#also what about Hey Hello

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[thenamessparkplug]

its me.... the one the cishets warned you about.... THE MAN AND THE WOMAN IN THE RELATIONSHIP

[shalpilot]

adds one (1) more person into the mix

[kvroii]

💙 i am falling, i am fading, i am drowning / help me to breathe 💙

[ghostiezone]

"....Ashe?"

"Who's that?"

short-ish fic under the cut because I had to be in the tranches about this :)

The Wards received the invitation only an hour before they arrived.

i know where to find your friend :)

The crumpled piece of paper looked like it had been drawn in crayon. It was stapled to the front door of their home. Their civilian home.

"Aux-" Failsafe started immediately, but Imprint's hand over his mouth cut off the name before he could finish. The boy wasn't in costume.

Imprint addressed him instead, cautious. "Ashe...?" He lowered his gloved hand from Failsafe's face and stepped forward between his two teammates, slowly, like he was approaching a cornered animal.

Wraith had been a stoic, silent presence since they entered the room, but Failsafe could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

The boy sitting on the edge of the desk looked.... young. Younger than he should. The shirt he had been put in was too big for him. Not in the same way his dad's jacket was too big for him- he used that like a turtle shell, something to retreat into, pull over himself like a shield. It was safe, warm, all-encompassing. Despite the issues they knew Ashe and his father had with each other, the love was still there. No, these clothes... they hung loose on his already skinny frame, making him look exposed. Vulnerable. They were monochrome, pale in a way that made him look washed-out, almost ghostly. He sat with his legs crossed, hands holding his ankles. He wasn't wearing shoes. One of the sleeves threatened to slip off his shoulder.

He tilted his head as they entered the room. The movement made Failsafe think of the stray puppies he used to feed in the alley behind their house.

His hair had been washed recently.

Something was very wrong here.

Ashe's face was devoid of all emotion. Though he was looking at the three of them, making eye contact, something seemed... distant. Failsafe reached out with his power and found... nothing.

He felt his heart seize in his chest. He frantically grabbed Imprint's hand before he could take another step forward, and tore his gaze away from Ashe to lock eyes with Wraith He hissed under his breath, he didn't trust his voice not to shake "guys, hes-"

"Breaker state, yeah. I know." Wraith finally broke his silence, voice stony and cold. "Don't get any closer to him."

At the sound of Wraith's voice, Ashe's eyes locked onto him. They were burning with an orange glow.

His head bent further to one side, and his face split into a wide grin that looked almost painful. Failsafe felt Imprint tense, fingers twitching like he was getting ready to reach for a weapon. He squeezed the wrist he was already holding. "Don't. We can't. That's still Ashe."

In that brief moment of distraction, the boy on the desk began to laugh. It was a broken sound, distorted, not like anything they had heard from him before. That deep orange glow in his eyes shone even through his closed eyelids. Wraith's cape billowed as he stepped in front of the other two, barking a clipped "Incoming!" as the space behind the desk began to distort.

Wraith's own warping powers sprang up in response, a translucent blue barrier forming in the air between the wards and their friend. As they watched, unsure of how to act, a rectangular shape began to appear in the air behind where Ashe was sitting, growing clearer and sharper as it eventually formed a sort of doorway. It was hard to look at directly, the light in the room seeming to bend toward the corners. The walls and floor buldged and sank in response to the tear in reality. The door itself was more like a window- a vague, distorted cityscape slowly coming into focus on the other side. The barrier began to ripple, as if it was made of water, as a figure stepped through it into the room.

Ashe's laughing was suddenly doubled as it became clear that whoever had just entered was cackling as well. It was an eerie echo- they were taking the same pauses for breath and short hiccups between giggles. Their shoulders bounced in matching tempo and their heads tilted back toward the ceiling at the exact same time.

The new figure was dressed in a long purple-grey patchwork coat, sleeves torn off and bottom hem ripped to shreds. He wore a darker purple scarf up to his chin, which flared out behind him into a tattered cape. The coat was sinched at the waist with a faded green belt, the end of which swung loose around his legs to give the appearance of a long tail. He wore some sort of blood-red bodysuit which concealed every bit of skin that would otherwise be showing. His darkened silver hair flared out around his head in wild spikes. Over his face, a circular mask concealed any distinguishing features. The mask may have been white once, but was now more of a tarnished brown. Two horns curled upward on either side of the face, which consisted of a cudely painted-on cartoonish black smile with squinted eyes.

"Why, if it isn't the Wards of New Haven!" The figure exclaimed, suddenly dropping into a deep bow. "You can call me the Trickster. Oh, I've been waiting so long to meet you!" There was a sort of childlike excitement in his voice, but there was a strain to it as well, as if holding back the laughter was causing him mental pain.

He turned his head toward Ashe, who was sitting motionless again on the desk. The figure cleared his throat, then in a harsh voice, snapped "You'd best show some respect in the face of such powerful heroes!"

As if dragged down by force, Ashe bent forward, nearly losing his balance and falling face first off of his perch. When he sat back again, his deadpan expression broke into a wide grin again. The smile didn't reach his eyes.

"What are you doing to him?!" Failsafe snapped, voice cracking with the panic of seeing his friend so vulnerable.

"Who, me?" The villain straightened back up, bouncing on his toes as he did. He flung a hand up to his chest in an overdramatic show of offense... and Ashe's hand made the same motion. In a cheap imitation of Ashe's voice, the Trickster echoed "I wouldn't hurt a fly!" As he did, Ashe muttered the same words.

"He's some sort of Master." Imprint's eyes were locked onto the figure, tracing his every move. The subtle shift in his posture put the image of a panther in Failsafe's mind. His next words were directed at the villain. "What do you want with Ashe?"

"Better yet, what do you want with us?" Wraith added. The strain of holding up a constant shield for this long was starting to take its toll on him, hands starting to shake. Even though the Trickster wasn't outright attacking them, knowing he was a Master with this kind of power was enough to keep them all on edge. They didnt know his limitations yet. "You were the one that sent us the note, right? Why bring us here just to stand there and laugh at us?"

The villain started cackling again, bending at the waist with the sheer force of his laughter. "Ashe?!" He straightened back up, mimed wiping a tear from the corner of the eye of the mask. "Who's that? Never heard of them!" As he stood up to his full height, he ran a hand gingerly through Ashe's hair. The boy didn't move, didn't react, despite Failsafe's immediate short burst of anger at the action. The Trickster clicked his tongue, continued to run his hands through Ashe's silvery-purple hair. As his hands moved, a glow began to spread from them. The same orange glow emanating from Ashe's eyes was surrounding the Trickster's fingertips. As he waggled the fingers on his free hand, little orange strings no thicker than spider silk extended upwards from them, seeming to disappear into thin air. The strings reappeared, wound around Ashe's arms. There was a loop around his neck as well, giving the sickening illusion of a collar.

"I just wanted to introduce the three of you to my Muse." He put an odd emphasis on that final word.

It was a name.

"And, to let you know he's mine now, and you can't have him back!" The static smile on the mask somehow looked devilish. It was such a childish statement, as if they were fighting over a toy on the playground, but it sent chills down all three of the heroes' spines. "Finders keepers, he came to me first! That means I get dibs." His voice dropped an octave on that last sentence, suddenly becoming threatening and deadpan. "Try to take him from me if you can. It'll be fun."

Suddenly, he spun on his heel, facing the doorway he came from. The rippling effect was starting to get more pronounced, more unpredictable. "Ah! But it seems like playtime's over for now. We'll see you soon, Wards."

Before he stepped back through the door, the strings around Ashe's limbs tightened, and he was dragged by some nearly-invisible force toward the doorway. He moved stiffly, as if the puppetmaster hadn't gotten used to moving him yet, but eventually he was pulled through the fading doorway.

The Trickster gave them one last mock solute before ducking through as well. The lingering echo of laughter hung in the room around them.

And Ashe- Muse- was gone with him.

[3584-tropical-fish]

I blacked out and she was here

[volivolition]

✨ thinking of him thursdayyyy ✨ (<- said in a monotone deadpan with jazz hands)

[wolf-saint]

The Curse of the Moriyama Family

In another novel, our protagonist is a young woman. Married off to the Moriyama clan, she lives a solitary life, trapped before she could run away. Her husband Kengo does not kiss her; he does not have dinner with her. Her only company are her bodyguards... Until she has her first son: Ichirou Moriyama.

Part of her wishes that he was never born. For when he is birthed, it is Kengo who holds him. It is Kengo who does not give him back. Her heart screams when she realises. Ichirou's last embrace from his mother was in the womb. Even his name has no trace of her. He is branded as what he is: Kengo's first son. Kengo's heir. He never sees her again.

Her loneliness prevails; every day seems meaningless. The sliver of intimacy she gets is when Kengo is tired and has to rest in their apartment. Knowing he is in the building is more warmth than she gets from him in a year. It cannot be said what changed if it is Kengo's pale complexion, the dullness of the season, the tension in the main branch... Except that one evening, her husband joins her in her room, a chessboard set up in front of the fire and an empty chair.

It's a small stroke of fire; it burns slowly. When Kengo is not home, she resigns herself to watching television. Her brother-in-law has amassed a following for a new sport; they call it Exy. Her husband laughs at it but she sees the stubborn glint in the Tetsuji's friend's eye. Kayleigh Day says that Exy is the future; she believes it.

It is a mistake, in retrospect, for her to forget the cruelty of the Moriyamas. But she has become so cold. Kengo is the only sun she gets, the warmth that makes her days bearable. He kisses her sweetly and for a night she believes he is just a man. A man who cares for her. She forgets the unkindness of Moriyama men; she wakes up alone.

Many moons later, her hands drip blood onto the ivory tile, her mirror smashed into thousands of pieces - morning sickness. She knows where this is going.

It isn't worth screaming over: Kengo tells her that she cannot have her baby. His empire does not need a second son. Her tears trail down her face; her lip quivers at how he says the words. Cutthroat. Like her baby can be discarded. As if she won't feel the pain of him being taken away. Flashes of her first birth stab her heart over and over again. Her knees buckle to the floor and all she can do is beg. His face remains unchanged.

It is the night of her surgery, she sits in her bathroom, hugging her wrists and staring down the blade. She cannot lose another child; she feels like she may die. Her hands shake as she tries to psych herself up to the task, to pick up the sharp knife. The fluorescent lights drown her vision, tears flood her face... It reminds her of her wedding night, when she tried to escape through the venue's back window, crawl out the bathroom and run to god knows where-

-Her hand stills.

Motels are hard to come by, her racing heart hates the lack of exits in hotels, and nobody seems trustworthy... She finds it easier to sleep in back alleys. The lack of rest and food makes it so she has not grown too big and a kind stranger lent her a large duffel coat to keep away the cold (it swallows the signs of her belly). Money has been hard to come by and she cannot get on another bus. She hopes not to give birth soon.

Having a fever is not the worst part of giving birth, but it does not make it any less unbearable. It is a laborious process, and after it is done, she passes out, but not before sneaking a glance at her new baby. Wrapped in her old clothes and flushed with winter's cold, he lets out a soft cry. She hugs him tight, shielding him from the harsh winds, before her vision bleeds black at the edges and she hears the gasps of crowding strangers.

When her eyes burst open, the sterile walls of the hospital and a hand on her arm made her realise that it was not death who was speaking to her. Kengo was stroking her skin, muttering a prayer above her before his eyes met hers. Wet with tears. Wet because he was mourning. Later, the nurse hands her son, and her husband gives her that same remorseful gaze. Straight through her. Like a ghost.

"Jiro sleeps well," he whispers. He has an eerie smile on his skin, one that she wishes she could claw. Jiro. Second son. Her heart burns; her fingers clench.

"His name is not Jiro."

It is the first time she sees Kengo's mask slip from his face. It makes her death almost worth it.

Kengo's right-hand man is a hideous beast: Nathan Wesninski. Many men have been tortured by his knife, squealing like pigs. Under the Baltimore Butcher, death is welcomed eagerly. She peers up at him, and she can't help but shudder under his pale blue eyes.

From the beginning, she never expected a good life. Death always loomed over her. But in this moment, she waits, finally ready to accept it. Her husband sits in the chair furthest from the crime scene, cigarette puffing grey clouds from his lips as he avoids her hardened stare.

"You never told me what our son is to be called, Riko," he calls out, "I will give you that... before your death."

There is not much time to research baby names while on the run from the mafia. Her baby's health and survival always seemed to be the bigger priority. Now, she is at the guillotine. It is time for her baby to be taken from her once again.

Riko knows that it is a small price to pay- her life in exchange for her baby's. Unlike her firstborn, he will never be held by Kengo. Her husband has told her that he is to be discarded - left to his brother. Tetsuji will raise her son in Castle Evermore, the nest for tomorrow's Exy prodigies. Kayleigh Day's smile flickers in her mind. It is news that lets Riko be at peace.

Yet, here, she has unfinished business. The chance to do what she could never do before. Her baby will always hold a trace of her.

Riko can finally run away.

(A:N: This is me trying to avoid working on my WIP,,, Just straight up writing then posting,,, less structured than I'd like but GOD the idea of this unnamed character was so intriguing!!! The mafia side of AFTG ....)

[moeblob]

Anyway I was thinking about Chris a lot lately and I wanted to draw Brent today so why not draw both!

(Angel is Chris' daughter who is like. 6 or 7. And she very happily has announced she will marry Mr. Right when she grows up and Right is just like "yes exactly, see, Chris? One person loves me enough to marry me I love my future wife" and it drives Chris up a wall. Brent normally calls her Angel but sometimes he has to push the button.)

[blujayonthewing]

opening the group chat for the first time today and there's like 200 new messages because everyone's Going Through It today it seems but one of my friends dropped 'I'm separating from [terrible boyfriend she's been living with for like eight years] for real this time, I just moved a bunch of stuff to my parents' and I'm losing my mind because y'all the subject changed almost immediately HEY HI EVERYBODY ELSE SHUT THE FUCK UP I WANNA HEAR ABOUT THAT???

[bleaksqueak]

Insomnia is letting up off and on, but I'm still super jelly brained from it case in point, I want to continue back with posting WIPs for the aired pages, but I can't remember what page I left off on now lmao (guess I'll have to dig through my blog to check... eesh. at least it's decently organized by tags?) Not a result of goo brain, really, but equally "AUGH" is that I let my screen protector go for too long without replacing it and now it's slick as snot and I don't have a replacement handy to put on it. This isn't a resulting consequence of goo brain but it does mean I'm going to be trying to draw without any traction while I'm already loopy. Good times ahead!

[polux-aka-hyakunana]

The tragedy of having my hands full of work until at least next week and suddenly remembering how much I love and miss Lies of P while living my Geats fever because I need stalker!Riders injected on my veins to keep living

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THIS IS HUMANITIES 11TH HOUR I THINK KIAN WAS RIGHT. THERE WAS SO MUCH HE COULD HAVE DONE BETTER BUT HE DID IT FOR GREAT REASON. THEIR RELATIONSHIP MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL. EVEN THE ECHO OF SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH YOU, AND THE ECHO OF YOU LOVES THEM TOO. they COPIED A HUMAN DOWN TO THEIR BASIC CIRCUTRY AS A SURVIVAL INSTINCT AND THE VERY WIRES STILL LOVE YOU. ITS THE ATMOSPHERE. ITS THE DISCORDANT AND SAD YET YEARNING CORDS IN THE AIR AS THE SKY REDDENS. ITS A WISH FOR SOMETHING MORE, PRESSING AGAINST INEVITABLE GLASS, CLEARLY NO HOPE OF CONTINUING OR BLOSSOMING. A PAINTING OF A MEMORY THEY WANT TO BE MAKING WITH NO CONCLUSION.

[keeps-ache]

!! oooooooooops !!

[theriverbeyond]

constantly on the knife's edge of i need a break i need to do nothing i need an Rx for 6 months by the seaside while also being like i NEED to be busy i need to be moving if i stop moving i will disintegrate into nothingness i will fade away. like if i don't move i'll shrivel if I move at all I will explode. does this make sense to anyone else.

[crescentfool]

with the year coming to a close, i hope that anyone who's reflecting about how the year went remembers to be kind and fair to themselves with how you evaluate the year as a whole.

i think there are definitely times when life throws things that are... Not So Great at you. whether if it's some external circumstance that surprised you, or maybe your mentality wasn't at it's best. i wish for anyone who's encountered those kinds of challenges to be able to triumph over them and be able to say that they got through it.

heck, it might still be a work in progress even though you've kept chipping away at it, and that's ok! the results will show themselves eventually as you work through it! and i hope that we can all remember to be patient with ourselves as we go through these processes (learning, healing, etc.), because damn, it can be frustrating when you feel like you're "not there yet."

knowing that life can be rough at times, i think it's unfair to yourself (and others) to discount and downplay any progress you've made this year- whether if it's something that you did for the first time, or maybe you came to a new understanding and insight that you didn't have in the previous year.

it's not to say that you should undermine the validity of your experience with hardship, but to take the time to remind yourself what makes life worth living. to recall what moments were the most satisfying to you- and use it to strengthen your resolve for the next year and beyond. no amount of hardship will ever take away from the fact that you deserve to have hope that things will get better.

i hope that looking back on the year, you don't leave out the things you cherish. that you can remember the good that came this year. whether if the small victories are things like meeting someone new, trying something out for the first time, or making some strides in a long-term project/obligation...!

i wish everyone a happy new year! may it be prosperous, and that your life can move in a direction that's close to what you want out of life. you're all going to do great! remember to congratulate yourself for what you did well! despite everything, you're still here, and that's wonderful. never forget that!