merge and shift, until the thing before him is some combination of man and immortal. 

They struggle, a hand already wrapped about their throat for need of oxygen, and he allows them a breath of it in a current to sweep them off to the nearest beach. He settles down and watches, day by day, as they struggle against the growing stagnant aether in their body, limbs leeching of all color and veins turning golden. He watches them press closely to that princeling and kiss him, believing it to be a solution to their need for love, but he simply stares at them and asks if he knows them. 

They had dragged him from the depths and imbued his soul with their own aether and he does not know them? Emet-Selch laughs to himself. How frail mortal minds are to be manipulated by a lack of that same life-giving aether. Only someone like his Persephone could doom themself so thoroughly. 

He watches them transform back and rises from the waters to collect them. “Have you had enough fun, little fool?”

They quake at the reality that they’ve failed, but their heart rushing back into their body is more of a concern when it sets recognition filtering through their princeling’s eyes. He reaches for them, attempting to take them back and to give them the love he holds, but Emet-Selch simply snaps. 

They vanish from the land and the Allagan empire falls the very next turn of the century, a newborn immortal nestled among the halls of a necropolis oblivious to that which they’ve left behind. “Dearest Hades, have I been gone all that long?”

“Only a few millennia, nothing much. Elidibus has missed you.” He offers a hand when he asks, “Would you like to visit him?”

They smile, happy and oblivious, and take his hand.

Askbox | Ask Rules | Commissions | FFXIVWrite 2019 Fills

[vfdlibrarian-archives]

I’m making character tags~

They’re based on how people’s info would be filed in the catalog, under an anagram of their name + their call number.

So they read like a bunch of shitposts but crafted shitposts

[tearofaeons]

CAN YOU GUSH ABOUT ONE OF YOUR LEAGUE F/OS? JHIN OR THRESH OR BOTH IF YOU'D LIKE :3 -reallyintouglyfos

YEAH!? ABSOLUTELY. @reallyintouglyfos​

I remember when i first started playing league :0 i preferred “passive” champs like Sona and Soraka, and refused to play tanks or anything that was “front line”, so, at the time, i didn’t like him for this exact reason. I saw his kit and playstyle as a big No Thanks.

“I could never play a champ like him!! he’s too aggressive”

So i pretended to hate him while secretly thinking he was kind of interesting, but you think i admitted it? no, i was a TOTAL TSUNDERE FOR ALMOST 2 YEARS!!!

Fastfoward to the day gave him a shot in a game of bots and then uhhh kept playing him non-stop for 4 weeks ._. and uh yeah. that’s how i fell in love with a skeleton. epic fail.

but i have my reasons ok.

But under read more because i’m shy òwò

He is! so! FUN! We “synergize” so well! so to speak. I can make plays and at the same time peel my ADC, which is great!! he’s my go-to support when i can’t play Sona -v-

So, he is a very cruel specter – obviously– but i really like this about him. I always enjoyed making the enemy team “suffer” by placing wards in the right places and never letting them kill the adc, so when i’m playing with him, doing that is even more fun! if that makes sense? it’s kind of like: “Oh i’m glad you’re enjoying this as much as i am!” but you know, in a more harmless way. Sometimes, i like to think we’re kind of like a team! c: and that i “help” him collect souls or something. I know that’s very OOC (he doesn’t need anybody) but, yeah

Oh!! that’s also something i like about him!! He’s very independent– he marches to the beat of his own drum. Something that i think is great about him is that when people try to stop/kill him, he doesn’t get mad, he’s just finds it very amusing, and says things like:

“Hm, really? you’re going to do that? well, i hope you don’t regret your decision…”

he’s just… so cocky… and i hate it dkjskdjsk bUT I LOVE IT.

Our personalities are very different! He finds joy in the misery of others, and likes to be the one causing it, but me? i get sad when other people are sad– i feel their pain. He’s eloquent and graceful, meanwhile i struggle to ask someone for a favor, and the list goes on! but, that’s something i like about him and our… dynamic? that we’re so different from each other! (  -ω- )و 

He is “incredible strong-willed and methodical” (as he was described in his lore) and well– isn’t that amazing? Imagine being locked with a bunch of haunted items that insult and prey on your insecurities, and being strong enough to endure it FOR YEARS. That’s impressive!

Tragically! he ended up giving in and slowly became who he is now. While what he went through doesn’t justify torturing people, it does adds layers to his characters, and offers potential ideas.

SPEAKING OF LAYERS, I could talk ALL DAY about the way his mind/brain works and the unique way in which he sees the world! he’s really interesting and fun to write! but,, hmm… i wont talk about that..Not today at least…. >v>

And, you know, if you think about it, he’s kind of like the embodiment of those thoughts that people get when holding something that’s easily breakable: what happens if i bend this thing? what happens if i break it? And hey!? i think that’s really cute! like!! stOP skdjskghdfjg.

He’s so creative! and enjoys experimenting and trying new things! when he isn’t using this talent to torture people (that seems to be a recurrent theme ;; >o>), he can actually do and create very impressive stuff. I like to think that if he was born in Piltover or Zaun, he would had been a renowned scientist–someone who, maybe, could have invented a lot of useful objects that help people in someway.

Also, this is more of a headcanon that’s somewhat supported by canon, but, the fact that he can look into someone’s soul/eyes and instantly know almost everything about them is comforting to me, it should be creepy, but i think is nice. Like, Oh? someone who knows what i’m thinking? not having to struggle to put my feelings into words because the other person already knows what i want to say? someone who knows exactly how i feel? amazing.

Although, he prefers to take his time and get to know and understand me without using his powers, he does this because, well, it’s more natural, but, also because he doesn’t want to look into my soul without permission-- He doesn’t want to intrude into my memories by accident and make me uncomfortable. He respects me and my boundaries, and gives me space when i need it :0 (WHICH I REALLY APPRECIATE, BY THE WAY).

I COULD GO ON BUT LET’S TALK ABOUT..... his design,,,,

LOOK AT HIM. WHAT A HANDSOME SPECTER, HOW DOES HE HAS SO MUCH STYLE?? HOW DOES ONE GET TO THIS LEVEL? IS IT BECAUSE OF THE BLACK MIST? BECAUSE IF IT’S, THEN BOY I’M PAYING THE ISLES A VISIT.

(Ugh.. .. his cape looks so comfortable… i want to wear it ;v;do you think he would mind if i borrowed it?)

tbh he makes me want to give all my OCs a scythe. I mean, just look at him?? he makes scythes look so cool, especially in his attack animations (You can look at them here!). See “Attack 1mid” for example, put it on slow-mo, and just notice the way he moves his arm over his head to avoid getting hit by the chain LI KE,  H UH UH? OH MYGOD?? 

also, the way his “hair” moves is 👌 👀 *click* NICE.

His animations are pretty great in general, so feel free to look at them if you want–especially Dark Star. They’re not as polished as the newest champions, but they’re still good, imo.

ALSO UHHHHH CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS VOICE?? is FRICKING fantastic!! both in english and spanish. The actors did an excellent job with him (imo), especially with his laugh. I mean, gosh… his LAUGH :‘v please listen to it, listen to that beautiful sound… (But be careful! it’s loud). I like all of his quotes, but my favorite ones are this one and this one.

And, for some reason, he has his own face on his scythe, which, i have to say, is really cute 💖 ;v;

!?!?! why is he cute!?!? SDKSJDKSJ STOP!! ;o; 

AND THAT’S NOT MENTIONING HIS OTHER SKINS I MEAN???

DARK STAR?? highgH NOOON!?

COULD I PLEASE have 20 more of these green little ghosts dudes thank u.

[amostfascinatingpuzzleindeed]

How do they put out a candle?

Hershel Gives A Candle A Soft, Careful, Blow——He Is Extremely Cautious When Doing So, As A Candle Flame Is Still A Flame Even If Small. He Then Puts It Back On Where He Had It.

[leafofkudzu]

✨✨✨ for whoever you'd like to talk about!

(@the-tired-commander)

Using a number generator to pick since there's a lot to choose from! Plus, I'll give an IC and OOC fact since people seem to find how I incorporate playstyle and stuff into backstories interesting! :D

✨ #30 - Yui Kaiho

IC: This reality's version of herself is nonverbal. She can speak but rarely does, preferring to sign or write her words since her voice is often lost due to Revenant Shenanigans™. While that might sound vaguely ominous it’s really not - she just has a lot of iterations of herself bouncing around in her head that usually agree (especially during combat) but definitely all try to say things at once if given the opportunity, resulting in a lot of nothing actually making its way out. 

OOC: Her entire gimmick of self-channelling from alternate/doomed realities is based on her being my Ironman permadeath character, and the other realities would've been the runs where she died and was deleted/remade. She ended up getting repurposed into a raid alt before the challenge even began, but the spirit of it stuck around in her backstory (and one day other iterations of her will run it for real).

✨ #56 - Lorn Dustpaw

IC: She actually quite enjoyed her time with the Aetherblades, and was not removed from the organization willingly. During their flight-slash-foray into the Edge of the Mists, she was separated from her fellows and spit back out into Tyria, left to pick up the pieces and answer for her crimes. She served her time and found herself manning ostensibly legal airships once more, though her brusque personality and tendency to strongarm never truly left her, which does limit the kind of crews that will take her on.

OOC: Whenever I delete or do a major design retcon on a character (it doesn't happen a lot but every so often), I always try to keep some aspect of them alive by passing it on to a new character. In Lorn's case, I'd been stuck trying to lock down design details when the EoD beta hit and I designed a specter I liked so much that I yote my least-favorite thief (Grisha, though I doubt anyone even noticed he existed) into the void to make room for her. And so it was that this doomed thief's color scheme and general backstory were passed on to Lorn, in a form that I definitely like more than their source character's (sorry bud).

✨ #05 - Naveen Sen

IC: Naveen is descended from one of the Heroes of Nightfall, though any notoriety this may have given her family in Elona is thankfully nonexistent in Kryta, where they keep the fact hidden to avoid drawing unnecessary eyes to their operations in the shadows. There’s a particularly pompous Ascalonian noble who likes to boast about his heritage to try and impress her, but needless to say he has no idea who he’s speaking to, or that she knows who his actual ancestors were thanks to her sources in the Order of Whispers.

OOC: I’d have to run the numbers to be 100% sure, but I can say with like 99% confidence that Naveen is my character with the most unique outfits, barring maybe Teekzi. She started off fire-themed, switched to air, then I went ‘sure why not’ and made water and earth outfits as well to be a set of stage costumes she would theoretically use while performing. Add in her Whispers outfit and her handful of casual/RP looks, and you have an inventory packed full of armor sets that even the maximum number of gearsets couldn’t hold (not that I have more than the base number unlocked on her anyway though).

[fincherly]

speaking of descole is it just me or did he seem more... unstable in the movie? it's not like he was weirdly ooc it just seemed like he was quicker to anger and make rash decisions. he actively tried to kill layton n crew while iirc in the games he didn't avoid hurting them he just didn't go out of his way to do so. makes me wonder if he was going thru somethin at the time and was already cracking under it... sorry for the idea dump i thought youd like som Des Content to think abt for funsies :V

Okay more rambling under the cut

So we have no idea how long he had been a criminal or what he was doing before Last Specter. It’s unlikely the whole Misthallery situation was his first experience, but we don’t know how major the others were.

No one knew of him, so either he was less open about his alias or he worked in secret as opposed to being flashy and drawing attention to a person instead of a series of acts. It’s possible that he had never had a confrontation like that - if no one (especially Layton - it mentions in MM and AL that he keeps up with the news of the Yard, with its little inner workings n all that; he would have heard of a vigilante called Descole before that) had known of him or had the slightest clue why he wanted the Golden Garden in the first place, then that was the first time he’d been uncovered. Or it could have been the first time he was in disguise as Descole, but that’s less likely. You have to learn how to move in clothes like that in a fight.

So, in the mindset that he was relatively inexperienced with being so out, having so much going wrong and so many people after him at once, it’s possible he developed anxiety about failing more than previously. His entire goal is to prove he’s better than Targent and the Azran alike, looking to unearth their deepest secrets and solve their puzzles singlehandedly. He needed to be perfect in order to do that - one misstep and it all falls to shit.

He prepared a lot in Ambrosia; a full castle was built, an opera was composed, and the Crown Petone was set up in that period of time. He put an insane amount of foresight into it, even going so far as to put traps in rooms, probably counting on a certain someone getting nosy. He thought of everything.

So when it doesn’t work, and Melina’s singing does nothing, he’s terrified. He’s confused. He commands her to sing again, and when that doesn’t work, he has a breakdown. Layton comes along and steals the show. He was probably only feeling dread and fury at that point in time - this was the second time in a row some amateur had one-upped him. All that work, and he was still bested. If I were him, I would be terrified right then; if I couldn’t get this right, even when I thought it was perfect, how will I do the rest?

It struck me as odd how angry he got at Layton when Ambrosia was finally lifted. He got what he wanted, right? Why was he mad?

I don’t think he gave two shits about Ambrosia after that. It rose, whoop-dee-friggin’-doo, but Layton figured out the whole puzzle in the span of maybe a day while he’s spent close to four months on it. He’s furious, and scared. He now knows he can’t do this without other people’s help. Whether they know it or not, his goal was shattered, and that freaked him out.

So I think terror and fury led him to his breakdown. He was basically disgraced, his entire plan and goal thrown out the window and forcing him to compromise. It made him realize he wasn’t a lone wolf.

[askbohemiancompany]

Shipping and Trust Meme Compilation

In the effort to clear down on the OOC I shall consolidate all the memes from the last month or two into one post.

Muse Trust Test Meme

askreaper-dusknoir asked: (( I know I haven't updated but how about ❣⁉from Grohl about Darcia? ;v; ))

❤❤❤❤

“Darcia is one of the most important people in the world to me. She’s beautiful, kind, loving and she very much loves what she does. Everytime I see her I get so happy!”

A brief pain went through Grohl’s heart. “I have not seen her in so long. The sheer chaos of the last few months, relocating and saving Gwen has cut down the time I have been able to see her. I…want to do something special for her.”

negativenox asked: (( ❣ for Gwen and Weather's trust towards Adeline! ))

❤❤❤ Gwen and Adeline

“Okay now, hear me out. Yes, she is a pill who is a walking, talking wet blanket who I would have nothing in common with. But…I do trust her. I know in a pinch she will help me if I needed it, because it is in her nature to try and help others. No matter what.”

❤❤ Weather and Adeline

“Considering she is a friend of Darius, I would trust her fairly well. She always seemed nice from what little I have seen of her.”

thetakenpokemon asked: (Now for the meme! How about ❣⁉ for Mariah and Ren'Gul? And for some speculation, how what about ❣⁉ for Freddy and Asmund? And I'll also throw in ❣⁉ for Mariah again but with the late Zen'Ro, 'cus I'm very curious)

(This is just based off their personalities and initial appearances.)

Mariah and Ren'Gul-  ❤

“I can not attest to his personality, but based on his actions encountering UB- Light, he is someone I could trust with a mission. If he gets back on his feet I would not mind hiring him for a mission.”

Freddy and Asmund 💔💔

“Eugh. I don’t know. Everything I have seen out of this guy just seems to be a walking workplace nightmare. Rebellious, violent, ruthless and shockingly racist; I would try to avoid working with this guy as much as possible. I would hope to never work with guy.”

Mariah and Zen’Ro-  💔💔💔

“This thing. There is no way we could even try to control. No one like it should be attempted to be captured. It should just be eliminated on sight. That thing was a monstrosity and I sincerely commend those who took it on.”

gregnas-the-grouch asked: (( ❣⁉ David's thoughts on Bao and Hui. Perhaps Leigh and Freddy's thoughts on Yemir? ))

💔 💔 💔 = David and Bao+Hui

David was still feeling uneasy about both of these women. Both in equal measure but for different reasons. “These women. They are people who are a threat to society.”

“Baozihi ran a meritocratic society, which in theory would work and would be something I could appreciate. But the problems she had with the kingdom that operated sheerly on strength and strength alone. This led to her trying to expand blindly without considering the state of her nation, encouraging blind loyalty from all of her ‘cult. It is what drove several people to me. They wanted to get stronger all for their queen. The kingdom’s foundation was quite literally built on sand.”

“As for Hui. She is scary because of her sheer devotion to whatever she finds sacred. I have always said the most dangerous people are the inhumanly strong but subjugate themselves to someone weaker than them without any hesitation. It does not help that Hui is one of the few people that could kill me.”

💔 💔 💔 Leigh @ Yemir

“Gigantes is a walking ecological disaster waiting to happen. She needs to be hunted down and eliminated at all costs.”

💔 💔 Freddy @Yemir.

“If I had to choose between encountering that giant walking stomach or my wife…I would choose the giant. She may try to kill me, but at least I can hide from her.”

askpluminescent asked: ❣ also I wanna say Quill and vonnegut and Flavian and Laramie for some reason, if ya want :u  ❣ would Nigel find Quill trustworthy? :u

☰ = Vonnegut and Quill

“Hmm. He seems harmless enough. Just someone obsessed with culture. But if his claims about being from space claim to be true. It might be worth investigating.”

❤ = Flavian and Laramie

“Not gonna lie. I would not mind talking with the kid on music. Pick his brain a little bit. Granted I would not move mountains for the kid, but he is someone I would not mind talking to if I ever spoke to him again.”

❤= Nigel and Quill

“Hmm. Despite this guy’s ramblings about being from outer space, he does seem like a good contact I could have for getting word out on my club.” Nigel looked from left to right for a few seconds, looking embarrassed a bit. “Also I kind of want to get similar sunglasses. Not to mention I want to get a scotch with him and talk.”

banishedblossomdancer asked: (( I really wanna see his reaction forgive me, Kieron ❣⁉ Keiko :'D ))

💔 💔

“That bitch! Don’t think I have not forgotten what she pulled on me.” Kieron’s tail was whipping back and forth, erratically and arrhythmic. “Trust me I have a very…appropriate plan to get my vengeance on her.” Despite his helmet covering his face, Kieron sounded content, gleeful even as he spoke. “If I can just get her mentally, I can make her do and act however I want. And if worse came to worse I would cripple her if worse came worse.” The psychic repeated ‘worse came to worse’ without even realizing it. Showing his disregard for the hybrid.

“After all, with what I want to do to her, she wouldn’t need everything.”

Ship Meme

im-crow asked: ✖ literally anyone I want some hate up in here ✖

Gwen would find his music tastes shit and his hat hipsterish.

Sorry I’m not too familiar with your blog

askteamorcd asked: ✿ Ciel and Lenox? :3 Birdy Birds!

I can totally see them being wrestle buddies! Though Gwen would still be off-put by how Ciel would look like a fusion of her and Len.

Also I can see for a joke Gwen and Lenox doing the fusion dance and Ciel jumps in while they hide somewhere.

dangers-and-magic asked: ✿-Briza and Mariah? They are both manipulative and cunning, though Briza is less attached to emotions and does not get surprised by betrayals. Therefore, giving fake secrets or something if Mariah wanted something Briza would not give to her. Which might be plans that Briza does herself.

I can summarize any relationship with Briza and Mariah as such.

Seriously though, Briza and Mariah would never see eye to eye. Mariah would see her too much as a liability to her goals, but that would not discourage her from having her do some tasks that could benefit her. Some could be compared to Uriah going to battle under king David’s orders.

gregnas-the-grouch asked:(( ✖ with Hui and David? )

Hoo boy.

This could only end poorly for David. Not only would Hui be the one person David would fear, he would actively and quietly do things that would prepare himself for an all-out fight. He would start by trying to get Leigh and Vonnegut to increase their stock in anti-ghost technology.

When the two inevitably clash, he would be at a disadvantage, but he would try to throw anything at his disposal at the vengeful specter. Mechs, weapons to destroy ghosts, and even that thing involving her son he has kept secret from everyone.

banishedblossomdancer asked: (( ✿ I think Kari and Brittany could be very good and adorable friends! Also, ✿ Len and Naida, if Len can get past how loud and brash Naida's jolliness could be :D; At least as respected fighters if nothing else ))

I could see that working. Kari and Brittany could become pretty good friends. Though considering her association with a known fugitive it could lead to tensions with Lenox and the rest of the BC. It could even lead to a character moment with the BC and Len where Len could potentially lose her job trying to keep her girlfriend’s friend safe. Plus Brittany would try to get some of Kari’s fashion sense.

Hmm. I can see Len and Nadia becoming friends. Though it would take a while to get past her very jolly nature. That’s not to say they would not get along. In fact, if Freddy were to align with Perceval, the two could possibly come to understand one another. And of course, sparing buddies!

askpluminescent asked: ✖ for Scarlett and Kieron cause I'm pretty sure Scarlett finds the guy a total creep. Also ✿ could see Ciprian and Freddy maybe working together sometime, or maybe just having a chat.

Yeah, trust me. Not relationship with Kieron will go positively. I could see him poking into her genetics, mainly inquiring on her ears. Then he could let it slip on what species he finds attractive. He could even offer her some sort of prolonged stat boost in return for favors later.

Ciprian and Freddy could possibly get along, though they could possibly have some clashes over some matters, namely their associates. I can see them working together on a mission and having some team synergy too. Though how Ciprian would handle seeing the venoshock in action.

dailygardevoir asked:✿ HMMM how about Freddy and Remus b/c they sorta know each other! >:Ta

Yeee!

Maybe Freddy could try to catch up with him after their one night fling. He may try to get Remus back into his old line of work, being the devil in his ear so to speak. Not to say Freddy would backstab Remus, in fact, he would actually go out of his way to protect Remus, as he may still find him attractive. He just wouldn’t want to see an old colleague not use their talents to their fullest.

[hellsmouthhq]

HELLSMOUTH EVENT: SPECTER.

conclusion.

the day clicked away. tik tok tik tok...

humans, vampire, witches alike, any waking creature who couldn't escape themselves became crushed under the weight as the day unfolded. as sun came to rest bodies began to pile up. so many unable to carry the burden of their very worst deeds and the failure to confront them.

it would have been a success if half the bodies hadn't been human ones.

the goal had been replication of a powerful curse designed by one of the very most powerful witches of all time....but regular witches wielded nothing even close to her substantial skill. not to mention, a conduit was needed. the original curse had used brotherhood of the five members, haunting their killer until their own success came about in the form of tooth for a tooth. lacking such thing, this version of the spell had rested on the individual's mind ---- but one's own mind didn't share that same vendetta as a hunter out for retribution....and for those who lacked guilt? who lacked doubt? who lacked remorse? a display of past failures didn't break them. for many, it incited wrath more then anything else.

among the weakest of minds were human minds. once the curse itself had been perfected it latched onto all in it's proximity, the choice of selection no longer an option. so many humans didn't harbor that oh-so-helpful grey morality that governed the supernatural, and were burdened with guilt for so much as stepping on ant. needless to say, many minds couldn't take the potent reminder of suffering they incurred...

the rate of death in a single day was expediential.

any success was far outweighed by loss, and thus, the initiative's experiment came to an end.

NOTES.

ooc;

the knowledge of the initiative being the cause would be unknown to anyone without knowledge of their inner workings. all their revenants and creatures would be forbidden to speak of it.

feel free to continue event related threads however please do not start any new ones.

muses could come to investigate the circumstances, and realizing the commonality could come to suspect other factions or to blame incorrect parties ( have fun with that ).

we hope you enjoyed !