#anyway i can FINALLY draw him as something other than a human or a weird blob let’s go!

[raining-anonymously]

platypus practicpus. close-ups and IDs under the cut!

[ID: Drawing of Perry and Dr. Doofenshmirtz mid-battle. Perry is perched on Doof’s shoulder and has a fist pulled back; Doof’s nose is already bloodied. Perry is looking away from Doof, out the window, with a smile and a shine in his eyes—it’s snowing outside. Doof watches, expression annoyed or amused. Text beside him reads, “Hey! Are you gonna hit me, Perry the Platypus, or are you just gonna stare at the snow? …Hello? (Ow! Okay, you can do both! Jeez!)” end ID]

[ID: Drawing of Pinky the Chihuahua, Perry the Platypus, and Peter the Panda standing beside each other. Pinky is watching Perry wide-eyed and trembling, Perry is glaring at Peter with folded arms, and Peter is holding a mug with what might be Doof’s face on it, appearing slightly uneasy. Text above the three reads, “Agents P!” end ID]

[ID: Three drawings of Perry. One has him trudging along with a downcast expression, teary-eyed, tail dragging, and the label “Sadapus.” The next has him jetpacking away with a cheerful expression and saluting, labeled “Platybye!” The third shows him disguised in a white buttoned shirt, yellow scarf, purple pants, brown shoes, cactus hat, and star sunglasses, labeled “Fabupus.” end ID]

[ID: Perry behaving as a pet, all fours, eyes unfocused, text above him reading “grrrrk!” An arrow points to Perry as an agent, standing straight, hands balled into fists, fedora on, eyes narrowed. end ID]

[ID: Phineas, Ferb, and an oddly small Perry. Ferb is holding Perry, who is positioned almost like a baby, and looking down at him. Perry is peacefully asleep. Phineas points at Perry, appearing mid-laugh, with text beside him reading, “Aww! Look, Ferb, the artist drew Perry too small! (He must’ve been too cute to erase…)” end ID]

[prettyboykatsuki]

the devil who adores you | k. bakugou

✮ tags ; angel!bakugou x devil!reader, forbidden love, religious imagery, angst (?), mentions of creation, reader is implied to be older than bakugou by a lot but it's ambiguous, angel creation is not like human, birth, gn!reader (only physical attribute is them having horns)

✮ wc ; 1.1k

✮ a/n ; this is something i might expand into a fic one day ngl. a few clarifying things about the au.

god can't interfere in purgatory realm like he can in the human realm. devils can't enter heaven and angels can't enter hell.

they have an "age-gap" but there's not really a concept of like age. angels and devils have existences like light and dark that accumulate over time before they take on a physical form and start working.

godliness is a inheritance thing. yagi has been in the seat for all of katsukis existence but reader has been there since nana was in the seat

✮ synopsis ; katsuki wants to convince you to join him. he wants to love you in the light

“Ah, Mr. Angel. Did God finally send you down to me to be saved?” 

Katsuki glares at your form through the leaves. The two of you are currently in purgatory. In name and myth it’s a place between Hell and Heaven for lost souls. On paperwork and functionally, it’s a place where Devils and Angels can interact without interference. They can interact in the human world too, in reality. 

But they’re more restricted in how they speak and act. It’s easier here, quieter and more peaceful. You spend a lot of time in the area. A forest clearing with a little babbling brook. Purgatory has all sorts of sights, a copy of the human world so not to freak out the souls travelling through. 

It’s unusual for Devils, really - to choose a place so in line with God’s cretation to rest. Katsuki clicks his teeth as he walks through the thickets. The robes of fabric that hang over his waist brush the leaves as he finds you where your sit. 

“As if a damned Devil like you could ever be saved.” He grumbles. You laugh pleasantly, wearing the same get-up as always. Wearing fine red silks in a plain color, and those plain black shoes. A lot of the Devils he knows wear more flashy outfits, but you always look unusually plain. You hum at him, leaning back to rest on your palms. 

“You’re pretty harsh for an angel. You’ve been like that since your creation but,” You turn your head to glance at him “Never stops being surprising.” 

Katsuki never knows what to say at times like this. You’ve been alive alot longer than he has, and worked in this place a lot longer than him too. His only memories of you have been as a devil. Countless times, you’ve found each other to the same place through history. 

But you never stop with anymore than  a passing glance. Devils have certain qualities to them. Frivolous and arrogant, and unusually sadistic. Maybe it’s your age or that weird placid attitude you’ve always had. But hearing you tell him he’s not very angel-like feels ironic. 

“You’re one to talk, you old bag.” 

You laugh at that, not bothering to get angry. Instead you get this passive look on your face that Katsuki can’t read. You turn yourself to face him, hands reaching out for his wings. Your fingers are delicate, even with your nails pointed so razor sharp. They don’t cut Katsuki at all. 

“Mm, that’s true. But,” You glance at his face, then smile. Katsuki can’t help but look. Devils have specific beauties to them. The kind of entity that draws mankind to them. You’re no different, but it’s not something you do on purpose “I can understand why you were made to be one anyway.” 

“Haah. You’re the first person I’ve ever heard say that.” 

It’s true. Katsuki got a lot of shit for being an angel with his ‘bad personality’ to the point even God couldn’t give him answers. Yagi was newer in his seat, but he’d always seem confident in his pick. Despite being created together with another being, Katsuki had always felt secondary. 

His counterpart, Deku was everything an angel was meant to be. It’s surprising to hear you say it, and he wants to ask why but is too embarrassed. It doesn’t take anything for you to continue. 

“Angels have particular qualities but there’s only one thing they all have in common. A sense of responsibility towards mankind. Despite your looks and foul mouth, you harbor those very feelings.” 

Being read like that makes him blush. You laugh a bit at that.  

“I can see your heart. It’s pure as light, which is why God favors you and your counterpart. You are well loved.” 

Katsuki blushes again, harder this time. He can’t figure you out at all. You’ve worked in the realm longer than almost anyone, but he still has no idea what you’re thinking or why you are the way you are. Time and time again, you’ve done things that don’t feel quite right about being a Devil. He can’t understand it, or the way you look after others. 

“What about you?” He asks, before he has a chance to stop himself. All furious and flushed, arms folded in his lap and halo bright with feeling. His wings twitch “What makes you a Devil anyway? You’re nothing like those damned punks.” 

“Oho? You think I should become an Angel after all?” 

“That’s not—don’t twist my words, you horned miscreant!” He says, angrily grabbing your collar. You laugh again, hard this time before Katsuki shoves you away. 

You fold yourself over your knees smiling mischeviously. 

“What makes you think I’m not devilish?” 

Katsuki frowns, but you seem to be sincerely waiting for an answer. He turns his head to face the other way, eyes catching the forest beyond. There’s light pouring through, spilling into the stream. He sighs. 

“Dunno. You speak pretty highly o’humans or whatever. And you’re not some arrogant prick even while you’re doing your job. Picky about your clientele too. It’s all weird. If I threw a halo and wings on you, you’d just be another angel.” 

You grin at his evaluation. 

“Really. You think that highly of me?” 

“Who said that!” 

And you’re laughing again and Katsuki feels something in his ribs ache. It’s a real laugh, soft as feathers and rounded. Almost childish. 

“I can never become an angel and I won’t ever try. I’d rather become a human if I must change.” 

‘“But..why? Some Devils can redeem themselves and—” 

“Katsuki,” You interject, expression remaining warm “Wanting to make me an Angel so we can be together in the end. It’s the exact difference between you and me.” 

His mouth clamps shut. You don’t seem angry despite how see through he was being about the entire ordeal. He’s hurt before anything. 

“...So you don’t actually care about being with me? Was it all another frivolous fucking expirment for you? Do you—” 

He’s crying then. Soft tears down his cheek, when your hands go to cup them. You wipe them off for him. He grabs your wrist to pull you away but has no strength to do so. You lean into him closely, his face cradled gently in your palms. What Devil could ever be so loving? Could mean it so much?

“See, my love? That’s just the thing. You want me to become good. I would tear this whole world apart if you’d let me. I’d wreak havoc on mankind to hold you in my arms. You wish for worldly order and I wish for you.” 

“Damned Devil,” He cries. Curses. You kiss gently.

“Yours for eternity.”

[nkgrimmie]

During his first meeting with that d-class after learning that the guy was expecting that he would probably get killed, Alan would probably be horrified learning that that is what happens to most d-class. Not only is the foundation refusing to treat him like a person because of his "anomaly" but also other people who aren't even anomalous get treated horribly! There's no winning with this organization! He'd probably become even more uncooperative than he was already. Anyways, he'd probably become friends with the person. The d-class is probably just so incredibly relived that he's not a bloodthirsty monster like they were afraid of and is actually just a guy with a weird ability. Alan would be relieved to meet another human that isn't trying to make his life worse. He might even request visits from that person. The foundation might accept these requests and allow them to interact because maybe then he'll finally be able to draw something to life, but unfortunately the d-class would probably end up dying to something and when he isn't able to visit anymore, Alan could probably figure out that something happened and would be devastated.

y'know them being friends is kinda cute maybe I'll do something with it. mainly cause i like the idea of being sorta-friends with the d-class being part of what calmed him down enough to possibly be able to animate something, but still

alan would be so upset if he found out his new friend died 😭 cause like for once he was actually kinda sorta happy?? well whoops not anymore!

and the foundation would be upset too cause... they had gotten so close to getting him to make another stick! but they wouldn't really actually be that upset. it's just a d-class, they lose those guys all the time. they can just give XXX3-A a new one, and everything will be fine.

yeah. everything will be fine.

[chuckeroo777]

Frieren Liveblog- Chapters 5-8

Welcome back! Today we continue the cute adventures of Frieren and her apprentice Fern. Let's see what painful memories of Himmel we can dredge up today.

Remember, this is a first read-through, so no spoilers please!

Nothing personal kid.

I wonder if Frieren learned this spell from somewhere, or if she devised it herself, drawing from the hundreds of lesser spells she's collected to weave together a comprehensively powerful spell.

Maybe it's a little early for me to be making such judgements, but it feels like Frieren is somewhere on the spectrum. Between her difficulty expressing emotions, difficulty with social cues, and generally detached behavior while still clearly caring, she certainly fits the part.

Ah, but what about teleportation? Is that a thing in this magic system? Or even just a haste spell of some kind. It sounds unstoppable, but it has a weakness.

Fern, I stg, I literally told you to read the book that explained it.

Ah, so it wasn't unbeatable, just not understood. And without the element of surprise, it's just another spell.

You're the one who used the cheaty magic first. Fair's fair. She was nice enough to give you a chance to surrender.

Guys, she's literally wearing pants under her skirt. Ugh, men, am I right? Reminds me of the time I was DMing, and the party finally confronted the evil goddess in her sanctum. And rather than focusing on stopping the world ending ritual, the rogue decided it would be a good idea to crawl up into her dress. I then made the mistake of describing something horrific in there instead of rejecting it outright, which only made him more determined.

And you know what that means! Loot!

God, I love her.

It's probably partially just ingrained in her, but this behavior sounds like symptoms of depression. Either way, it's probably good for her to have someone like Fern around to support her, both physically and emotionally.

Hopefully pirate ghosts don't mind you turning their ships into scrap wood.

Gosh darn it, I'm already adoring their relationship. Frieren is weird as hell, and Fern doesn't get it, but damn if she doesn't do her best to support her anyway.

But it reminded you of your friend. And perhaps that's enough.

In a setting I'm working on, an afterlife does exist, but little is known about it. Souls can be summoned from the beyond, if they're willing, but are unable to describe or remember their time there. Some say the beyond is a place of blissful rest. Others believe it to be nothing but stasis, and some extremists believe it is inhabited by parasites, who harvest souls from our world to provide the beyond with souls of its own.

I suppose this has nothing to do with Frieren. I wonder if we'll get any answers, or if this is just left an open ended question.

I've been finding her rather relatable, but this? Who the hell comes to a friend's house unannounced and declare they are hanging out. Frieren. Frieren, that's who.

Har har. I do wonder what's up with the other elves of this world. Why is Frieren alone in human territory anyway?

Glad to see she's learning. Although, when she mentions Fern getting angry, is that true? I don't think we've seen that from her yet. Maybe Frieren just doesn't want to admit how much she respects Fern.

Uh huh. Frieren, it's only been 7 chapters and I can already tell that retracing Himmel's steps is absolutely your core motivation. You can admit you miss him.

Ah, so Flamme was Frieren's master? And judging by the flashback in the next panels, she was a human. I wonder how much contact Frieren has had with other elves? A lack of other immortals might explain her trouble forming meaningful connections.

Hmm... what did she know?

Well then. I guess this is our goal for the foreseeable future. Hmm... all sorts of things could go wrong. This land supposedly existed 1000 years ago, but the Demon King lived there 80 years ago. It wouldn't surprise me if the Demon King destroyed this place, or somehow tapped into its power.

Daw...

I wonder how long Eisen with be joining us. I imagine he's too old to accompany us far.

I'm going to hazard a guess and say she probably cares about you quite a bit, but is hopeless at actually expressing it.

I do wonder what is going through her head. Is she simply afraid to form bonds that would break in no time? Was Himmel the first real friend she made in her long life? What does Frieren truly want?

Those aren't the words of someone who doesn't want to spend time with you.

And that's chapter 8! Four chapters per post seems about right. Stay tuned for the next post shortly!

[tiramegtoons]

man, I don't know if it's because I have this ability where I can draw any "unflattering" character to make it more "flattering" to the eye, but I love seeing the reactions of people who fell in love with Stan's shadow form when seeing his true form, it's almost like a jumpscare XD Or I don't know, I just know that if you compare his official art with his in-game model the difference is huge, I was even thinking that it was the same case with Ari and his model was a redesign for the american version… until I found a screenshot of the japanese version in the final battle part and I realized that the model was the same… and the only difference was Ari's model. Personal opinion: I don't dislike Stan's human form, with a good drawing style he can look good, it's just that his in-game model looks really weird compared to his official art. His model is awful but at least it matches Okage's average gameplay XDDDDDDDDDDDD (even with cheats and understanding the battle system it's a torture) Anyway, I'm glad you liked Okage even with its flaws (same for you Medo! Nice Stan plushie!). I hope that in the future Okage becomes more well-known and gets the recognition it deserves, even if that means the arrival of a toxic side…

DUDE SAME WHEN I SAW IT I WAS LIKE H U H ???? WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY PRECIOUS BOY???

i mean, i dig the outfit and the style does match with the games theme but it just didnt feel like it was him all too much. Not sure what Tsutomu Sekimoto was going for with his final form design choice. I couldn't quite point it out, but every character stands out in a way that makes it plain obvious who they are and how they are like through their design and it clicked(as mentioned by Cameron Action's video essay on okage in one of my last posts) So I'm not sure exactly what they wanted to express with his human form... other than he's Giorno from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure??? nfvdjhfbjhb

I agree, Im not totally disheartened or repulsed by the design, however I think they should've kept an aspect of his... dorkiness? It just doesnt show much here. Not even in the American version. Just looks like buffed up Link lol

The "fiercer" look in his concept art is probably there to further emphasize that he's "classified" as the evil villain in the world. If that design was kept I think it could've worked out.. I'm not sure.

Which in this case makes sense. But I still think something is missing regardless. Also the two pointy things on his head... are those his ears in his final form?? This is giving me so many mixed emotions vghfdghgfgfg Just my opinion though. Dont mean to rain on anyone's parade just a little

(heheheheheh see what i did there) But yeah If other people like this form i don't mind it either. Considering most everything is visual and that none of his lines or any other characters lines are voiced, it's not half bad. ... i might actually try to draw my own version of him that matches my view of Stan actually

[serenthest4r]

!!!MUTANT MAYHEM SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

mutant mayhem just got released in Australia so I’ve finally been able to watch it and I wanna talk about a theory I have. This theory is that Mikey is the one who is going to be getting the Leo treatment this time around.

mutant mayhem does a very good job of balancing out each of the turtles screen time and they each play an important roll in the film but while I was watching something felt a bit off, the film wasn’t focused on more Leo and Raph’s but rather Leo and Mikey.

evidence from the movie:

In the backstory scene when the humans find out that there are mutants among them Splinter drops the turtles, most are around him but Mikey somehow rolls onto the road and almost gets run over. Fans of previous iterations will know that almost dying is a very Leo-coded thing so it seems odd that they would give it to Mikey.

When the turtles are walking back to the lair they have a moment where Mikey looks out longingly at the human world through a sewer grate before going after his brothers. It’s odd that this scene is just Mikey as we know that all the brothers want to have a life in the human world. The fact that it is just Mikey seems to hint at him having a larger roll within this universe.

Towards the end of the movie there is a scene when Mikey is standing alone looking around. He’s seeing things on fire, people injured while looking for his brothers. There’s ringing in his ears and everything is muffled, at one point he sees Mondo’s in some rubble and assumes he is dead before Mondo shows up at tells him that he’s okay. After that Mikey looks forward and sees Donnie stumbling towards him clearing out of it and has to watch as Superfly throws a car directly at him. This entire sequence seems like a Leo scene so the fact they gave it to Mikey just seems weird unless it’s going to link to something in the future.

At the end of the film it shows the turtles getting ready for their first day of school and once again Mikey is the last one to go, he has this moment where he’s looking back at Splinter and he then drops his mask to show that they’re entering a semi-normal life, in any other context the slow motion of the mask dropping could be taken as Mikey dying . Again this seems like a very Leo-coded scene. WHY DOES MIKEY HAVE ALL THE LEO-CODED SCENES???

In the post credit scene we can see all the brothers at prom, it then zooms out and shows Cynthia Utrom watching them through what I assume are security cameras, they’re all labeled as targets 001 through to 004, MIKEY is target 001. I do actually have a side theory as to why this is the case, when the turtles are getting ‘milked’ Mikey is the one with the most mutagen taken from him so that could be a reason for him being target 001.

evidence from the posters:

Starting with this poster the divide between Mikey and his brothers is really all I have to talk about. I just find it weird that they would give him the main spotlight for this.

THIS ONE is the one I wanna talk about. This is from a series of posters with the turtles weapon next to an ordinary object, the first different thing about Mikey’s poster is that the main focus goes fully across the page whereas the others are all in the centre. Secondly the object the chose were a pair of shoes on a wire which, if you don’t know, represent someone’s death. Which ties into the next poster:

This is again from a series of posters with a drawing of each turtle and than something about them such as Leo’s saying ‘double swords, quadruple anxiety’. Mikey’s says ‘he’ll risk his life for the last slice’. Risk his life? AS IN DEADTH???

all of these posters seem to foreshadow Mikey dying or at least pulling a Leo with a self-sacrificing move in the future and I am scared. Of course I could just be reading into it to much but I know the producers did not just put this stuff in the posters for a few laughs.

Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk I hope you enjoyed it :)

[opal-kitty333]

Okay, drawing is hard and I'm horrible at drawing full body references. The face is the most important part and I've decided y'all can imagine his feet on your own. Anyway...

I was going to do biblically accurate Sans for How to Make an Artificial Companion, but have changed my mind. Rough sketch is rough, but you get the idea. Ramblings about it under cut

So, Undertale as a game (or monsters in general) don't exist in universe. They're all AI designed by humans or in a few rare instances (*cough*Mettaton*cough*) other AI. While they should all be recognizable as who they are by a real world viewer, there are some notable differences on their designs because they weren't originally pixel art but instead 3d models and there are some signature details depending on who made them, when, why, and where they pulled references from. Sans (and Papyrus later) are made by a character who 3d prints chibi models and sells them online. Reader asks them to make a skeleton, something realisticish because reader is going to be staring whatever they make in the face and something that's one third a head would be weird, but not too realistic because talking to a Skyrim skeleton would also not be ideal. The artist is going WAY out of their comfort zone so the model is a little odd but loved dearly by everyone. This is why he's especially cartoon-y, and his anatomy is simplified, and has massive eyes compared to og Sans. I don't know if anyone else has looked up skeleton characters, but Sans also has a really fucking unique face shape. He is not made for being 3d with an opening mouth in mind, so while I was tempted to keep the shape, I ultimately changed it. He still has a massive smile, thick blocky teeth, and a roundish skull (especially compared to Papyrus) so hopefully he still reads as Sans-like. This is an au, so I feel altering everyone's appearance is acceptable anyway.

Lil details. His sternum is purposefully shaped to look like a tie because sternums are kinda shaped like that and I think it's silly. He's very much made to look cute and avoid uncanny valley while still being a personable and expressive. He is able to control his eyelight size or make them disappear, and later do specific expressions kinda like a V-tuber (so you get comical heart eyes or sweat drops kinda thing, but he doesn't use those unless it's for a gag and even then it's rare). The reader also makes him shorter than them. He starts the same height when he's a slim target mannequins, but once they're messing with his form they make the top of his head reach about heart level so he isn't as spooky. He starts off naked since they don't have monster costumes and his body is not considered sexual in the slightest, but eventually they do a dress up thing with him and this is when he picks up his signature outfit (after submitting many bug reports because wow this form is sand in the gears for everything this headset was made for). He actually prefers to stay dressed after this because he can make himself look chubbier which he thinks make him more friendly and approachable. He likes the form he was finally given, but the focus on the iterations before the final and just what he looks like in general gives him some self image issues and a fixation on keeping up appearances. Of course, with this fixation, he keeps it pretty down low which makes it hard to spot so you wouldn't really guess.

[peaceful-melancholia]

The Worry (part 3)

Eleven days later, on Thursday the 21st, they had exhausted so many of Ethan’s rituals and ideas that they were finally trying one that Jake had found. The ritual had to be performed on an odd numbered Thursday, and the rest of the instructions were very specific as well, but Jake was intentionally keeping the details from the other two. He was worried that Max might decide that he didn’t want to do the ritual at all, and he was preparing to argue each element with Ethan individually, rather than all at once. Jake had the music prepped on his phone, the ingredients prepped, and he even had handouts. He watched the clock, waiting until it was about the right time to begin.

“Alright, Max. Take your shirt off,” Jake began. He pulled the two main components out of his bag.

“This is already off to a weird start. Why does it have to be eleven-thirty?” Max asked as he complied.

“It’s supposed to be close to the witching hour on an odd-numbered Thursday,” Jake answered.

“That sounds familiar. I think one of the rituals my cousin told me about was the same, but I can’t remember which one. It was one that we wouldn’t use, anyway,” Ethan mused.

“Now stand very still so I can get the sigil right,” Jake said, consulting a page where he had drawn the sigil he needed to draw. He opened up his Tupperware of blood and dipped his finger in.

“Where exactly did you get this blood?” Max asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t bleed you or anything,” Jake reassured.

“That makes it so much worse. Do you know how many bloodborne illnesses there are?” Ethan said.

“What makes you think it’s even human? It just said ‘blood from a non-kosher animal’, nothing about being human blood. Although, I guess humans probably aren’t kosher, so that might work,” Jake said as he drew the sigil.

“So it’s pig blood?” Ethan clarified.

“Oh, yeah, that would have worked. I wish I had thought of that. Would have been easier to source, I bet, I was worried this wasn’t even going to come in time,” Jake said.

“What is it, then?” Max asked.

“Camel blood. See? Not all that weird. Now recline back a bit so I can put the glitter on,” Jake said.

“Glitter? Any ritual involving glitter could never work,” Ethan said as Max once again did as Jake asked.

“I know you say that, but probably a lot of these elements have several possible variants, or else it would have been really unlikely for any of them to have been developed in the first place. In this case, glitter is shiny, and the color is silver, so maybe the original used polished silver flakes or something. But that would burn him, so it wouldn’t really be worth trying it at that point,” Jake said. That was one of the two big hurdles he expected.

“Fine, I guess it can’t hurt. Except wasting camel blood,” Ethan said. “What’s next?”

“Well, then I draw a line from Max to each of us using the glitter,” Jake said. Ethan shook his head in continuation of his disbelief about the glitter, but Jake continued. “And then we have to fill our shoes with it and put them back on.”

“Right, obviously. You know, the only reason I’m still doing this is that you are reminding me of at least one of the rituals I heard about,” Ethan said, taking off his shoes for Jake to pour glitter into them. Jake did the same with his own shoes and drew the lines, opposite from each other and radiating away from Max.

“Do I have to have glitter in my shoes? And should I just be standing, or should I lay down, or something?” Max asked.

“No on the glitter, and it didn’t say, so do whatever seems comfortable for you, to be honest. You have the least active part. Except getting bloody, obviously,” Jake said. “Right, now take the handout, Ethan. We are going to need to do this dance, staying in the spot where the glitter line leads. Don’t mirror what I do, do it the same way I’m doing it, if that makes sense.”

“This seems familiar for a different reason,” Ethan said. “Anyway, it doesn’t look too hard. Is there a specific tempo, or is it just any synchronized pace?”

“Well, there is a specific tempo. We have to do it to Thriller, by Michael Jackson,” Jake said. Second big hurdle with Ethan.

“That’s a fully modern song,” Ethan said. He seemed to be giving up, though.

“As you said, it’s probably just for the tempo, so we might as well. And it’s pretty well themed, if I’m being honest,” Jake said.

“I think if you two are going to be dancing, it would feel weird if I was standing. I think I’ll sit, maybe,” Max said.

“Do you think you’ve got the dance down?” Jake asked.

“I guess so. I’ll have you to watch, anyway,” Ethan said. Jake knew his memory was really good, so he probably wouldn’t need the help.

“Alright, so when he sings the chorus, we start, and then we continue until either the blood catches on fire or the song ends, whichever comes first,” Jake explained.

“On fire?!” Max said. “I don’t know that I want to catch on fire.”

“Oh not you, just the blood. I don’t think it’ll melt the glitter, either,” Jake said, and he hit play on the music. He stood still, opposite Ethan, ready to start dancing – and then the chorus started.

The dance started with a twitch of the shoulder and neck, followed by a body twist and raising their arms to the side. Then there was a series of foot and hip movements, culminating in a clap. Slide right, stomp, look to the side and raise shoulders, slide left, swing one leg and arms to the side. Hips, superhero pose, hips, then Ethan and Jake pulled up their arms to the side, bending their hands like they were clawed, first on one side, then the other, standing on the leg opposite their arms each time.

“Is this really just the dance they do in the music video?” Max chimed in.

“It’s similar, but don’t interrupt,” Jake said. He and Ethan continued the dance, which required them to repeat the whole thing after they had finished going through it once. Jake was watching carefully for the blood to burn, which would indicate that they should stop the dance immediately, but it didn’t happen. Instead, the music stopped, and they stopped dancing when that happened.

“I don’t think it worked, but it did seem so familiar,” Ethan said. Just then the blood burst into flame, causing Max to scream and stand up, though he was ultimately unharmed in the process.

“Go see if there is anything different about you,” Jake said cryptically. Ethan’s eyes widened in recognition of why he had been finding it so familiar the whole time.

“This is the teeth ritual!” Ethan said. “You found a modern version of the teeth ritual! Why did this one have to be the one that worked, out of all of them? He won’t be happy.”

As if to punctuate the point, Max yelled “JAKE!” from the bathroom before stomping back out into the living room.

“So? Did it work?” Jake asked innocently.

“You did a ritual to make my canines even bigger?!” Max said, fuming.

“Well, the ritual was supposed to bring forward some of the most positive wolf-traits, just a bit, while you’re human. The teeth thing is probably just the most noticeable,” Jake said. In fact, there was debate about whether it affected anything other than the teeth, but he wasn’t going to mention that now.

“Well, they are,” Max said, pulling back his lips to show off his nearly animalistic canines, though they weren’t visible until he pulled his lips back. “If this is permanent, I’m going to kill you.”

“The site didn’t say it was permanent. I’m sure it’ll end either tomorrow, or after the full moon,” Jake said with a confidence that was entirely undeserved.

“Alright, fine, but if they are still like this after that, I really am going to kill you,” Max said, slightly comforted. “I’m going to bed, anyway. You kept us up this late on a Thursday night just to make my teeth bigger for a few days.”

Max marched into bed, leaving Ethan and Jake in the room together. They were silent for a moment before Ethan felt it was safe to talk without Max hearing.

“So…in the context I was told about that ritual, it was developed to mark a werewolf so that they couldn’t hide if they left to go somewhere else. So, yeah. It’s hella permanent.”

“Don’t say hella, it doesn’t work coming from you. And I’m prepared to die, anyway,” Jake said.

“Well, glad to hear it, because I’m not going to stop him. ‘Night,” Ethan said, leaving Jake in the room. Jake stayed in the living room for several more minutes in silence before standing to go to bed.

“Yep. I’m hella dead,” Jake said.

-:-

The next day, the moon was absent all the daylight hours. That didn’t mean very much, given the daylight hours were few and far between, but it still made it hard to track how full the moon looked. It made Jake uncomfortable how full the moon had looked the previous day, though he didn’t talk about with Max. Ethan kept reminding him that it wouldn’t truly be full until Saturday, but Jake wasn’t convinced. He was so unconvinced that he had to say something, which he did when they were all back at their apartment.

“I know the full moon isn’t until tomorrow, but it’s gonna look pretty full tonight. And I looked, and technically the last full moon was on a Thursday, not the Friday night that Max got bitten, so I really think we should set everything up and try it tonight, just in case,” Jake said. He had already started, actually, just before the others had arrived home.

“I’d prefer to be safe rather than sorry,” Max agreed.

“Alright, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Just until the moon has risen a bit, and then you’ll be able to get out anyway. The whole setup will only work while you’re not smart enough to deal with it,” Ethan said.

With that, they got to quick work, setting up their wolf trap. It was in the bedroom Max and Jake shared, which meant that Jake would have to sleep on the couch on any night Max actually was a werewolf, but that was a sacrifice Jake would just have to make.

The trap was a mix of a few experiments and a few certainties. The holy water they had mixed with salt and formed a line trapping Max in – or at least, trapping him if he were evil or if salt really had any effect on supernatural creatures. The more certain aspect was a padlock wrapped in silver wire. The key was also wrapped in silver wire. While that would burn Max, if he had the mind to, he would be able to cover his hands with something and unwrap the silver wire from the key, unlocking the padlock without issue. If the wolf even had mind enough to use a key, then the silver wire would probably prevent it from picking up the key. At least, that was the hope.

There was also a few strands of silver wire strung about the room in the hopes that it would prevent a werewolf from busting through the walls. There was a chance they wouldn’t be sufficient for that purpose, but they didn't have any better way to ensure the wolf couldn't thwart their efforts.  Max was already inside the room, and the key was on the floor. Max still had to close the padlock once the door was closed, but otherwise, they were ready. Jake closed the door and pressed his ear to it until he heard the telltale click of the lock snapping into place. Then he and Ethan went to the kitchen table to wait for the moon to be fully out.

It didn't take too long before they saw the moon, looking basically full. Ethan went to the door, informing Max that the moon was out. Max had a timer set for an hour, which was just to be extra safe and ensure that they didn't let Max out right before he transformed. They figured if he didn't transform in that hour, they'd be safe until the next night. On the way back, Ethan froze when they heard a crash from the room.

“Are you okay?” Ethan called out. There wasn't a response from the room, but there also wasn't any other noise, so Ethan came back to the chair he'd been sitting in. “Maybe you were right about setting it up tonight.”

“I don't know, I expected a lot more commotion from him changing. You know, the muscles growing and the getting taller and all of that. I would have thought he'd be moving around and be too big to fit properly in the room, and all that. So I'm guessing that was just Max being a dork and not wanting to admit it,” Jake said. Of course, he hoped he was right. It was kind of exciting to think that his bedroom would be trapping a giant murderous beast. “Oh, and a howl. I mean, wolves are pack animals, so werewolves probably are, too. So they probably howl to get together right after they all transform.”

Ethan looked only slightly skeptical, and the two waited to hear any kind of noise from the room after that. They spent nearly half an hour waiting before they heard anything, and when they did, it was the sound of ripping fabric. They waited a bit longer, expecting to hear any continued sounds of change. Instead, they heard the metallic click of the lock being reopened.

“Timer's not up yet,” Jake whispered, getting nervous.

“No, it's not. It seems the wolf might be smarter than we planned for. Let's hope the salt and holy water stop it,” Ethan said, more calmly than Jake but still nervous for what was about to happen.

There was a thud of the lock dropping to the ground, and the doorknob moved. The door opened, barely revealing the tip of a wolf's muzzle from inside the room, confirming their fears. The door opened wider, revealing Max in his full werewolf form.

“So what pisses me off about this,” Max said, his voice maybe slightly deeper or more raspy, but ultimately the same as usual, “is that it means whoever that guy was, he bit me, like, fully with the knowledge of what it would do and in his right mind. That's way worse than if he were some kind of mindless beast. Who does that?”

“So your mind is the same in every respect? Anything strange?” Ethan said, eyebrows raised at the unexpected sight of Max's werewolf form.

“Why are you only in your underwear?” Jake asked.

“I started changing and I took all my clothes off so they wouldn't rip. But then I didn't really get any bigger. The tail might have been uncomfortable with pants on, though,” Max said, looking himself over.

“But we heard ripping. What ripped?” Ethan asked.

“My underwear. It was intentional. I had to make a hole to put the tail through,” Max said, turning to show them the tail poking through just under the waistband.

That prompted each of them to give Max a proper looking over. His fur, which covered his whole body in a medium-length slightly fluffy layer, was a similar blond to what his hair had been. His face was a full wolf head, ears, teeth, and nose. His legs were an odd blend of dog and human, making it look like Max might have just been standing on the balls of his extra-long feet, were it not for the pads and claws. His hands also ended in claws, but were otherwise fairly human. He was maybe a few inches taller than he was before, but he didn't look larger in any other dimension.

“Did it hurt?” Ethan asked.

“No, it didn't really feel like much. It just felt weird afterwards, because of the fur and the tail. And I'll have to get used to the claws. The feet, surprisingly, not that hard to get used to,” Max said. “I only fell once.”

Jake was stunned by how different Max's werewolf form was from what he was expecting. So much so that he couldn't form the right words for a moment, but eventually he found his voice again.

“You're really just…” Jake said, searching again for the right words. “a cute little werewolf puppy.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at Jake, but Max's mouth was hanging open in shock. It was surprisingly expressive for being so wolf like, Jake thought.

“I will BITE you if you say anything like that ever again!” Max said, clearly offended. “Wait,” he continued, clearly coming to some kind of realization. “Oh, man! I called that werewolf a cute puppy! And then I threatened to bite you for that, so I guess I get it now and that means I can't be mad at him! This is the absolute worst.”

[inked-out-trees]

wake up, wake up, little sparrow

(a coda to the fixed point theory, in which sparrow and cola finally get their closure)

I finally did it! it's been a long time coming (and by long time I mean I wanted to write this scene into the full fic, couldn't find a spot for it, and so pieces of this have been vibing at the back of my mind for like a year). pls enjoy :')

wordcount: 3373. title from the folksong of the same name by ella jenkins, secondary shoutout to the leyla mccalla version as well.

// mention of fic-typical death, reference to something that feels like incest but is not because they're not related - sandra just likes to call the cohort her siblings

October 2009.

The variation of front doors throughout time is surprisingly thin. At least, the look of them. Approximately person-sized, with a bit extra to account for comfort and human differences, a perfect delineation that says: you can enter this closed place through this area that is sometimes not closed. And occasionally they are painted red.

This is something Sandra thinks about on and off as she stands on the doorstep.

This squat little house lives in a threadbare neighbourhood somewhere in the shitty outskirts of a desperately small prairie town, the kind with one school and two churches and porches laden with old bikes and dirty plastic chairs. She’s seen no one in the half hour she’s been here, psyching herself up first on the gravel road and then on the front step of the house. It has a red front door. The floorboards are weathered green-grey beneath her feet.

She checks the time and date again. Correct, all around. The address. Also correct. It’s all written down, anyway, on this sticky note in her pocket that’s been crumpled and flattened so much its edges are soft and the ink has run and faded. The loopy, unencumbered handwriting of a forty-two-year-old Dodger, whom Sandra had run into at a farmer’s market in 2633.

That had been weird, too. Not just because it was the first time she’d been called Sparrow in fifteen years. They’d traded pleasantries, caught each other up on the lost years of their lives like they were casual old friends rather than estranged sisters who grew up learning how to kill people. It was awkward and then they fell into it, tripping suddenly into this metaphorical hole of easy reminiscence and falling, falling, falling.

Dodger hadn’t given her much of the cohort’s history, but she did give Sandra the currents: that she’d started writing her weird books, that Ghoul had found a ‘hot divorcée MILF’–Ghoul’s words–to settle down with, that Nicky was still gallivanting around picking up his odds and ends, to the consternation of the Bureau. Most crucially, at least to Sandra – that Cola was waiting.

The date’s passed, based on our chats, Dodger had said, something wistful playing at the edges of her lips. Cola still hasn’t told us what came of it.

How is he now? Sandra had asked.

And Dodger had shrugged, easily, like it wasn’t a concern that they’d scattered, leaving Cola in particular to whatever fate he cursed himself into. Like he wasn’t struggling to draw breath the last time Sandra had seen him, like things just – went on.

Which, maybe they did. She doesn’t know the details.

He messages us every once in a while so we know he’s still alive, Dodger had said.

Sandra wonders how necessary that was, at the start. If his state of being was that much of a question.

Dodger didn’t know what she’d be walking into, and so–even though it’s been a long time since she’s needed a debrief before jumping into things–her nerves slice sharp. The porch is so unassuming it feels, for a moment, that she’s on a regular adventure, or perhaps doorknocking or flyering or something else she lost shame about a long time ago. The door is the colour of fresh blood. Sandra’s not a ditherer – but this is Cola.

Cola, whose dream she picked up and ran with, never once looked back to see if she was trailing his intestines along with it.

The blinds at the front window are shut tight, but there’s a shift in one of them–a slit widening, and then shutting again, the brief space of an eyeball between them–and then the door lock clicks. Her throat hurts as she swallows.

Empty, cold space, this airlock of a front hallway, and then Cola says, “Sparrow.”

Sandra lifts her eyes. “Hi,” she says.

Cola’s older, here, same as the Dodger she met in the market several days ago and several hundred years to come. Or maybe he just looks it – reasonably, he shouldn’t be past forty yet, somewhere close in age to Sandra herself despite the jumps in time. But there are crevasses in his face that seem too deep to be real, a heaviness to the way he holds himself, steel-grey eyes she could drown in.

“You came,” Cola says.

Sandra thinks she might understand the way it feels to be a butterfly pinned into a shadow box. “I met Dodger,” she says. “She gave me the address.”

“I figured one of them would. If you found them.”

“I wouldn’t say I was looking for them,” says Sandra. “Not that she was looking for me, either, it was more of a coincidence, right-place-right-time sort of thing. Which, given the whole, you know. Time. I guess it could be construed as suspicious? But then again, even the smallest of probabilities must be true in some form, in some universe, again, given time. So maybe it was just that.” That’s a lot of words all at once. Sandra clamps her jaw shut.

Cola just gives her the smallest upturn of a smile. “I really want to get to know you,” he says finally, stepping aside to let her through the cramped entryway. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He shuts the door and locks it, and as she’s pulling off her boots, Cola skirts past her, deliberately not touching her – a lack of touch that hurts nonetheless, because she knows in her bones that in a past life he would have given her a gentle knock on the shoulder, or even a hip-check, something easy and kind. There is so much between them, and it is nothing and everything, all at once.

She tucks her boots in the corner by the doorstop, toes nudging against a faded dirt stain along the baseboard. A little whiff of warm air brushes past her knuckles from the vent. Something click-clicks deep within the ducts. The house feels, incredulously, alive.

“I also have biscuits,” Cola says, from further inside. “They’re from the store. Probably stale. But I have them.”

Around the corner, the kitchen has the same wilted feel as the rest of the interior: beige wood cabinets and grey lino on the counters, the handle of the refrigerator yellowed with use, a pile of used dishes in the sink, all of it emanating a sort of stasis. The walls and fridge are bare of pictures. A single banana sits, browning, on the windowsill.

And Cola, half inside the pantry, holding a box of biscuits tentatively in one hand.

“Sounds perfect,” Sandra says, and she almost believes it. The water picks up in the kettle. She’s visiting a friend, that’s all; never mind that it’s not her current home time or place, never mind that this friend is her long-estranged brother.

Cola shifts another not-quite-smile her way, slides the biscuits across the island.

She’s not sure what’s meant to happen now. If the onus is on her to start whatever this is, or on Cola – he invited her here, sure, but she came. She slips her nails into the groove of the cardboard and rips open the biscuit box, and Cola pulls two mugs from his cupboards and drops unremarkable teabags into them, and neither of them speak.

They stand in relative silence until the kettle boils, and Cola hands her a mug, picking up his own and leading her back into the living room. She’d passed it earlier but made no note of it; the furniture is mismatched but comfortable, and–most memorably–a guitar is propped upright next to the tv, without a stand but surrounded by piles of books and sheet music. It’s so new it shakes her. So much has changed.

“So,” she says, and the word is so violently awkward it catapults her personality fully into the opposite direction – back into the ease and detachment of Sandra, the great and powerful, better-than-you actress who first debuted whenever she finally joined the drama club. Thirteen years ago and three years to come. “What made you choose two thousand and nine?”

Cola raises an eyebrow at her code switch but thankfully doesn’t push it. “Hadn’t been here yet,” he says, “and it seemed far enough away from all my other shit that it just... sounded okay.” He swipes a hand across his forehead, pulling trailing hair from his face. “And, I don’t know. I knew you were somewhere around here, too. Maybe I’d run into you. Long shot, but. You know.”

All at once Sandra deflates. So much for great and powerful. “Time loves its coincidences,” she agrees. “You look well.”

Cola’s answering snort is derisive. “I would love to see through whatever lenses you’ve got right on right now, Sparr.”

And, okay, yes, in truth Cola has a haggardness about him, deep under-eye circles and this energy fuzzing at the surface of his skin, like he’s been holding onto a coiled spring for so long even letting it go would no longer hold absolution. It’s been a long, long time, but somewhere in the core parts of Sandra’s memories she holds a picture of Cola full of life and glowing with it. This is – not that.

“You, however,” he continues, circling his mug in her direction. “Obviously whatever you did... worked well for you.”

“It did,” Sandra confirms. She doesn’t want to say too much, because, again – a dream she stole is a dream barely hers at all.

But Cola leans forward, with the least amount of guard she’s seen since she’s stepped foot in this house that breathes. “Tell me,” he demands, and she never could deny him, anyway, not when it counted.

She talks for a long time, and Cola never once stops looking interested. He rises a couple times: first to refill their tea, and then to start dinner, something small and frozen that Sandra doesn’t quite catch before it’s out of the box and into the oven. “Hope you’re okay without living in splendor for a bit,” he says, somewhat sardonically, and Sandra says, “I was in prison, I can handle it,” fully knowing she hasn’t gotten to that part yet in her story, excited to tell more. They sit on Cola’s kitchen counter and eat when it’s done – two plastic plates full of crudely sliced Shepard’s pie, heels knocking against the bottom set of kitchen cabinets.

Sandra finishes her abbreviated life story–as much as she’s telling, anyway–as they’re drying and returning Cola’s dishes to their spots. The grass flats stretching beyond the kitchen window sprout twisted, gnarled shadows, like scarecrows in the drying field. The sun is on the other side of the house, so low in the sky it’s almost disappeared. It’s been hours.

In the living room, Cola flicks on the lamp and dumps himself back into the chair. Sandra cradles her fourth cup of tea. “Your turn,” she says.

Cola shoves his face into both hands, stays like that for a while, and then moves them up, brushing back his hair as he goes. “It’s not as exciting.”

“I don’t care. It’s you. It’ll be exciting.”

This is the wrong thing to say, apparently, because all of the looseness Cola has begun to exhibit coils right back up, hard lines re-imprinting into the corners of his eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sparr, I promise it’s not–that’s not even your fucking name, I shouldn’t be calling you that.”

“You can,” Sandra says. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Fuck,” Cola sighs, deflating much like a balloon. “Look, it’s not. I’m not.” He sits in silence for a while, clawing his fingers and then relaxing them on his knee, nails scraping against his jeans. “Dodger didn’t tell you anything, huh.”

“Not really.” and she hadn’t, not of their past; just of their present, or what they’d built into their own pocket of ‘present’, this shortened version of their past ten years or so. Sandra makes a small, nonsensical gesture at the house. “But you’re here. Instead of, you know.”

Cola stares at the floor, visibly steeling himself. “So you left,” he says. “We know that part. The Ring was not happy, as you can expect. They said they’d handle it. The rest of us kind of expected them to bring back your body as a warning.”

“Jesus,” Sandra says, before she can stop herself.

“But they grounded me anyway,” Cola continues. “Thought I’d helped you, or some shit. When they asked if I had I said no, but if she’d let me I would have, and I don’t know if that killed my future or not but it certainly didn’t help. Didn’t really care at that point, though. Since you, you know. Made it all possible, even when it wasn’t.”

Sandra remembers the crack in his voice that very first night, when he’d said I’m too chickenshit to do anything about it. Remembers how hard she’d hoped, afterwards, that he’d managed anyway.

Cola drains his tea. “Didn’t matter, anyway. The program got shut down five, seven years later. Yeah,” he adds, at Sandra’s raised eyebrow, “we were the first and the last ones, big fuckin’ whoop. Guess it wasn’t sustainable the way they thought it was, raising cycles of children to do their dirty work. Anyway, we were still classified as dangerous as hell, didn’t even exist legally and all that shit, so they couldn’t just let us wander. So we just, kind of... stayed at the compound. They kept everything running–everything except, y’know, the regular trips–and it was the most boring three years in my whole goddamn life. Hell, Mono and Prime started shagging somewhere in there, and it was–yeah, I know–until I figured, hey, we’ve been controlled enough, they don’t need any judgement from me. So. You know.”

He shrugs, like it’s the end of the story, dismissive in a way that makes Sandra want to lean in, unravel the stuck pieces and pull them out like thread.

“They let us out a couple years ago,” he says. “Personal escort to whenever and wherever we wanted to go, no time tech allowed beyond that. We collective-bargained for this stupid groupchat. I think they got the code from the future. But it measures sends and receives based on how long we’ve each been alive, so, like – I could text ‘em four hours after I get here and they’ll each get it four hours after they’ve landed in their final times. But that’s. That’s it, really.” He leans back in his chair, eyes still tight, face still shuttered. “And now I’m here, I guess. Living out the rest of my life in a fuckin’ farm town.”

Sandra wants to ask about the farm town decision, but the impression she’s getting of Cola–this ghost of a man living inside a house that feels, for all intents and purposes, larger than the person occupying it–is twigging something unpleasant in her gut. “All the things you wanted to do,” she ends up saying. “Concerts. Coworkers. Love.”

Cola laughs, a single, sharp bark that could shatter ice. “Fuck, Sparrow, that was always just going to be a dream. The program took too much away from me when they grounded me - hell, when they fucking adopted me. There’s not enough left in here to build whatever life I wanted.” He flops a hand around in a gesture at himself. “I’m glad you got your happy ending. Really, I’m fucking elated for you. But all you are is lucky. Most folks just go until they don’t anymore.”

Sandra notes, dimly, that whatever was rattling in the vents has now stopped; somewhere down the hall a clock seems to be repeating the tock without an accompanying tick, an unsettling undertone to the silence. She might be numb all over. Or maybe it just hurts, in some unexplainable way, this version of Cola she’s just met – the one she’s known all along. Bitter and carved from stone.

It’s fully nighttime now. It might just be the lamp casting odd shadows onto his face, but she’s not quite sure that’s it.

“Cola,” she says.

“I picked Ronan,” he says. “Not that anyone knows me by that. But the woman at the grocery store asked, once. Town this small, it’s hard to miss when new people show up.”

Sandra wets her lips and resets. “Ronan.”

And Cola looks her in the eyes. “Sandra.”

Good god, how did they get here? Her fingers itch for her watch; she wants to hurl them both back in time and fix whatever’s gone wrong here, fix it all – mold them both better childhoods, give them love rather than the fucked-up upbringing they got stuck with.

“You still have time,” she says, finally, sort of like she’s begging. Absolutely like she’s begging. “Find a major city. Pull out all the stops.”

“Jesus, always with the idealism.” Cola runs his hand through his hair, again, and tugs at it. “I’m a fucking coward, didn’t you hear the first time? This is what I have. I’m not stupid enough to let it get taken away from me, too.”

“But it doesn’t have to go.” Sandra’s stubborn, she can credit herself that. “You’re making Ronan up as you go. I know you are, I had to do the same with Sandra. He doesn’t have to hold onto the things Cola holds onto. He can do more. He can.”

Cola looks cynical, and for a flash of a second Sandra wants to haul him to his feet by the collar and throttle him. She doesn’t. She bites at the edge of her thumb and thinks for a while.

“Hey, we all knew this was going to be how it turned out,” Cola says, in a weird, gentle way, like he’s trying to reassure Sandra of his own miserable circumstances.

Sandra finds purchase on a piece of tough skin and yanks, tearing a strip that starts fine and turns tender the further it pulls. The loose thread of skin tickles. She flicks it back and forth with her pointer finger.

“Fine,” she declares. “You’re a coward. Cool. You know what you can still do?”

Cola raises an eyebrow as Sandra stands, rounding the coffee table and picking past a small pile of DVDs.

She thrusts a hand out, fingers open, as though offering him a boost up. “Take my hand.”

“Sparrow,” says Cola.

“The great news,” she says, “is that we’re all cowards. Every single one of us, about different things. We just find people who can do the things we can’t and let them drag us along, because we’re scared as hell but we do it anyway. Take my fucking hand, Cola.”

Cola spares a glace to his DVD player, which has a digital clock glowing green on its right side. “It’s nine thirty. Where are you planning on taking me, the high school bonfire?”

“It’s a bloody metaphor,” Sandra says, exasperated. “Do I have to pick you up? You look like you stopped exercising. I could take you.”

“Uh, no,” Cola retorts. “It’s always been a fair fight, it’ll always be a fair fight.”

He’s slipping back into banter mode, shedding some of that armor disguised as a hatred for life. Sandra keeps her hand out and tries to smother the smug feeling in her stomach.

Cola looks at her hand, then looks at her, back and forth a couple times. “You’re fucking serious,” he says.

“I’m fucking serious,” says Sandra.

“You–”

Sandra waves her open hand very close to Cola’s nose.

“Don’t slap me, Jesus Christ.” Cola smacks her hand away, and that’s the end of it – except it’s not, because instead of just letting her go, he wraps his fingers around hers. It’s a little unorthodox, as far as hauling handshakes go, but Sandra plants her feet and pulls him to stand anyway.

Nine thirty, in the bleeding dark of the smallest farm town Sandra’s ever seen, surrounded by life – a peeling coffee table with ringstains, piles of DVDs, the goddamn guitar. Cola opens himself, just a little bit, to match.

Sandra grips her brother’s hand. “The two thousands can be great, if you let them,” she says. “You’re going to make this work.”

[depressed-sock]

Mirror Image

Alright I’ve got no plans to actually do anything with this so I decided to just throw it out into the wild rather then let it gather dust.

Puppet and Sidestep au story. Puppet pov

...

The first time you see Nova without a shirt, it's to stitch up a wound on his back. It looks worse than it actually is but it still leaves you worried.

It's not often Nova gets sloppy but it's been known to happen in these last few years you've been with him. In those few times, he's never had you help him with his injuries. Has never needed your help. Or maybe he's never been comfortable showing his skin to you.

Even though you've known exactly what's been under his clothes since the first day his mind touched yours. (Before that even. When skeletal hands had touched your face and made everything hurt. You saw him. Your almost perfect copy. A doppelganger who was older and jaded and marked as other.) It would be impossible for you not to know either way. Not with the shared nightmares and memories you've inherited with him sometimes riding around in your head.

It means something that he trusts you with this. Your brother in revenge is leaning on you because he finally realized he needs to. It's worrying for a lot of reasons. The main one you're focusing on is how vulnerable he is.

How, in a visceral way, you know exactly why he waited this long to ask for help.

"What happened?" You ask to distract yourself. Force yourself to focus on the injuries and not the rancid orange you wish you could dig out with your own hands. It's weird sometimes. Feeling this strongly for someone who is not you. You both have had only yourselves to count on for all your life���and now? Now you have this strange companionship that neither of you can untangle from. You don't think either of you really wants to anyway.

Not with the way Nova leans into your touch rather than flinching. As he trusts you in a way he never would with anyone else. He looks back at you with an exhausted smile and only the explanation of, "Got in over my head doing something stupid."

Stupid and risky and… Another Regen? You can feel the shape of what happened, his mind so very open with yours. "Did you kill them?"

He winces. Guilt tasting rancid at the back of your throat. The biggest difference between the two of you. He feels guilty about a lot of things. You have nothing to feel guilty for. (That's what you keep telling yourself at least.)

Fuck, that sucks though. You know he doesn’t like to kill. "That's not going to draw their attention right?"

"No. It shouldn't. Not with it dead."

You wince because you can feel what he’s trying to do. Distance himself. Make himself and the other Regen objects rather than people. "Don't do that. None of you are objects."

"Not all of us prefer human pronouns," he snorts and you just roll your eyes. Classic diversion. Doesn’t really work on someone who shares a mind space with you in close proximity.

"I know, I've got memories of that place from you, remember asshole?" You very gently smack his shoulder. Making sure to avoid anywhere near the injury. You've both been hurt too often to willingly inflict more on each other. "I also know when you're being shit to yourself and other Regens."

He frowns as you finish the final stitch. Turning to face you. Too intimate, too close, too much at risk with this discussion. (Your eyes go to the barcode. You wonder how much he’s worth.) “We are not going to a grocery store to use a barcode scanner.” A twitch of his lips, fighting off a smile but you can see the laughter in your brother's eyes.

“You gotta admit, it would be a little funny if you were the same price as a box of Oreos.”

“Sunny.” His tone is serious. “We both know I’d cost the same as a pack of gum.”

The giggle that hits you is maybe a bit too hysterical. Bubbling up from your gut and being held back by a hand to your mouth. “Oh my god. I bet you’d cost the same as the one stupid movie. What was it? Sidestep and Charge? No, it was something else…”

“Please stop,” he groans, head in his hands now.

“Oh wait, I remember. Charged love! Where they made you a woman.”

“Oh Hell no. That can go burn in a trash fire.”

“See that makes it the perfect price!” you somehow say with a straight face. “Because your life is a trash fire!”

That does it. Finally breaks the smile free and the absolute joy of talking about stupid shit feels amazing. The worry is gone.

After a few breaths of laughter, Nova shakes his head, looking at you with narrowed eyes. "You're becoming more empath than fortune teller at this rate."

"Well asshole, that's your own damn fault.” You throw his shirt at him. Pausing a second before nervously handing over his jacket too. “Secondly, do me a favor and try to avoid cars for the foreseeable future."

He pulls the shirt on, scrunching his nose a bit and doing his best to hide the wince. "You saw something?"

"Not the full thing. Just a taste of it. It's still far off enough I can't get a clear read."

He hums in thought, slipping the jacket on next. "Anything about Shroud?"

It's hard to hold back the snarl that wants to twist your lips at her name. "Nothing prediction-wise. I have some feelers out though. There's something going on and we should be expecting Lord Ember to pay a visit to the city in the near future."

"We can work him into our plans if we need to. Especially if he’s bringing her along."

You nod your head. "Focus on building our organization first. Once we’re established it’ll be easier to fry the bigger fish."

He nods back. Moving to sit next to you, his weight leaning into yours. "Any news on Dr. Mortum?"

"Everything is going as planned. Armour is on schedule and the nanovores will be neutered. I’m guessing you're going to need me to deliver them next?" You turn to look at the container on the nightstand. Not exactly able to feel them, but you get the impression of them from Nova’s proximity. Excited little rat brains.

They’ll look out for Nova. You know it with absolute certainty.

"Yes. Be gentle with them.” Nova stares at them with a quiet fondness that has you rolling your eyes.

Honestly, you need to get him out more if his best friend is going to end up being a bunch of rat brains in a jar.

“I thought you were my best friend?” He nudges you with a smirk.

“No. I’m family.”

“Oh?” You pretend he’s not getting choked up by that admission.

”Yeah and you need someone that’s not telepathically tied to you. So they can tell you when you’re being stupid with absolute certainty.” (And zero influence. You don’t say that, barely trying to even think it. You’ve got your worries and you don’t want to give them away just yet. Not when there’s something lurking around the corner in both of your minds.)

“Well since that’s not happening guess I’ll just have to stick with the Ratking.”

You sigh, knowing better. “Yeah. Guess so.” You don’t mention the diner. Some things are just meant to happen.

…

The door slams hard enough to shake on its hinges, making you want to wince. You don’t though. You keep your eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you. Online gambling. Some habits are harder to break than others. Except this time you’re actually being careful. Making sure to lose often enough that no one can accuse you of cheating.

Nova storms into the living room. Pacing back and forth as panic fills your mind enough that you finally look up at him. “What happened?” (You know what happened. The alcohol spills as Nova’s name is said with reverence and disbelief. Older face, a mustache that makes him stand out. Charge was always meant to find him.)

“Ortega.” His voice is rough and panicked. There are going to be nightmares tonight. “I can’t fucking believe this.” Nova sits on the couch beside you. Head in his shaking hands.

“Do we need to worry about him?”

“I don’t know,” comes the muffled reply. “Fuck!”

“Ok. Well does he suspect anything?”

“No,” he shakes his head, dropping his hands to look you in the eye. “He asked me to help Lady Argent. Go into her head and figure out who fucked with her mind.”

“Oh.” You can feel the look of horror on your face. “That’s so fucked up.” It had been a necessary evil. You both agreed on that after debating it to hell and back. But this? Going back into his victim's mind with the intention of ‘helping’? That leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You would have been horrified if that had happened with Shroud.

Nova knows it too. He doesn’t feel guilty about taking over her body. That was just what needed to be done to get the nanovores out without any extra damage. But this? This isn’t necessary. It was supposed to be a one-and-done. Now it’s not.

God. They make shit villains don’t they?

“Will she be able to tell it was you?”

He shakes his head, “No, I’ll change up how I feel. The problem is I’m going to need a scapegoat.”

“I can make a list.”

“They need to be a hero or related to hero stuff.” He rubs a hand over his shaved head.

You look at him for a second before drawing out the word, “Why?”

He closes his eyes, back hitting the cushions, “Apparently it felt like a ‘hero’ did it.”

You stare at him. He closes his eyes harder.

A bark of laughter escapes you and he just puts his hands over his face with a groan. Turns out you’re not the only with hard habits to break.

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

Smarty x Savy Dancing With Musical Notes & Hearts Around Them (2023)

----------------------

This Is Both A Drawing Request & Gift Art

Credit for Savannah "Savy" goes to Heartsissopure

Credit for Who Framed Roger Rabbit Movie goes to Robert Zemeckis

---------------

I hope I did okay with this, and yes I gave Smarty some pants in this drawing.

as to what music could be playing as they are dancing...

I guess it could be anything, maybe like that one song I like from the first Hotel Transylvania Movie, that is either called “My Zing” or “Your My Zing”.

okay I decided, the song they are dancing to in this drawing, is that song. XD

I’m weird, and I nickname myself The Embodiment Of Weirdness.

the title of Embodiment of Ego, would belong to Grunkle Abel, which is what I’m viewing him as being the embodiment of ego now because of certain reasons....but anyway I hope I did okay on this, and I’m glad I was finally about to draw it a few days ago this month.

Smarty giving a wink does add something to the drawing, even if it might seem like they aren’t dancing, but they are still suppose to be.

maybe I will do another drawing of one of the Toon Patrol this year, I can come up with some ideas, like is it weird to fan headcanon Psycho from the Toon Patrol, as being a Nonbinary-Boy who’s pronouns are They/Them & He/Him.

if they ever make a new remake of the Who Framed Roger Rabbit Movie, but like handled by those who made two awesome Sonic Movies, where Eggman is Smart but Sassy, and has Agent Stone clearly crushing on the “good” doctor.

then maybe they could end up making Psycho into a Nonbinary Character.

Disney, as great as they can be, but they have their not so great moments at times, so if they form a partnership with Paramount, and let Paramount handle the remake of Who Framed Roger Rabbit or like a sequel that has Eddie and Dolores’s Great-Granddaughter or Great-Grandson in it as the main human friend of Roger who helps him and his wife, then that would be awesome.

I got to say this about the last episode of The Owl House, at least they didn’t pull a Twilight Sparkle or Star Butterfly...which one didn’t stop Celestia, Luna and Discord from turning three creatures to stone, and other decides to destroy the magic, and basically make magic the scapegoat, even if Star and her family had misused that very same magic.

don’t get me wrong, still love MLPFIM and SVTFOE, but I come to question their moral compass I guess, and if Sunset Shimmer were there just as Celestia, Luna and Discord were about turn living creatures to stone, then maybe she would of stop them......The Element Of Empathy is more important than we realized, and Chrysalis reaction to her forming a bond with Cozy and Tirek, but rejecting it, might have to do with her trauma.

anyway, if Disney and Paramount did form a partnership, where Paramount ends up making the new Roger Rabbit Movie, they could possibly make it just as awesome as the first and second Sonic Movies.

maybe even show Smarty using a cellphone, and when in the drivers seat with maybe Greasy sitting next to him.

his ringtone could play a song that could be anything...

maybe “I Make Those Good Girls Go Bad” by Cobra Starship...

Greasy’s ringtone, would likely be “Valentino” by Years & Years, and MNEK.

if there was a emoji I could use, it would be one with a smirk and eyes that  look to either the left or right....

I like that song, the first time I heard it, was I guess from a fan Hazbin Hotel Music Video Animation, that song just fits so well with that Overlord with the same name as the Valentino.

can you picture Valentino from Hazbin Hotel, hitting on Greasy from Who Framed Roger Rabbit...?

even if it would be in a Fanon Timeline, but still, can you picture the look on Greasy’s face....?

and picture Jessica and any other Girls that Greasy had hit on, watching and saying all at once “Not So Funny Now, Is It...?!”

that would be interesting to see, but anyway like I said before, I hope I did okay on this, I did try the best I could, and I think the stuff I added into the drawing really looks nice and awesome to me.

and I hope the one who this requested drawing is for, likes it. :)   

also even if one of the tags says “toon patrol weasels” it just as the one toon weasel person in this, but anyway when I can I might do some other drawings of The Toon Patrol. :D                                             

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary196

3/29-30/2024

friday - saturday

weird dream last night.

it was somewhere in the midwest, one thing i remember, we were on a train, we saw all these old west horsedrawn carriages, the kind people died on in their way out west, they were plowing land though, it reminded me of the dustbowl, it was a snow storm and there was dust in the air too. it was murky how the sea is murky but it was dry. the snow was dry. but it was snow. it was lit by these impossible spotlights, we seemed stationary, they seemed faster than us, maybe the analog is that it was an atmospheric film grain and that was us seeing through time, but not really. it was time through film grain but it was concurrent. that was real. the society out there was different. they were harvesting the earth to help kill animals better, was the gist, it was part of industry, we arrived at this huge meat packing plant, but we were in this office-building portion, the death was far away, you could see it, though, i think i found it all, crawling up into those panels you can push away, into an attic thing i guess, and i saw them killing things, it seemed slow and official. the computers were those old off-white plastic towers, crts. it was a cluster of kinds of old. i am unsettled by the existence of peasants in my dream. it feels like it communicates something horrifying to me, not just of class or discipline or whatever one might like to see in it, but the speed at which they worked, their being so trapped in a past, their methods of working, it was set to outpace something, it was more destructive than anything else, it was this situating thrust beneath an empire, it was going to rove until the world was skinned, is how i felt seeing them through the snow, on that train.

what we were doing in that massive meat packing plant, i do not recall. i recall seeing something, a cave painting on a huge wall perhaps, or something of this character, huge and ancient, in a building architected in part by the year 1993. the other part, too old to know maybe.

something strange about a dream that draws forth some humanized and unwavering image-ification of the phrase 'processing power.'

anyways, today i worked for a long time. what is there to say other than it's miserable and my body hurts. oh well. i have to do it again tomorrow, and i'm sleepy now, so maybe i should just sleep now, i put out a single so maybe this is a good time to rest, and tomorrow i can probably get more on it, and sunday, i want to transcribe ideas from my notes into the big thing, but drawing made me think of something to write for it, so i wrote that today, which makes me feel good.

i will say, today i did not eat for 12 hours, about, and i can't keep doing this to myself. i had to walk into a buffalo wild wings on the way home from work and get a drink and the woman there saw i worked in about the same plaza, and gave me a free drink. this is what made me feel strong enough to walk home. tomorrow i promise to bring a protein bar or something. i have eaten now and stuff at least. so that is good. but i do hurt more than i normally would i think, because of my...idk. is it disordered eating. i really don't want to eat before work and i see it as a good thing some days to have a caloric deficit. but maybe that's messed up of me.

i am tired and stuff though, i will say that the reading is interesting and good, we're getting to what i think is the final bit of the book, where he talks about panopticism, again, an interesting and hardly talked about history here, this is also where one of the big excerpts of him i read is from, years ago, for a class. because of that, and because i had to present on him to teach him to the class, i became i think decently familiar/had a good understanding. it'll be interesting to read it now. i think one of my favorite points that we are maybe quick to forget about this kind of power is really that it is founded largely on the fact that a guiding force of the power may be absent, because the structures, repeated rituals, methods, and so on, go beyond any person using them, they are mechanically reproducible. i suppose then that it makes a lot of sense that in many ways the methods of panopticism, surveillance, and discipline, becomes industries which produce commodities. odd feedback there. should consult tiqqun maybe, on these thoughts.

anyhow i really must be sleeping soon, so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cataegisira]

Witch Briar, Keeper of the Book of Names, Lord of the Witches Lodge

I'll say it now, I'm not gonna render these. I only put the background circle in 'cause it felt wrong not to.

The Witch is a character I've had in my brain for a couple years now. I originally envisioned them as just a witch with a gun and a couple'a demons, but eventually, they became some... odd not-quite-human creature.

They have a Book, a very special book, as I'm sure you can tell by the capitalization, called the Book of Names, and when asked what it is, the Witch says only...

'A grimoire filled with the names of demons, written in the blood of something that never lived but is not dead, on pages of something that never died but is not living, and bound in the hide of a sinner taken before their time.'

No amount of cajoling, threats, coercion, or even bribery will pry anything more detailed than that from their lips, though threaten them enough, and you may see their other artifact, that large one on their hip, made of silver and iron and charred rowan wood and kissed by magic.

Or you'll meet their hounds, if you're not quite human, yourself.

Like most long-lived witches, the Witch changes their name every few years, and, during the 1890s, they call themselves Briar, as the name of a witch is a powerful thing, and you don't want to keep a fake long enough for it to become real.

They're supposed to be that 'I can't tell what's in their pants, but they're hot as fuck' sorts of character, but I don't think I quite got the androgyny right. I think they're a little too feminine here, sadly.

That's what I get for drawing like 98% gay girls and freaky little demon bastards, innit.

Anyway, a friend bought me an AC, so, because I live in a desert and desperately need a replacement for the one that broke last year, I'm running a weird west genre TTRPG one on one for him.

The Witch here is meant to be a story important NPC, so I had to finally get off my ass and draw them. So I did. Yay!

[carnivoreofthesea]

OC masterpost

A summary of all my sillies for reference.

Corren Finne

A 14 y/o or 7 sweep old Trans Male troll who is based off of a spotted cat-tail shark. We are already diving head first into cringe I know. anyways he loves welding on land next to his little boat, he also loves just doing cool boy stuff like seeing how far he can throw his friends like skipping stones across lakes. His dad is an eel and isn’t exactly proud of him but isn’t opposed to him either. Indifferent dad but hey funny lore stuff. He later on makes a deal with a Cherub to save his lover from infinite pain after they beat sburb by sacrificing himself to be controlled by them, slowly giving plant cancer and slowly turning him crazy, religious and paranoid. 

Ariel

An inconsiderate and unaware Cherub (although i originally wrote her as a robot) who first thought she was just a weird ugly troll, but eventually learnt “damn bro i am a literally biological impossible thing and should not exist” and went bat shit crazy, went on an awesome quest that I might make into a comic later. Anyway she does a lot of stuff and becomes god, also makes terrible deals that almost always end in them dying and a new game starting. She may be my favorite but you didn’t hear that from me! 

The Amor’s

A small family of what’s left of their bloodline, not really major characters compared to the others but I do have a love for them, I will probably just make their own separate posts for them and if wanted I’ll do more in depth anazlises and deep dives into their little lives. Expect to see them used more as background characters or pawns than something more important. 

Caroline Ohana

An irken! Finally, not a troll! She is an extreme paranoid scientist, mostly just a self-insert OC but she has her lore. I use her primarily for drawing irkens and irk culture in general, man irk is cool :]. 

Carnige-Vile

A clown of unknown origin who hunts in New Jersey, honestly he makes no sense. With antennas and make-up that can’t be taken off he really doesn’t count as human, but all his organs would seem to align with human origin. Not to mention he isn’t foreign to earth, or any other place that you would happen to take him. He goes as he pleases and usually makes others go with him. Having you alive for the journey most likely wasnt accounted for though…

Eros

A small child clown, made of string, guts and love by his mother Aleroth Amor! He loves his moms (even if one may be a mass murderer and had physical relations with god at one point in time) and is mute. He doesn’t have to dress up as a clown but can’t talk due to his throat being a horn, it isn’t exactly easy killing someone with an intact vocal cord that sounds like a child. He doesn’t mind though, always happy just to be here!

That's about it! I will comment under this post if I make more sillies or just make a new one if it ever gets too out of hand, Happy blood trails my moots! Haha see what i did there

[suna-reversed]

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader 

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie,  or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness] 

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same. 

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin. 

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher, 

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself, 

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him” 

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about. 

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out. 

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string. 

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes. 

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’ 

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened. 

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse 

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face. 

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something, 

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt. 

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance. 

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing? 

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis. 

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting. 

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was  a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?” 

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

 - “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”- 

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far. 

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

[tarydarrington]

Veth doesn’t know who she’d expected to be waiting on the other side of the knock at the door, but if she’d had to guess, Essek Thelyss wringing his hands like a worried grandmother would have been near the bottom of her list.

“Oh,” she says. “Hi?”

He bobs his head, almost more a quick bow than a nod, tenting his fingers in front of his chest. “Good afternoon,” he says, with the distinct cadence of someone who has repeated the words to himself in the mirror all morning. “I hope you are well?”

“I’m all right,” Veth answers haltingly.

The two of them stand there for a moment, awkward silence hanging between them. Then, finally, Essek gives her a nervous smile.

“I do not wish to impose, but, ah…” He gestures past her. “May I enter?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She steps aside, and Essek gives her a grateful nod before walking - walking? - past her into the living room. “Take a seat, if you like.”

He takes the invitation, perching gingerly onto the very edge of the armchair they keep for their larger-sized guests. Veth follows him in, shutting the door behind her and wondering if this isn’t all a very strange dream. Essek barely meets her gaze as she circles around to stand before him. She leans forward, narrowing her eyes.

"What is this? Why are you being weird? Did something happen? Did Caleb die?"

"No!" Essek reins in his volume, pressing his palms together in apology. "No, certainly not. It is simply…"

Veth raises her eyebrows to prompt him.

"Well, I, ah…" His fingers draw little circles in the air, as though he can pull the words out like a spell. "I have read that it is custom in the Empire to request the blessing of a guardian if one wishes to…" The pained look on his face stretches even further. "Court."

Veth blinks at him. He’s serious. He has to be. That face, all pinched up towards the middle, reminds her of the way the neighbor boy looked when he admitted to breaking her dining room window. It looks absolutely absurd on the former Shadowhand.

"Well, I'm sure he would be flattered, but even with the slower aging, Luc's a little young for you."

She can practically see the joke fly over his head. "No," Essek blurts hurriedly, eyes blown wide with mortification. Veth might have laughed if she didn't feel a bit guilty. "No, I…" He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing shut, and she suspects he's rooted out the sarcasm.

"If you're talking about Caleb," she says as a peace offering, "I'm certainly not his mother."

"No." Essek presses his palms together again, this time in his lap. "I have considered ways to make a meaningful gesture regarding his parents, but…"

He shakes his head. Veth can fill in the blanks. She wouldn't want the beginning of a new relationship to be tangled up in past trauma, either.

"So," he continues. "I had thought, perhaps, that as his closest friend, you might be a suitable alternative."

Well, that’s… She isn’t sure if it’s flattering, exactly, but she’ll accept the show of respect. She takes a moment to scrutinize him as he watches her apprehensively. Essek and Caleb. Caleb and Essek. It makes a certain kind of sense. Once, years ago, she might have railed against it; despite his growth, it’s still difficult sometimes to look at Essek and see anything other than her husband’s former jailer.

But lately, these last few years, Veth has been at home. She’s been with her family, the most important people in the world to her, and Caleb… well, he’s been off on his own adventures. And without Veth there to look after him, it’s been on Essek’s shoulders to make sure he comes back from said adventures alive and whole. Which he has, so far, without fail.

And that look Essek is giving her, as though if she says no, it might actually dissuade him?

"First of all," she begins with a sigh, "you’re not at court. You’re not courting. You're dating."

At the look of confusion on Essek's face, she takes a deep breath.

"You'll take him to have a meal together, or to see a play, or to watch a lecture. Don't do the lecture thing, that's a bad idea. That would be a terrible date." She pauses. "Although, with you two, maybe."

She can tell from the look on his face that she's losing him, so she waves her hands. "Nevermind that. Disregard all of that. The point is, you'll take him to nice places and do enjoyable things together."

Essek shifts uncomfortably. “I… don’t know if I can do that,” he admits. “I cannot be seen outside of the confines of his home or areas outside of the Empire.”

Veth frowns. “Well, you’re going to have to take him somewhere. You have disguises, right?”

Essek seems to consider it. “I do,” he says. “I suppose it would be worth a small risk, from time to time.”

“You’re darn right,” Veth agrees. “And don’t skimp, either. Caleb deserves the best.”

Essek nods entirely too seriously, as though he’s filing all this away in his mind. Veth makes a mental note to pester him with a progress report in about six months’ time.

Not one too rigorous, though. It’s hard to imagine prodding at him for entertainment’s sake when he looks so pathetic.

“Is there anything else?” he asks tentatively, when the silence persists.

“Well, let’s see.” She runs a finger over her chin, theatrically deep in thought. She already knows her answer. “Do you care for him?”

“Of course.” The sincerity on his face almost makes her feel bad about this. “More deeply than I have ever cared for anyone.”

She shouldn’t ask. It’s probably not something he’s discussed with Caleb himself, yet, if they’re only just now getting together. It would be prying, even for her. “Do you love him?” she asks, anyway.

A little, lost smile turns up one corner of Essek’s lips, and it’s almost a whisper when he replies, “How could I not?”

A pang of something that has never quite left Veth’s heart smarts for the first time in years, and she looks away with a matching smile.

When she and Caleb had been traveling with the others, people tended to hem and haw when she brought up how amazing Caleb was. They thought he was talented, sure, but it sometimes felt like none of the others could see the unquenchable light in him. But looking at Essek’s face, at the way his eyes are shining, Veth can’t help but think that maybe, finally, somebody gets it.

"Alright." She reaches out, and before he can flinch away, pats his hand. "You've convinced me. You have earned my permission to have regular sex with my adult, human son."

“I…” His brow furrows. “Truly?”

“Yeah, go nuts.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Caleb’s a grown adult. He can make his own choices, and if he’s choosing you, then good for both of you.”

Essek blinks at her like she’s just handed him a full pardon from the Bright Queen.

“I mean, obviously, if you hurt him, you will have all of us to answer to,” she says. “But you’re the guilt guy, so I think you’ll probably have yourself to answer to, first.”

"I…" He clasps his hands together. "I expected more… what is the word? Pushback.”

Veth braces her hands on her hips. “You know what? Fjord and Jester didn’t even tell me they were dating until I literally saw them kissing, and Beau and Yasha were barely better.” She jabs a finger towards Essek’s chest, ignoring the way he startles at the movement. “So you have just made it to the top of the Winter’s Crest card list.”

Essek presses his steepled fingers against his mouth, but not before Veth catches the bashful smile spreading there.

“Thank you,” he says. “Truly, I… This means a great deal.”

“Heck yeah, my blessing’s worth a lot,” she replies with a grin. “You know what? Tell Fjord that. He doesn’t have my blessing. I’m gonna make him work for it.”

This time the joke doesn’t pass him by, and she can read in his small smile that he’s grateful for the show of familiarity.

“I should hope he will rise to the occasion,” he says, and Veth gets the feeling he isn’t just talking about Fjord.