#I feel like I'm speaking into the void with this one

[gallusrostromegalus]

Zommari Reraux is quietly terrified by Tousen.

Not that the man has ever threatened him. If anything, Tousen was consistently polite, if not outright Congenial with him and the other arrancar, whether they deserved it or not.

It's the eyes.

Zommari relies on his eyes- he has hundreds and hundreds of them, taking in the world around him from every angle, keeping him safe. More importantly, when his eyes take in the world, they take the world into his heart.

That's why he calls his resurrection ability Amor- for him, to see the world is to love it. He loves Las Noches, the way the light of the moon and stars outside and the artificial sun inside dance in it's shimmering halls. He loves Hueco Mundo, the sight of the vast horizon of the desert expanding the horizons of his heart. he loves everyone he sees- how they move, their colors, the sight of thier faces! Zommari wishes he could take them all- take everything! And keep it in his heart, where it's safe.

He's downright gregarious for an arrancar, following his colleagues and superiors around, watching them with adoration- with Amor. He makes a point of trying to look all of them in the eye at least once- to see into their souls, to feel the connection- to keep some part of them safe in his Amor. Just in case.

So the first time he looks into Tousen's eyes is something of a shock.

"...It doesn't cause me pain, if that's a consolation." Tousen speaks up after a too-long moment of silence from Zommari.

"I- I didn't mean to offend, Lord Tousen!" Zommari yelped, stumbling back to the other side of the lift from the underground laboritories of Las Noches to the top of the dome. "I was just- you don't act like you're blind?"

"On the contrary, by definition I do!" Tousen teased, dropping back to rest on the elevators railing, perfectly aware of where it was. "Should I be groping for objects I've misplaced? Constantly searching for the furniture or running into walls?"

"I- I'm sorry. I've. I've never met anyone like- well. Missing senses aren't exactly adaptive for Hollows." Zommari muttered. "...What's it like?"

"Dark!" Tousen nodded cheerfully.

Zommari stared blankly.

"...Or so I'm told, at any rate. It's not like I have anything to compare it to- I've been as I am for as long as I can remember." He shrugged, waving his elegant hand evocatively. "Don't pity me- I can't miss something I've never experienced."

"You don't find it frightening?" Zommari muttered.

"Mr. Rereaux, I live like this." He pouted, disappointed.

"No, I mean- I can't imagine not being able to take the world around me into my heart! The light is- Even to those who can see, I can't explain it!" Zommari sighed.

Tousen was silent for a long time, face turned so his neutral expression wasn't quite pointed at Zommari. When he did speak, his voice was soft, small.

"...Perhaps my heart is too full of grief to let any light in."

"What do you mean?" Zommari asked, the chill of dread creeping up his spine.

"Do you know what Bankai is?" Tousen asked, voice light and pleasant with menace.

"It's um. Like a second resurrection?" Zommari tried.

"Imagine if the you that is you and the you that is your resurrected form could build a new psychic ability together- the shape of that mutual creation between you and your soul is Bankai."

"...Oh. Huh." Zommari hummed, still trying to parse the first part of the sentence. "What form does yours take?"

"Mine is a Senseless Void!" Tousen laughed darkly, then pointed his face up at Zommari with a grin that carried a sharper edge than Hallibel's teeth.

"-And I'm using 'senseless' in the most literal meaning. Anyone within is not just blind to light and reiatsu, but they are deafened, can't smell or taste or touch- you can't even feel your own heart beat! The sensation is as close to being dead as one can get without actually shuffling off the mortal coil!" he laughed, delighting in laying out the horror of it like setting the main course of a shared meal.

Dozens of Zommari's eyes had opened up without his permission to stare at the shinigami in horror. "That sounds like being in Actual Hell."

"Really?" Tousen smiled as the lift finally reached the roof and the gate pinged open. "I find it quite soothing!"

Zommari was pretty sure he set a new personal record for his Sondido getting the hell out of that elevator.

AEIWAM Question: What do the various Espada Think of Tousen? Follow-up question, will they, the bunch of dumbasses that they are (because Aizen made them for loyalty, not thinking), declare him their unquestioned leader once Aizen, Gin and Urloquia fork off to see the cosmic taffy pull (also presuming that Barrigan winds up face down in a ditch per canon)?

Bless you for asking this, I needed something to chew on. I'm going to answer these one at a time because the post would be insanely long, and how the thought of him Before the Battle of Karakura Probably:

---

Aaroniero and Arruruerie are SURE they've met before, and that they owes the man a debt of gratitude.

It's possible, they suppose. They have consumed and absorbed the memories of so many hollows that maybe they remember the face from a hollow he killed.

At least, that's what they hope is going on.

But they have Nightmares. Not of being pursued by Shinigami but of being the Shinigami in hot pursuit. Dreams of walking through a city, surrounded by humans that adore them. Names and Faces- Rukia and her dipshit older brother, Jushiro with the nice couch they sometimes pass out on after long nights- if Jushiro's husband wasn't already there. ...Memories, of meeting each other, and falling in love. How it felt as natural to look up to her as it was to gaze at the moon. How waking up to him felt as natural as the dawn. Memories of being married by Captain Ukitake, after Tousen had done them the inexplicable favor of organizing the whole party and acquiring wedding rings. He loves organizing things for people. Ukitake had smiled. Especially weddings. I just hope it's not guilt from the one he didn't get to. His husband had frowned.

That's impossible, of course. They know who they are, how they arose from the vile muck in the shadowy pits of Hueco Mundo. They never stood in the sun one late afternoon, to marry, not with how it burns.

...and yet.

There's no harm in being polite, right? They don't mind locking Glottineria in it's scabbard with an audible click when he comes into the room, to affirm lack of hostilities. Or giving him the cup of tea Aizen gives everyone at his insufferable meetings afterwards- it's not like they can drink it! ...And if sometimes, when they've been working late in the lab studying the effects and causes of Hollowfication, when Tousen gets tired and starts to call them "Kaien" and "Miyako"-

-Well, what's the harm in answering in the voices he expects to hear?

[zeronetxt]

who is ur fav bsd character, and whats ur fav headcanon for them?

I have multiple, but I'll answer with the reason I started watching BSD

✨Chuuya Nakahara✨

I relate to him on a vertical level and that's why I kin him HA

He's probably queer (i say that as a queer person myself)

Not necessarily gay or trans, he might be somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum (I am)

He's a tough guy badass who is lowk a bit built, but he probably has a Hello Kitty collection

Or maybe a Pochacco or Pompompurin collection since he a dog lover

Speaking of dogs, he pets stray dogs

He didn't keep growing because he didn't have the genetic ability to (idk how to explain this one well, but in his backstory when he came from a void and he technically a god bod)

He actually respects the ADA (except for that one bandaged dude)

He would honestly fight Tetchou (Tecchou, however you spell it, Tetchō) for custody over Kenji (sibling fun time)

(i feel like i'm just gna base this off a kenji and chuuya bonding session) Chuuya would be scared of cows if they misbehave (but he doesn't want to look bad so he bottles it up and tries not to cry about it later)

PM redheads probably have a GC

not even a hc, i LOVE corruption chuuya he's just badass

probably learned how to ride a motorbike during his time in the sheep, but idk driving law in japan, so he probably never got to ride one until he joined the port mafia

And probably my fav headcanon would be Chuuya and Ranpo get along despite their time in Poe's novel (he also likes the nickname Ranpo gave him)

Like that one scene from Lilo and Stitch, "She thinks it's fancy?" would so apply (and just fyi, I think it's fancy too)

but yeah, i think those would be some of my fav hcs but then again, i just woke up and my brain is mush rn hehe i might do a ranpo one later l

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

I'd like to request a fic where Chappell and Reneé both comfort because dysphoria during their period... lots of praise, and maybe some light fluffy smut? thanks <3

Absolute Train Wreck

|| Chappell Roan x Reneé Rapp x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; smut, reader on their period, heavy dysphoria descriptions, comfort, period sex, reader receiving, breast play, orgasms, light choking, praise kink, light swearing, use of 'good boy'

|| Summary; when Chappell and Reneé get home, they make sure to take care of reader.

Requests open!

Started; November 7th

Finished; November 8th

~~~

A groan left your lips as you clung to the sheets wrapped tightly around you. Bucket by the side of your bed; just in case. Because your periods? Left you an absolute train wreck. Not just from the physical/emotional pain, but the mental too. It took a pretty big toll on your mental health. A constant reminder that your body wasn't what you wanted it to be. Biting you lip, a small whimper escaped your throat just as the front door opened. Chappell and Reneé were home.

You tried to sit up, call out to them, but immediately felt a wave of nausea. So you made the smart choice and laid back down. Waiting for them to come to you. It certainly didn't take long for them to figure out where you were. Finding you exactly where they'd left you that morning. Curled up as deep in your sheets as you could be, with a heating pad sprawled across your midriff.

Their eyes softened as they shared a look with one another and then joined you in bed. Chappell to your right, Reneé to your left and pressed up against your back. Her arm wrapped around you, resting just above the heating pad while Chappell kissed your forehead.

"How you feeling, baby?" Reneé whispered, lips brushing the back of your neck as she kissed the skin there. You simply whined in response, finding yourself feeling needy with your girls against you the way they were.

Chappell laughed a bit at your whine and her hand cupped your cheek as she propped herself on her elbow. Eyes locking with yours," have you had water? Food?" She asked. You could see the concern in her eyes grow as you shook your head. You haven't been able to leave your bed all day. "Wait here." She gave your cheek a small squeeze then left the bed for the kitchen. You tried making a grabby hand towards her, but Reneé's hand came up and intertwined with your fingers. Bringing your hand back down to rest on your stomach with hers.

"Let her do this for you." She murmured, moving herself just a little bit closer. As her other hand moved along your body, Reneé could feel the tension. It was more than just you being on your period. She could just tell. Something else was bothering you," you feeling okay? Besides your period." She asked and she could feel as your shoulders grew tenser.

"I... I'm fine." You whispered, lying through your teeth knowing damn well you weren't. As previously mentioned, your period took a big toll on your mental health. Feeling little tiny little stabs to your mind and heart. The questions plaguing your mind. Why did I have to be born this way? Why can't I be who I want to be? Why must I suffer through this?

You closed your eyes as each one flooded to the surface. Trapping you in an endless void of the prison that was your body. Your jaw clenched, Reneé noticed. She knew you lied to her. That much was obvious even without the tension in your body. "Baby, talk to me. You'll feel worse keeping it all in."

You turned to face her, heating pad sliding down between the two of you. You opened your eyes and were met with the concern that glazed hers. Just as you were about to speak, Chappell returned. Holding a plate of your favourite comfort snack and a glass of water. She sat down with you, holding the glass to your lips as she helped you drink. You were grateful for the break in conversation. The change of topic. Even if it only lasted for a minute. As the glass left your lips and was placed on the counter, Reneé looked to you expectantly. Silently urging you to continue whatever you had been about to say.

Chappell noticed the tension in the room and raised an eyebrow," I was gone a minute or two. What the hell happened?" Reneé glanced to her, then back to you. Chappell saw how vulnerable you seemed. It registered to her that more was going on. Something you weren't telling them.

"It's just... the dysphoria." You finally mumbled out. After what left like the longest minute of their lives. Both girls frowned and Chappell turned your chin up, so your eyes met with hers.

"Y/N... I wish I could take that feeling away from you. But I know no matter what we say the thoughts will always be there, won't they?" She started to say and you gave a gentle nod, making her sigh. It pained them both to see you so down on yourself," is there something we can do to help?"

You thought about it. Wondering if there was anything that would make it even the slightest bit better, or at least distract you from how you're feeling. And then you thought of it," praise and sex..?" You asked slowly. The two shared a glance and then mirrored smirks. Before looking back to you.

"Of course, baby." Reneé smiled, gently turning you from your side to your back. "You look so fucking handsome..." She murmured, Chappell nodded in agreement. Placing a soft kiss to your lips. Your lips moved against each other with a slow ease.

As the kiss parted, Chappell whispered against your lips. "So... so handsome and such a good boy, aren't you?" She practically purred, her hand gently cupping your neck. Fingers playing with the back of your hair.

You melted under her touch and words, nodding your head. Mouth slightly open as if to speak, but whatever words were there died in your throat. Feeling as Reneé's hands moved up to cup your breasts. "Can I?" She asked, gently toying with your shirt buttons. Wanting to take it off but worried about making the wrong move. When she heard a quiet yes from you, she smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth. Before getting your shirt off and away. You weren't wearing anything under, so your chest was exposed to her. Her mouth gently latched to your nipple as she played with your chest. Earning soft moans from you.

Chappell watched for a moment. Just admiring the sounds you were making. Then her hand moved your neck, cupping your jaw instead as she pulled you into another kiss. A little more passionate than the last but still soft. Being cautious about how rough they were with you. They knew that on when your period you liked things softer.

As she kissed you, her hand slid down to your clothed clit. Pushing aside the fabric until her fingers brushed your pussy. Feeling the wetness between your folds as well as the thicker substance of blood. Not that she minded. She could always clean her hands after. Chappell's fingers worked until she brought you to an orgasm. Helping you through your high before removing her fingers. "Good boy.." She praised. Your chest was rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Reneé let go of your nipple, bringing her lips to your neck and leaving a hickie.

"So good.." She agreed with Chappell. A small whimper left your lips. Feeling yourself grow tired as Reneé made sure you had some of your snack that Chappell had brought earlier. As for Chappell, she gave you a quick kiss then went and washed up her hands in the bathroom.

You cuddled up with Reneé, who held you close and moved the heating pad back over your stomach. It felt even better against the bare flesh. You let out a sigh as your eyes closed. Sleeping taking you over.

[drowning-moonlight]

Honestly I’m starting to hate the huge portion sizes at restaurants.

I know the point is to take the leftover food home and eat it for another meal but that's just not always feasible. For one thing, to me, food is just never as good after it's been in the fridge and then heated back up. It simply does not taste the same after that. I've tried the hack of reheating leftovers in the oven instead of the microwave and that does work to a degree but the food is just never as good as when fresh.

But another factor is, you don't always even have time to eat the leftovers before they go bad. I've felt this way for a while but what really spurred on this post was when I was on vacation at the beach this summer and my family went to a restaurant and I got a salmon dish with rice and broccoli. It was a huge portion. I could barely even eat half of it despite being super hungry. I guiltily took the rest with me in a to-go box. Guiltily because I knew I would just have to throw it away. And I knew I would have to throw it away because we were on vacation and leaving the next morning. There was simply no opportunity to even eat the leftovers.

I hate throwing away food. I hate food waste. It makes me feel desperately ashamed of myself. I hate the huge portions at most restaurants that basically give no other option than to waste food. I honestly wish restaurant culture wasn't like this where you're expected to want a huge portion of food so that you have take home the rest. I truly only want enough food for one meal.

I would rather just get half the food that’s typically served and pay less for it than have a huge portion that I have to take home and sometimes let rot in the fridge or throw away do to lack of time to eat it.

Does anyone understand??

[dimonds456-art]

Maladaptive daydreaming.

[museenkuss]

loving and moving my body this week (15.04.-21.04.24)

Monday. ballet beautiful x train like an angel [30 mins]

Tuesday. Pilates & Yoga Inspired Flow [19 mins]

Wednesday. Gentle morning Pilates [15 mins]

Thursday. feel good full-body pilates for positive energy [30 mins]

Friday. yoga & stretching good morning routine [12 mins]

Saturday. feel good pilates [23 mins]

Sunday. twist shimmy belly dance workout [24 mins]

Exhale to splits: Day 26 [18 mins] // Day 27 [12 mins] // Day 28 [17 mins] // Day 29 [11 mins] // Day 30 [21 mins]

___

This week marks a new beginning (new semester, new sports courses I'm excited to be taking) and an end - the exhale to splits series!! I'm extremely excited for both. Let's move, stretch, GROW this week!

In case the suggestion doesn't feel right for that day, here are some alternatives (12 minutes or less, can also be used as add-ons). No shame in taking it slow! Let's move according to our needs! :) nightime flexibility stretches // bedtime yoga stretch to release stress & tension // 8 min beginner's ballet flexibility. // 10 min | Beginner Belly Dance Workout | Slow & Smooth Tutorial // 15 min Gentle Pilates Workout For Beginners

[freakoutgirl]

i love my bi friends but i truly do need to make at least one irl lesbian friend, i can't keep hearing about men all the time i just can't

[extrasfromthevoid]

Draxum's Accidental Child Acquisition (part 1/?)

@tmntbestsibscompetiton

Summary: How Milo (though that's not yet her name) found her way into the Hidden City and into the care of the one and only Baron Draxum

OR Draxum's adventures in parenting.

----

In an innermost back alley of New York City, there is a very bored girl.

The plain red ball she’d been given—or found, she doesn’t remember—is nice, but she’s running out of games she can play on her own with it and there’s no one around to play with her.

She picks up the ball once again as it rolls back to her feet from where she kicked it against the brick wall.

The city around her thrums with activity, but the late hour means that there’s no one around.

How did this lone child end up in the depths of New York City alone? Well, even she doesn’t know that. It doesn’t matter to her anyway as the sole thought at the forefront of her mind is that she is incredibly bored.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a curious flicker of light in the corner of her eye. Looking up, a curious orb of light zips over her head.

Mesmerized, the rubber ball drops from her hands as she reaches up for the light. It weaves gracefully through her fingers before darting away, its pale blue light pulsing cheerfully. Without hesitation, she chases after it, heedless of the rubber ball bouncing away behind her, quickly abandoned.

The orb zips around the corner into a nearby alley and—strangely—through the wall behind a dumpster. She—being two and a half by generous estimates—didn’t even notice as she crossed a threshold from the surface city, to the hidden one. — She loses sight of the fun orb pretty quickly, but new wonders catch her attention pretty quickly as what once seemed to her to be a quiet city now explodes with light, life, and color. The toddler twirls around with wide eyes, trying to take in as much of her new environment as possible.

And boy is it a change from before. The surface city was quiet in its own way, save for the sounds of traffic and the occasional dog. She didn’t know, but it was late enough that it was now early, and while the City That Never Sleeps certainly lives up to its name, its comparatively sleepy early morning state can’t hold a candle to the sensory explosion of the underground city.

Giggling, she starts to run down the streets, weaving between the fascinating people walking around. She’s never seen such a fun place before! People walk around with extra sets of arms, horns, tails, wings, and all manner of skin colors and textures, and so much more!

The air smells of hot, spiced food, carts zoom through the air, pulled by creatures she can’t identify. Everything around her hums with life and energy.

It's exciting!

She pushes past two people to reach a balcony over looking a glittering city that follows the curves of the cavern and shining with all the colors of the rainbow.

She stands on the base of the railing though her chin only barely makes it over the top.

“Uh...who’s kid is that…?”

“Dunno. Do you see any panicked parent-looking types around?”

“Nah. Should we bother doing something?”

“Eh…it’ll work itself out. Long as they don’t bug me…”

Heedless, the toddler steps away from the balcony’s railing and continues to wander deeper into this fascinating new environment. — Baron Draxum is all around having a fairly rotten day. The Council of Heads has once again dismissed his concerns about the human threat and Big Mama has once again refused to release Lou Jitsu into his custody. Nothing seems to be going Draxum’s way today and it has left him in a foul mood.

So he’s going to indulge in a little of his favorite vendor food to help soothe his fraying nerves.

Just as he’s about to partake, something thumps into his legs harshly enough for him to stumble, nearly dropping his delectable indulgence and with it, the last shreds of his sanity.

He whips around, teeth bared in a menacing sneer at whoever was foolish enough to run into him. “Watch where you—“

Draxum's rage stutters as his eyes turn down towards the culprit. Sprawled on their back at his hooves is a toddler with two messy buns and a pair of overalls. A human toddler. Draxum wrinkles his nose in disgust as the wretched spawn blinks up at him with wide, dark eyes.

Draxum reaches down and picks the toddler up by the back of their clothes. They weigh very little. “How did you get in here, spawn?” He asks.

To his surprise—and annoyance—the spawn doesn’t answer. Instead, it lets out a shrieking laugh as it dangles from Draxum’s hand, feet kicking out wildly in the open air. It seems to enjoy being held like this, strangely enough.

Curious, Draxum glances around the mulling crowd. Various yokai go about their business, casting occasional curious glances in the direction of him and the human spawn, but none seem eager to claim it for themselves. From where he stands, Draxum spies no other humans in the crowd, and certainly no one that looks frantic enough to have misplaced this little creature.

Did it wander in her all on its own somehow? Draxum wonders.

An idea percolates in Draxum’s mind as he takes a bite of his food, looking over the tiny giggling human in his grasp. Perhaps, this could be an opportunity. After all, how often would Draxum be able to examine and study human behaviors from the outset of their infancy?

And more importantly, shape them. If some disgusting human couldn’t be bothered to keep a better eye on their own spawn, then perhaps it was better off with Draxum anyway.

Curiously, the spawn seems unperturbed by neither Draxum’s appearance nor the general sight of the Hidden City. It continues reaching for Draxum with pudgy hands, repeating the syllable “ba” over and over.

Draxum hums, mind made up. He takes a bite of his treat and then tucks the still giggling human-ling under his arm and walks off in the direction of his home and lab.

Perhaps if he’s lucky, this creature will become an excellent soldier. And wouldn’t it be ironic if the one to lead Draxum’s army to take back the surface world from those disgusting humans was human themself? He smiles a little at the thought. Yes, this may work out nicely.

——— As it turns out, raising a human spawn is harder than Draxum thought. Namely, the specimen—that Draxum has taken to simply calling Spawn—is the most disagreeable and stubborn creature humanity has ever produced. He has determined that Spawn is approximately two and a half years old and biologically of the female variety, but that is about all he was able to discern as Spawn refused to stay still for any further examination and forced Draxum to chase her through the lab, giggling the whole way as if they were playing a game. She may not be very fast on those unsteady legs of hers, but the clutter in Draxum’s lab makes catching her a chore whenever she darts through openings Draxum can’t pass through. Especially since the little creature seems to find Draxum’s frustration with her antics highly amusing.

On top of this, the Spawn refuses to stay in her containment cell during rest hours, either wailing until Draxum comes to quiet her or breaking out herself. Most often the latter.

Spawn spends most of the night crying. Draxum has stayed to observe Spawn as she sleeps to see what exactly causes her such violent distress. So far, he has observed no external stimulus that could be responsible for Spawn’s late night outbursts. His best hypothesis from his observations is that Spawn suffers from nightmares and seeks comfort from him in their aftermath.

Further complicating matters, Spawn is not at point in her development where she is capable of workable speech. The most she is capable of is repeatedly shouting “ba” at him and babbling incoherently as she tries to mimic what Draxum says himself.

Draxum sighs heavily, holding the squirming, giggly human ahead of him from under her arms. “It seems teaching you to speak will have to be our first priority,” he says.

“Prabababe,” she echoes, lightly slapping her hand against Draxum's wrist with her meager baby strength for emphasis.

“That’s right, little Spawn. Priority,” he says, repeating the proper pronunciation of the word the child is mimicking.

“Prabababe!” She cheers loudly.

He sets her down and pats her on her head as he turns to look for a notepad. He’ll have to make a trip to the library and start putting together a lesson plan. Perhaps he should pick up some books on child-rearing while he’s there. Raising a human spawn can’t be much different than raising a young yokai, right? Not that Draxum has experience with either, however.

And then suddenly, there's a cacophonous crash behind him, followed by the piercing sound of crying.

Draxum whips around so fast that his neck muscles cramp painfully. Spawn sits amid a pile of toppled weapons, a rather nasty cut on her right forearm, likely from a wayward blade. Tears leak from her face at an impressive rate as blood wells in the wound and dribbles down her arm, splattering across the floor and soaking into her clothes.

“Ah nuts!” He shouts, diving for the sobbing child.

She curls in on herself, pulling her injured arm close to her chest, further staining her outfit with the blood seeping from the wound, and burying her face into Draxum’s kimono as she wails. Draxum shudders involuntarily as he feels Spawn’s face fluids soak into his clothes.

“Spawn, cease this and let me inspect your injury,” he orders, prying her arm out so he can examine it.

The bad news is that it’s a fairly deep wound. The good news is that it’s also a clean one. While it speaks to the quality of the blade that caused it, it’s deep enough that this will doubtlessly require stitches.

Looks like I’ll need to put those somewhere she can’t reach, Draxum thinks as he digs through a drawer for his medical kit. A little difficult with a child in his arm, but not impossible.

He finds it tucked all the way in the back, of course. Regardless, Draxum retrieves the supplies and sets to work, all while cursing his past self for leaving him so ill-prepared.

Spawn continues to squirm and wail and cry, but Draxum doesn’t let her yank her injured arm away as he expertly stitches the long wound on her forearm closed and wraps it securely with sterile bandages. Fortunately, once Draxum completes the stitches, Spawn’s squirming lessens and her cries quiet down to blissful silence, though one punctuated by an occasional hiccuping sob. Still, it's a great deal better than the shrill wailing Spawn had committed herself to just moments ago.

His work completed and his subject thoroughly exhausted from her emotional display, Draxum sits back in his chair, staring indifferently at the mess of bandages and cleansing solution strewn over his lab table. As if sensing the opening in Draxum's defenses, Spawn wastes no time scooting herself off of the table and plopping gracelessly into Draxum’s lap.

“Hey!” He exclaims indignantly.

Predictably, the little creature pays no heed to Draxum’s protests as she curls up against his chest, gripping his robes with her tiny hands and tucking her wounded arm carefully against her own chest. And she soon falls asleep.

Draxum sighs lightly. “At least she’s finally quiet…” — Draxum swiftly returns a thoroughly exhausted Spawn to her containment cell. Detangling her is a bit of a challenge as her tiny hands are deceptively strong and grip his robes so tightly he’d momentarily feared they’d rip as he dislodged her. Tear tracks dry on her cheeks as she dozes against the pillows, the bandages covering her injury standing out starkly against the dark bedding. Even through the bandages, a faint light shines through, tracing the length of the injury.

The wound has a mystic quality to it that, Draxum concludes. He finds it odd, seeing as the chances of this random human toddler having mystic potential it laughably small. Most likely, that mystic quality came from whatever Spawn cut herself on.

“Still,” he muses quietly to himself. “It may be worth a look. Just in case.”

Packing away his medical supplies, Draxum turns his attention back to the pile of weapons he will need to find a new home for. Preferably out of a certain nosy—and fragile—human’s reach.

Over the course of his long life, Draxum has become steward of many interesting mystic weapons. Some owners return for their stowed weapons, but many never do for one reason or another. Usually it’s because they no longer need it or forget about it, but some are items of terrible power that are better off tucked away and hopefully forgotten by the inevitable march of time. Draxum can only hope that Spawn didn’t cut herself on one such weapon.

Finding the weapon doesn’t take long, as it’s the only one in the pile with bright red blood glistening along its edge.

“Hm. The odachi…,” Draxum muses, picking up the sword in one hand and reaching for the rag with another. “Not the worst possible outcome.”

He’ll have to keep an eye on Spawn for any adverse effects. The blade of this particular odachi is capable of cutting the fabric of space just as easily as it cuts flesh. Draxum can’t rightly say what might happen in this case, if anything at all. It’s doubtful--though not impossible under the right circumstances--that Spawn will gain powers like the odachi’s or lose parts of herself suddenly, but Draxum admittedly hasn’t cleaned the blade in some time, so it is a much greater possibility that Spawn could contract an infection rather than powers.

He’ll have to monitor the wound carefully as it heals. Both for infection and any...peculiarities.

Draxum wipes the blade clean and sets about gathering the weapons around his lab. He rather quickly finds himself eyeing the loose, breakable beakers of caustic chemicals littering the surfaces within reach for the heedless spawn now in his care.

Part of him now regrets his impulsive decision to take in such a small, fragile creature, but…hopefully the results will be worth the present headache.

(Next)

[laufire]

literally WHO CARES* about stefan's feelings lmao. caroline wanted him. she got him. he died, preserving their relationship in the perfect moment in time and opening the door for her to go live a fulfilling eternal life removed from his cyclical wangst. the end.

[lovesickeros]

U mean U and the others (unholy trinity of Tsaritsa simps) did drag me down a wormhole of oc-ing an existing character with lore and yet still making it adapt to your fic.

in my defense her lore is extremely vague descriptions by other people (who may be biased. staring directly at childe. staring very hard at childe.) and like. the gem description im just working with what i got. also i don't trust hoyo to write my wife correctly so as far im concerned anything they write abt her isn't canon until i approve it /j

[autumnoakes]

i hate that people seem to value my potential worth with a bachelor's degree ("you'll make more money!" as if my degree program isn't one of the least useful degrees if you're not going into med school) over my mental health. as if monthly OCD-induced and autistic meltdowns aren't bad enough.

it's not like i'm a semester or two away from graduating. i have a couple YEARS left. i'm still technically in my third year in my degree. i can only manage 3 courses at the very most and any more causes me to burn out and my executive dysfunction plummets

[theangrypomeranian]

I am having A Time TM today

[purplebass]

Woke up with the will to finish writing this sm*tty situation between Lila and Kell and a beard I started writing yesterday

I've realized that writing this type of content makes me feel better (along with writing fluff) so yeah I should write more pointless situations like this

[terrainofheartfelt]

from the pov of someone who works in medicine—hospitals do have blood banks and as far as I know family members are never asked to donate blood instead of just using the compatible blood in the bank. Especially in NYC someone who’s severely injured would be taken to a big hospital with plenty of blood in storage even if they needed a ridiculous number of transfused units (feel free to ignore this though haha)

I wholeheartedly believe you, and I think on some level I know that, what I think happened in the show is that chip wiskers somehow had a bad reaction to the banked blood, so they needed a donor who was a relative to reduce that risk

but THAT being said, don't put any more faith in me to be more medically accurate than GG, so who knows that whole plot point could be a mess -- it's really just my selfish wish of twisting what the writers did (aka resurrect bart bass so he can give his garbage son a life-saving transfusion), and twisting it back to the least toxic father-son dynamic in the show. (humphreys beat basses everytime)

and, it's also a callback to s4, when Rufus catches Georgina's paternity lie because he clocks Milo's blood type on his medical bracelet from when he was born, and he throws in some line about banking blood when Dan had an appendectomy when he was younger.

and all THAT being said, I am...intentionally writing from points of view in these next couple hospital chapters from characters who aren't trained in medicine, mainly because I'm not either and I'm sort of covering my own ass in regards to accuracy, because if the character I'm writing understands the information a certain way, that doesn't mean that they're correct. especially in the case of Nate, who is going through a trauma of his own in the course of this chapter.

and, there are many ends to this mean beyond Rufus donating blood specifically for Dan. In my head, I can Rufus asking to do this simply because his child is in mortal danger and he feels he has to Do Something about it, even though logically he can't. and, a hospital staffer might encourage a guy like Rufus to donate because it keeps him from roaming around the hospital trying to find his son or keeps him from shouting at personnel to get information.

I appreciate you sharing this with me! and I am a chronic overthinker, so there are reasons for why this fic is taking shape in the way it does, I just....I am not sure. how well that may or not come across, because I am flexing a lot of writing muscles that I haven't flexed before, so I am very fragile and nervous about sharing it, but I appreciate you reaching out and being kind in the ask box. <333

tldr: I know I'm probably wrong, but I have reasons why!

[lovehandelreunion]

i can't help but laugh when i watch the new p/jo show and it uses all of its effort not to deliver a good story, but to go out of its way to never use more of its vfx budget than absolutely necessary

finished episode 3 and not only do they turn medusa invisible to mime cutting her head off so they don't have to show it but they also have the turning a fury to stone be blurry through a window???

am i crazy? am i a hater?? am i living in an alternate reality where the show is just bad???

[grenriv]

I wish I didn't feel so violently alienated from my own religion sometimes. like I really do believe in what I believe in and I want to have a better and deeper relationship with God and I would like to build relationships with other christians and then whenever I hear other people talking about doctrine/scripture/God it just feels. so cold to me. or even just the way they act in general. it's very hard to explain but it always sounds like they're reading from a script instead of voicing genuine thoughts and feelings and it makes me feel like there's a barrier between me and them or I'm doing something horribly wrong, even if at the root of it I do agree with what's being said