#The Dream Calls for Blood

[stylistic-nightmare]

Death Angel - The Dream Calls for Blood

[stayallnite]

nowplaying Left for Dead by Death Angel out of The Dream Calls For Blood

[capitalchaostelevision]

Concert Photo Review: DEATH ANGEL @ Ace Of Spades – Sacramento, California

Concert Photo Review: DEATH ANGEL @ Ace Of Spades – Sacramento, California @deathangel #deathangel @nuclearblast @nuclearblasteu #aceofspades #drums #capitalchaostv #picoftheday #sacramentophotographer #sacramentomusicphotographer #sacramentonightlife

[dreemurr-skelememer]

made up a whole concept on if gin got sent to dreamtale post-au erasure andddd yea

still testing designs and whatnot

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[dismas-n-dismay]

Marcille could survive Chimera Falin, Falin could not survive Scylla Marcille- let’s get that straight. The difference is that Marcille doesn’t get honed in to her monsterfucker tendencies until she sees Chimera Falin whereas Falin would have imagined Scylla Marcille hundreds of times and would have snapped upon seeing it in real life and went to go kiss her gf while telling everyone not to worry about Marcille killing like 5 people because she’s the wife

And you KNOW Scylla Marcille would be whipped for Falin, don’t play with me Ryoko Kui told me herself

[cherrri-pie]

Don't you love characters that show up once and disappear forever because I do🤩

[weepingpineapplechaos]

she's so cool I love her

[kkkkkkkitty]

[calitsnow]

Summary of all mentions of members of Hong Lu's family in the game + comparison with the original book

Summary:

Mention of his “family” in general in the game

Mention of the family elders in the game + comparison with the original work

Mention of his grandmother in the game + comparison with the original work

Mention of his grandfather in the game + comparison with the original work

Mention of his father in the game + comparison with the original work

Mention of his siblings in the game + comparison with the original work

Mention of his brother (Jia Huan) in the game

I wanted to recap all the times Hong Lu talks about his family or a particular member of his family while at the same time comparing them to their version of the original novel by giving some info on the latter (assuming that Hong Lu = Jia Baoyu ). I excluded from this list the uncles and aunts by marriage as well as Baoyu's cousins ​​ for various reasons (too long otherwise, not mentioned...) but I will perhaps do a part 2 to talk about them.

Was also excluded, the entire branch which stems from Jia Yan (the brother of Jia Yuan (the father of Jia Daishan, the husband of Grandmother Jia)), a branch which remains important since it is this one who leads to the actual Head of the Ningguo Mansion (Jia Zhen) when the story takes place. But since, they are distant relatives/cousins ​​of Jia Baoyu, that was taking me too far and so I had to remove them from this list. But I still wanted to mention it since it is an important branch of the family

The Jia family is mainly composed of 4 great families: the Jia Family, the Xue Family, the Wang Family and the Shi family in other words those who were born with the name Jia and those who joined the family by marriage / alliance / by being the brother / sister of one of the grooms… (born Xue or Wang or Shi).

There are also other families like the Xing or Lin family joining the Jia family but whose name appears (very) less often and which are also not considered as one of the great families of the novel.

This list of family members is made in relation to the place they occupy in relation to Jia Baoyu.

I/Mention of his “family” in general in the game

LCB sinner, chatter#3

Abn. logs, Pink shoes: lacking data

Abn. Logs, Sign of Roses: level 1

Abn. Logs, Sign of Roses: level 3

Liu Association South Section 5, story

Liu Association South Section 5, story

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, post-uptie chat 2

W Corp. L2 Cleanup agent, Idle

Main story, Canto II, episode: 3

Detour Tales, Chapter 5.5, Miracle in district 20, episode: 13

Main story, Canto V, episode: 2

Hong Lu’s promo pre-limbus company release (Hong Lu also mentions the family’s chef’s side dishes but I didn’t include it because it was not about his family specifically)

II/Mention of the family elders in the game + comparison with the original work

W Corp. L2 Cleanup agent, story

W Corp. L2 Cleanup agent, story

Main story, Canto IV, episode: 27

To tell the truth, I don't really know what the term "elders" is supposed to encompass in this context in the sense that, I don't know whether or not parents and/or uncles/aunts should be included in addition to the grandparents.

In my opinion the term "elders" refers to all the generations who are above the one who uses this term (in this case Hong Lu / Jia Baoyu) so I would tend to want to count the parents and uncles / aunts but I cannot say this with certainty.

I will therefore base myself on my interpretation so that it will allow me to talk about more characters of the novel but do not hesitate to let me know what this term encompasses!

1st generation:

Grand parents:

Jia Daishan:

Son of Jia Yuan

first Duke of Rong

husband of Grandmother Jia

father of Jia She, Jia Min and Jia Zheng

grandfather of the three first Spring Ladies (Jia Yuanchun, Jia Tanchun and Jia Yingchun), Jia Zhu, Baoyu, Daiyu, Jia Huan, Jia Lian

died before the beginning of the novel, reason why we don’t know much about him

Grandma Jia (the Dowager):

Daughter of the Marquis Shi of Jinling

Wife of Jia Daishan

Grandmother Jia is a generation above the oldest member of the Rongguo Mansion (Jia Jing)

Thus, members of the Jia family all defer to her

For further information, refer to the paragraph dedicated to her below

Great uncle(s):

Dowager’s brother:

We don't know much about the Dowager's brother

He is Grandmother Jia’s brother

He is the father of Shi Ding and Shi Xiangyun's Father

He is Shi Xiangyun’s grandfather

died before the beginning of the novel, reason why we don’t know much about him

2nd generation:

Parents:

Jia Zheng:

Jia Zheng is the second and youngest son of Jia Daishan and Grandmother Jia.

He has a wife, Lady Wang, and two concubines: Zhao (with whom he had two children) and Zhou

For further information, refer to the paragraph dedicated to him below

Lady Wang:

Daughter of one of the four most prominent families of Jinling (Wang)

Primary wife of Jia Zheng

Mother of Baoyu and Yuanchun

Because of her purported ill-health, she hands over the running of the household to her niece, Wang Xifeng

In the eyes of her servants, she appears as a statue of a lifeless Buddha.

Although generous, she is described as without will or conviction.

Lady Wang seems kind and caring but can be cruel and ruthless when her authority is questioned.

She shows excessive concern about her son Baoyu's romantic relationships and closely monitors his maids.

Lady Wang plays a role in the death of Baoyu's maid, Qingwen, due to her suspicion and cruelty toward maids she perceives as threats to her son's virtue.

Uncles:

Jia She:

Elder son of the Dowager

Big brother of Jia Zheng and Jia Min

Husband of Xing furen

He has 2 concubines: Yingchun’s mother and Jia Cong's mother

Father of Jia Lian, Jia Yingchun and Jia Cong

He inherited the title of Marquis Rong

He is treacherous and greedy, as well as seductive/woomanizer.

He feels jealous towards his younger brother, favored by their mother.

He was later stripped of his title and banished by the government.

Father of Wang Ren and Wang Xifeng:

Lady Wang’s brother

Also brother of Wang Ziteng and Wang Zisheng

Father of Wang Ren and Wang Xifeng:

Wang Ziteng:

Lady Wang’s brother

Also brother of Wang Xifeng’s father and Wang Zisheng

Wang Zisheng:

Lady Wang’s brother

Also brother of Wang Xifeng’s father and Wang Ziteng

Aunts:

Jia Min:

Daughter of Jia Daishan and Grandmother Jia

Sister of Jia She and Jia Zheng

Wife of Lin Ruhai

Mother of Lin Daiyu

Xue Yima also known as Aunt Xue:

Sister of Lady Wang

Sister of Wang Ziteng, Wang Zisheng and Wang Xifeng’s father

Mother to Xue Pan and Xue Baochai

She is generally kind and affable.

However, she struggles to control her rambunctious son.

III/ Mention of his grandmother in the game + comparison with the original work

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, story

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, story

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, story

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, story

W Corp. L2 Cleanup agent, chatter #1

K Corp. Class 3 excision staff, post-uptie chat 1

Detour Tales, Chapter 5.5, S.E.A, episode: 4

If Hong Lu is indeed the equivalent of Jia Baoyu in the world of limbus company, Hong Lu's grandmother should be the one known as Grandmother Jia, née Shi:

Grandmother Jia:

Also called Dowager Shi or simply the Dowager

She is the daughter of the Marquis Shi of Jinling

Grandmother Jia is a generation above the oldest member of the Rongguo Mansion (Jia Jing)

Main elder of the great family, she is the oldest and most respected authority of the Jia Clan

Of an enjoyable temperament, she does not intervene in the private lives of her children provided that they do not disturb her, even if they have become debauched or high rollers.

It was she who arranged for Daiyu, her only "outside" (i.e., maternal) grandchild, to come to the Rongguo Mansion

She spoils her grandson Baoyu whom she carries in adoration

Despite this, she does not approve of his love for Daiyu

She is the one who supports the marriage arranged by Sister Pheonix (Wang Xifeng) between Baoyu and Baochai

She will die at the ripe old age of 83

Maybe it's just me, but she seems to be one of the people if not the person who pays the most attention to Jia Baoyu's jade, reminding him to take care of it, asking him if he knows where it is his jade when he is not wearing it, paying attention to the stone...

IV/ Mention of his grandfather in the game + comparison with the original work

Detour Tales, Chapter 5.5, Yield my flesh to claim their bones, episode: 4

Abn. Logs, Pink shoes: lacking data

Hong Lu’s promo pre-limbus company release (yéyé" (爷爷) meaning "grandfather" or “grandpa”. It is an affectionate term used to refer to one's grandfather in Mandarin.)

So we don’t really know which of his two grandfathers Hong Lu is referring to but knowing that in the novel only his paternal grandfather is mentioned and died before the novel begins, I think the "grandfather" Hong is talking about is Jia Daishan (and that he probably died in the world of Limbus Company too)

Jia Daishan:

Son of Jia Yuan

first Duke of Rong

husband of Grandmother Jia

father of Jia She, Jia Min and Jia Zheng

grandfather of the three first Spring Ladies (Jia Yuanchun, Jia Tanchun and Jia Yingchun), Jia Zhu, Baoyu, Daiyu, Jia Huan, Jia Lian

died before the beginning of the novel, reason why we don't know much about him

V/ Mention of his father in the game + comparison with the original work

LCB sinner, chatter#1

If Hong Lu is indeed the equivalent of Jia Baoyu in the world of limbus company, Hong Lu's father should be Jia Zheng:

Jia Zheng:

He is the second and youngest son of Jia Daishan and Grandmother Jia.

He has a wife, Lady Wang, and two concubines: Zhao (with whom he had two children) and Zhou

Father of Jia Zhu (deceased), Jia Yuanchun, Jia Baoyu, Jia Tanchun and Jia Huan

Confucianism had a great influence on him: he is a Confucian scholar who tries to be an upright and decent person, he fulfills his duties of filial piety towards the Dowager, and wants to educate his children strictly

Afraid his one surviving heir will turn bad, he imposes strict rules on his son (Jia Baoyu), and uses occasional corporal punishment.

Jia Baoyu is afraid of him

He has the ambition to become a good civil servant

But he lacks experience and is easily deceived by others, which earns him a bad reputation.

VI/ Mention of his siblings in the game + comparison with the original work

Main story, Canto III, episode: 2

Detour Tales, Chapter 5.5, episode: 13

Abn. Logs, Pink shoes: lacking data

If Hong Lu is indeed supposed to be the Jia Baoyu of the world of Limbus Company, then, if we refer to the novel The Dream of the Red Room, Hong Lu should, like Baoyu, have 4 siblings:

Jia Zhu:

First son of Jia Zheng and Lady Wang

Big brother of Jia Baoyu and Jia Yuanchun and half-brother of Jia Tanchun and Jia Huan since they share the same father.

In the original novel, Jia Zhu is already dead prior to the action of the novel, so we know very little about him.

He had a son (Jia Lan) with Li Wan

Jia Yuanchun:

First female family member of the quartet of "Springs", first daughter of Jia Zheng and Lady Wang

Big sister of Jia Baoyu and Jia Yuanchun and half-sister of Jia Tanchun and Jia Huan since they share the same father.

She is about 10 years older than Baoyu.

She was raised by her grandmother

As an older sister, she taught Baoyu to read and write when he was liitle like his mother would have done.

Originally one of the ladies-in-waiting in the imperial palace, Yuanchun is later promoted to the highest ranking of imperial concubine "Xiande”, having impressed the Emperor with her virtue and intellect.

Despite her prestigious position, Yuanchun feels imprisoned within the four walls of the imperial palace.

She died at the age of forty, following an illness, in total isolation.

Jia Tanchun:

Third female family member of the quartet of "Springs", second daughter of Jia Zheng and his concubine, concubine Zhao

Big sister of Jia Huan and younger half-sister of Jia Zhu, Jia Yuanchun and Jia Baoyu since they share the same father.

The fact that she is the daughter of a concubine is still such a burden that she often claims Lady Wang, Baoyu's mother, as her own

Tanchun is a very clever and capable person, as much as Sister Phoenix for comparison

But, as the proverb says, "he who comes last will have fewer opportunities than the others", and this is what happened to her, because when her family declined she had not done much and she was sent to a distant region following an arranged marriage

Jia Huan:

Third son of Jia Zheng and his concubine, concubine Zhao

Little brother of Jia Tanchun and younger half-brother of Jia Zhu, Jia Yuanchun and Jia Baoyu since they share the same father.

More info just below

VII/ Mention of his brother (Jia Huan) in the game

Main story, Canto I, episode: 30

Main story, Canto V, episode: 18 (there we don’t know if he is talking about Jia Huan or not but there are not many other options and from what we can deduce from Jia Huan’s behaviour (in game and in the book too) it’s not very out off character)

Jia Huan:

Third male family member of the generation of the Jia household, son of Jia Zheng and his concubine, concubine Zhao

Little brother of Jia Tanchun and half-brother of Jia Zhu, Jia Yuanchun and Jia Baoyu since they share the same father.

He is described as ugly and clumsy

He and his mother are both reviled by the family, and he carries himself like a kicked dog.

He is very cunning but mediocre, he shows his malignant nature by spilling candle wax, intending to blind his half-brother Baoyu

That’s all! If I have forgotten any moments where Hong Lu talks about his family, don't hesitate to tell me and I will add it! Also, I tried to verify and proof-read all the info and everything should be correct but if I made a mistake feel free to point it out to me :)

[larkoneironaut]

My wood elf bard Nyctea who likes to donate blood from time to time 🖤

[rat-rosemary]

Tommy looks at the forest, the others shuffling anxiously behind him

It has been expanding (well, it was expanding from the first day) but it finally got big enough for someone else to notice he guesses. It only took them three months

He's not quite sure how they made the connection with Dream tho. They're right, but he has no clue how someone who didn't see it would know that Dream is at the center of this

(They probably just assumed. It's almost tradition at this point to blame everything on Dream)

The group of manhunters, about 10-ish people with Sapnap and Quackity in the front, look as prepared for a fight as they could be, their netherite armor shining like beetle wings in the sun

(Except Wilbur, who has nothing but his clothes and his cigarettes)

...if Tommy decides to lead them into the forest he's leading them to their deaths.

The armor is heavy and noisy. It shines obnoxiously in a way that would make it easy to spot on the pale oak even if they did manage to climb into a branch without letting every single creaking in the forest know exactly where they are, and it's too heavy to climb the dark oak trees

No one seems to have any invisibility potions either. He spots healing and regeneration and weakness and instant damage but no invisibility or night vision

He can help them with their search for Dream and by doing so he'll seal their fates.

"Tommy? Ready to go?"

Quackity catches his attention and Tommy turns to him

...he remembers afternoon after afternoon spent trailing after Wilbur as he and Quackity did. Whatever the fuck they were doing. Their weird sex rituals or whatever.

(He remembers watching The One That Bleeds, his wounds never healing as he sobs, crawling out of the blood oak, red roses tangled into his white hair. The burned brand on his back always seems fresh and it makes Tommy want to gag. He hopes that one is Dream's ghost. It seems too cruel for it to be him)

Tommy nods, walking into the forest, the fog welcoming him as an old friend as lillies of the valley grow angrily in-between his curls

He'll warn Tubbo and Fundy about the monsters and the false trees with guts and the flowers and the things that scream. Maybe Sapnap even. The rest of them? It was time for them to get a scare.

[ovrrdogg]

HUMAN NONEXISTY 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 /j /j /j /j /j /heavyj

/srs request:

blood drop from myTeardrop, fav outfit / costume (technically BFDI since it's a BFDI character but red with some wings)

Blood Drop

[hauntingblue]

CAUSE THIS IS THRILLER (bark), THRILLER (bark) NIGHT

Usopp's outfit is so funny for reals

He got the whole squad laughing

Luffy enablers at it again.... (Robin.... I know.....)

The humor panels so far have been so good!!! God this arc is so funny

HE SAID IT‼️‼️

They look like birds 😭😭

It's just too good... luffy taking cerberus and zombies what can't he do

It's just banger after banger what can I say

Franky feeling for other people because of his guilt complex and sanji lying through his teeth and pulling out the women excuse to seem unaffected... yeah

Look at them.... look how they ate

Omg joyboy reference?? (No)

Sanji is rubbing off on usopp.... also chopper noticing that is sogeking's weapon akdhaksjak

ANOTHER SLAY!!!!!

Their priorities: I'm not strong enough, there isn't enough food, and nami isn't here

Franky going from wanting to kill brook for his jokes to making a joke like his after he hears his backstory... exactly (Robin was already enabling him before the backstory even fdagjsfha)

Sanji is altering his body and actually being on fire to communicate to us how fucking mad he is..... I need more of him going insane I do I do

My god what is he doing ALDJALAJALA

AHSAHAHQHAH THEY ARE THE SAME!!! naaah sanji wouldn't force a woman to be his wife

You cant see me but I am nodding my head in agreement over and over

You don't understand he altered his body to communicate to us how mad he is. He inploded himself and then reconstituted again. Those germa 66 genes are insane

You tell em usopp!!!! The first of many girls you've scared into defeat!!! Akdjqknql

Zoro zombie regressed to not trusting robin akdjaks he's still in there

ROBI-CHO SUPLEX??? HELL YEAAAAAH

There is zosa- [GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT]

Super frapper gong.... he is doing combo shots with frobin... omg.... parents....

Everything is so fun I'm having such a good time reading.... and then zosan angst like damn I am being fed well here

[mrsrookhunt]

SPOILERS!! NEW TWST LORE ON ROOK

Confirmed, Rook Hunt is the hatman.

Yall really thought you were getting crumbs. You've been HAD. The desperation for Rook content is SHOWING I'm also desperate

Yall are PATHETIC so am I

Stop trying to manifest rook content same and start rioting against disney to get rook his own well deserved series delusional thoughts of a woman in love

In conclusion

How's your 2nd search of the day on the #rook hunt tag for new content going?

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So many projects, so little time... anyway, here's chapter 11, "The Battle-Sick"

Page 3 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable ?:

I was a wonderful thing, shaped for fighting, Loyal to my masters, I slayed living warriors, Friends and foes, I was a weapon of war. I shall never be avenged, shall I fall in battle, As I am cursed, in the eyes of kin and enemies, To be not a man, but a monster. I am starved, of blood and flesh, Alone I roam this land, a damned Beast.

Soap can feel Ghost’s gaze burning at his nape, questions left unanswered in the silent space between them.

In the span of a few hours, Soap saw someone else come out of Ghost’s actions. A man, buried years ago in dry earth, dead in all ways but physically. The man Captain Price mourned, the man he aspired to be.

The man that saved those children wasn’t the infamous Ghost. 

Soap brushes a shaky hand over his mouth, the metallic taste of blood still sticking to his teeth. He’s running out of adrenaline, he knows, and the wheezing of his breath seems to be only getting louder in the empty alleyways.

He trips over nothing, barely catching himself on the cold wall, when strong arms pull him up.

“Coffee shop, on our three. Hold on just a little longer.” Ghost murmurs, hand coming under his shoulders to support his weight.

Soap goes to answer, finding his voice weak and scratchy, “aye.”

Ghost’s breath on his neck is somewhat soothing, in a way Soap shouldn’t find from a man like him.

The coffee shop has seen better days, to say the least. The stairs to the first floor have collapsed, and the ground floor is completely trashed. Quite like everywhere else in the city, Soap bitterly thinks to himself.

Ghost lets him down on the only chair that seems stable in the shop, and turns to clear it of hostiles. Soap gets up to follow him, but his vision darkens the moment he tries to get on his feet, and he falls back with a huff.

It would’ve made him angry, to be left so useless, but…

Simon has been left paralyzed, defenceless, shoved a knife to his palm and bared his scarred throat, and still trusted him. Never looked at him with any less than…

Than what? What is that emotion, in Simon’s eyes, when he looks at Soap? He blinks away the dark tendrils encroaching on his vision, brows furrowed as he tries to keep a semblance of a train of thought.

Ghost returns before he can veer it back on track. “Please tell me you found somethin’ teh drink.” Soap groans.

“Affirmative, got us a tea.” Ghost spreads the supplies he gathered from around the shop on the table next to Soap, teabags among the bottles of water and scrap fabric.

Soap sneers, “awa’ an’ bile yer heid, we’re in a fuckin’ coffee shop and ye pull out tea, fuckin’ Brits-”

His list of expletives is cut by rough coughing, and Soap has to spit out the excess mucus on the floor. Ghost crouches down, and gently cups his cheek. Soap’s eyes snap to his. Whatever emotion is swirling in those dark brown eyes, he still can’t name, but it makes his heart twist.

Ghost tilts his head up, brushing fingers over the probably bruised skin of his neck, “have any trouble breathing?”

Soap’s breath catches, not from any physical wound, “no. Jus’... throat pain. Ah didn’t lose consciousness.” cold hands soothe over his bruises, making him involuntarily sigh.

Ghost nods, “tea will help with that.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckles as he pulls back his hands, Soap almost chasing them. Fatigue is starting to take its toll on him, and his head feels like it weighs more than a LTV right about now. A tap to his cheek makes him open his eyes (when did he close them?), “can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

That’s the only warning he gets before a wet towel brushes over his mouth, sweeping over flaking, dried blood. “Surprised the wee ones weren’t afraid o’ either of us. One skull-faced bastard, the other looks like a damn vampire.”

Silent laughter shakes Ghost’s shoulders, “those kids were tough ones, swear they were about to fight me when we first met.”

“Tougher than they need teh be, at their age.”

Ghost’s movements become somber.

Soap catches one of the many questions floating through his tired mind, “why’d you save ‘em?”

The towel is thrown to the side, replaced by a dry one, “...I wanted to.” Ghost simply answers.

It doesn’t satisfy him, “that why ye worked with the Hunter?”

Ghost’s hands freeze for a short moment, before continuing to softly clean Soap’s neck. His words weren’t said with anger, but the harshness of them remained all the same. It leaves a bitter note in Soap’s mouth.

At what point did seeing Ghost get hurt by his words stop bringing any sort of satisfaction?

“I worked with the Hunter because… I worked with anyone. No questions asked, no job too dirty for me. Not that it was ever about money.”

Ghost lowers his hands, resting them in his own lap. His eyes drift downwards, lost in the past, “I did what I did because I didn’t know anything else. Survival meant fighting, and it didn’t matter who.”

Ghost rises to his feet, taking a cup off the nearby shelf and setting about to make the tea, “as long as there was blood on my hands that wasn’t mine, I knew I was alive.”

Soap opens his mouth, cruel words at the tip of his tongue, but he falters when Ghost’s really hit him.

Because he knows that feeling.

That hunger for violence, that need to feel bones break under his hands, a yearning stronger than anything for fresh blood. It is not a want, it is not something they take pleasure in. It’s simply the only way to feel alive. For Soap, it may be only for the Hunter and their soldiers. 

But when you’re constantly trying to survive, won’t the whole world start to look like an enemy?

“Why didn’t you stay with the civilians?” Ghost shakes him from his reverie.

The answer is stupidly simple. “I told ye we’re doing this together.” Soap stares deeply into Ghost’s widening eyes, “and I meant it.”

“But…” Ghost sighs, “we don’t have a way to find the Hunter.”

He hands Soap a cup, the aromatic tea somewhat pleasant for once. It is cold, but it does help the scratchiness in his throat as it goes down.

“Aye… We’ll-” a yawn cuts off Soap’s sentence, “we’ll need teh catch another fecker, maybe…”

Ghost’s eyes narrow at him, “what you need to do is sleep, Sergeant. You can’t even stand on your feet, can you?”

Soap scoffs, “‘course Ah can, ye weapon.” he thumped the mug down on the table, and held on it for dear life as he tried to rise from the chair.

Ghost caught him no more than 2 seconds later, when Soap’s face was about to have a very personal meeting with the dirty floor.

“Of course you can, huh?” Ghost goads.

Soap drops heavily back down, “wheesht.”

“Speak English.” he can fucking hear the smirk on Ghost’s lips.

Soap drops his head, finally giving in to the need to just crumple, “means shut yer puss…”

A hand on his hair surprises him, but Soap doesn’t dare move as fingers card through the tangles. It feels really nice… almost putting him to sleep.

Ghost’s voice is soft when he orders him, “c’mon, I’m sure we can find you a better spot for a nap than on a stool.”

He doesn’t really answer, far too knackered to be coherent. Soap feels the hand recede, and footsteps echo farther and farther away from him. A few minutes later, Ghost returns to urge him up, “set up some blankets and pillows behind the counter.”

Soap appreciates the attempt to keep him in the know, but at this point he’d let Ghost lead him over a cliff, and he won’t complain one bit.

The makeshift bed reminds Soap of the shitty pillow forts he would build with his sister back when they were kids, and the blurry memories make him suppress a laugh. With the way Ghost is staring at him, Soap thinks the giggles make him all the more concerned.

And what a concept that is. Ghost, concerned over his well-being.

Ghost lets him down carefully, wrapping him with moth-eaten blankets. Compared to the last “bed” Soap slept in, this is as good as a five-star hotel.

He can barely keep his eyes open, but Soap, as aware as he is in his compromised status, can’t let his guard down when Ghost turns to walk away. He manages to catch the sleeve of the giant man, and dark eyes turn to stare at him.

“Yer… yer not gonna leave me, right?” he mumbles.

Ghost stops, “just gonna go keep watch by the window. Not leaving.”

Sleep claws on Soap’s eyelids, and it takes far too much willpower to keep them open, “stay ‘here Ah can see ye… Don’ run off now…..”

The last thing he hears before he goes unconscious is, “never, Johnny.”

Gentle fingers card through his hair.

“Johnny.”

John groans, unwilling to open his eyes and start the day.

“Wake up, love.”

“‘S too early for that shite, let me sleep.” he burrows deeper into his pillow, enveloped in warmth and safety.

His pillow starts, very rudely, shaking with laughter, “fine, you lazy bastard.”

That voice… sounds familiar. Familiar in the way a knife’s weight is in John’s hand, in the way blood spills over his wounds, like the buzz of adrenaline in a fire fight.

Yet John feels… safe.

Gentle fingers card through his tangled hair. Why would it be tangled? Isn’t he at home?

“Can’t sleep yet, Sergeant. Gonna clean your face.”

John frowns, “my face is clean.”

Hands tilt his face up. There’s some sort of tackiness to his skin, he notices. A metallic taste bursts on his tongue.

John opens his eyes.

Dirty blond hair, messy from a mask pulled off non too kindly, rich brown eyes wide in surprise, dark like a grave’s fresh dirt. Scars leave valleys and hills on pale skin.

The features are there, but John can’t make sense of them. A stranger’s face, yet it feels so familiar.

Perhaps it is only the emotion carved into it, fear and shock twisting the man’s eyes.

Soap wakes up with a start, grasping tightly at the thin blankets wrapped around him. It takes him a few seconds to shake off the dream’s warmth, to feel again how cold the coffee shop really is. He takes a cursory look around - Ghost must have left for overwatch while he was sleeping.

He eventually forces himself to get up, encouraged by the fact that his legs stay somewhat steady under his weight.

“Ghost?” 

Soap walks over to the wider area of the coffee shop, where once there were floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed patrons to bask in the sun while drinking, but now are shattered.

In a dark, hidden corner, that Soap almost dismissed immediately, a huddled shape rested against the wall. Ghost’s dark gear blends near perfectly into the shadows. Soap is sure, if he wasn’t looking for the damn man, he’d never find him.

He has to step closer to actually see his eyes through the mask and darkness. Ghost is completely out, so still, he might as well be dead.

Soap huffs. In the entire time they’ve been fighting together, he’s never seen him asleep. The nearest thing to it was the rest in the shed, but even then Soap knew Ghost was constantly ready to strike, if it were needed.

Here, curled into a small ball, hands wrapped around himself, Ghost looks so unnaturally small and harmless. 

Soap doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Ghost shifts, murmuring something under his breath and curling further into himself. 

He scoffs internally and turns to find something to eat. The fuck is he doing, thinking this giant international criminal is cute. He blames that weird fucking dream he had, as well as a million different other excuses.

Soap repeats the mantra in his head ‘He’s not fuckin’ cute, he’s not goddamn endearing’, as he finds a couple of sandwiches that seem to be edible enough. He collects enough for Ghost as well, for when the bastard wakes up.

Whining from the dark corner makes him freeze.

Soap turns to look at Ghost, his shoulders now taut and shuddering, “...Ghost?”

“N-no… I wouldn’t… I’m sorry…” Ghost whispers, eyes scrunched shut.

Nightmare. Soap wonders if that’s what Ghost saw back in the shed. “Ghost”, he calls again, louder, the previous calmness he felt washed away.

Ghost’s hands crease his black jacket, leather gloves cricking in his tight grip, “I’m sorry… P-Price…”

He knows he shouldn’t get closer, that night terrors can make the friendliest of soldiers hostile, when shrouded by conjured nightmares and warped memories. But the sight of Ghost in that state makes Soap feel the need to do something, anything to help him.

He chances a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, “...Simon? Wake up, yer safe-”

Muscles bulge as they shoot up at him, Ghost wraps his hand around Soap’s, and in a blink, they’re on the floor. He pins him down by the neck, heavy breathing and shaking.

It hurts tenfold, to be choked for the second time in a few hours. Soap claws at the massive arms, attempts to lessen their heavy weight on his windpipe. Even in his sleep, Ghost is a force to be reckoned with.

When Soap sees those dark eyes open, searching wildly for hostiles, he thinks that perhaps, in his sleep, Ghost is even more terrifying. Fighting against the worst his mind can think of.

“S-Simon-” Soap manages to whisper.

The hands retreat instantly, and Soap turns to his side, coughing and massaging his wounded neck.

Ghost has crawled backwards until he hit the wall, eyes still wide open, their whites standing out over black painted skin. Soap heaves himself to his knees, moving closer to the shivering man. But Ghost shakes his head.

“Don’t-” Ghost says between breaths, “stay back.”

Soap, as he often does, refuses to listen, “why?”

Brown eyes flicker down to his neck before returning to his, “I’ll hurt you.”

“Ye won’t.” Soap stops in front of him, sitting back on his haunches.

Soap can see the tension still wrecking though Ghost, muscles trembling with fatigue and soreness. He chances a hand again, laying it on Ghost’s shoulder. The body under his palm freezes.

He leans in closer, tries to see inside Ghost’s eyes to his thoughts. 

This close, he can see just how pale his eyelashes are, how there are flecks of black shoot through the rich brown umber of his eyes. Something about them draws Soap in, in a way an oil painting would. How dark Ghost’s eyes are, how his pupils blend with the sclera.

“Johnny-” Ghost whispers, “the mask…”

Soap’s brows crease, “ye want me to take it off?”

“Please.” 

At his begging tone, Soap doesn’t hesitate, and slowly slides a hand over the skull, pulling it up and off.

Simon stares up at him, his eye black running down his cheeks, from tears or rain, he's not so sure anymore. At that moment, Soap realizes what emotion lingers in Simon’s eyes wherever he looks at him.

Faith.

Simon… has faith in him. More wholly than Soap remembers ever seeing.

Not just in life and death, but with this as well. With his most vulnerable moments. It shines through so clearly now, the serenity over Simon’s features the longer he looks at Soap.

He looks…

“Beautiful…”

Simon frowns in confusion, “what?”

Soap presses a thumb to the dark tear tracks, swiping under Simon’s eyes. “Yer bonnie. Never… noticed before.”

Simon opens his mouth to answer, and it breaks Soap from the trance he was stuck in. He pulls his hand away, as if it was burned, and wrecks his mind for a way to veer the conversation away from his stupid, weird behaviour.

Stupid steamin’ dream, stupid Simon with his stupidly pretty eyes, stupid-

“Ye said Price’s name. When ye were…”

Simon looks away, lips curving downwards minutely, “don’t remember.”

Soap sighs. Should’ve expected the deflection-

“He was… my captain. Before.” Simon murmurs, eyes on the broken shards of glass scattered on the floor. “I haven’t seen ‘im in years, not since I became legally dead.”

Soap can imagine. He remembers, even in his brief interactions with the Captain, just how much it was obvious that Simon meant a lot to him. If he knew Simon was Ghost, surely Price would-

“That’s it.” Simon murmurs, eyes alight with a new fire. Soap raises an eyebrow, and Simon turns to face him fully.

Gone is the softness in his tone when he says, “I know how we can get to the Hunter.” 

Ghost stands up, offering a hand for Soap, “we need to get our hands on a radio.” Ghost leaves him behind as he starts collecting their equipment.

Soap follows him, shoving a still wrapped sandwich in his hands, “what are ye planning, Simon?”

Those dark eyes stare at him with newfound conviction, as Ghost pulls the mask back over his head.

“There’s only one other person who would be able to locate the Hunter in this city.”

Soap’s brows shoot up when he understands.

“Captain Price…”