#at least w a cursory search

[trans-xianxian]

hold on did I completely fabricate wei wuxian being the one to invent the ritual mo xuanyu uses to sacrifice himself

[xalygatorx]

If your saying requests are open I'd actually rlly rlly love more of your "The Rose Sleved Record" au ideas! It stayed on repeat in my mind for days after reading it!

Maybe somehow Al could re-summon her and use it as a opportunity to convince his mom he has a girlfriend? Or what if she finds her way back somehow just to end up bar hopping with him? It'd be fun to see her interact w/ human Mimzy maybe she'd gush about her own super extroverted friend Angel to Alastor after or maybe sing for them?

Sorry thats kinda long for a request its dealers choice rlly I'm just saying any human Alaster/Adelie would make my week 😍 💚💜❤️ that little oneshot just hit different

A/N: So there’s a second part planned for TRSR that’s definitely on the darker side. That said, I’m chomping at the bit to write fluff for these two. 😍 

This will be fully separate from the “Adelie knows him already” AU of TRSR because I feel like a meetcute is needed for this one. It will also be split into two parts. Hope you like it, lovely! 🥰

Warnings: References to domestic abuse, period-typical homophobia, murder, demonic rituals/summonings, Human!Alastor and Demon!Adelie DiP AU inspired by The Rose-Sleeved Record (another DiP AU)

I tried to confirm image ownership with a reverse image search, but it gave me absolutely nothing, so here's the Pinterest source.

Well it wasn’t the worst reason she’d ever been summoned by a human. Not by a long shot. But it was the most unorthodox. 

The timeline made it ever stranger—despite being a modern girlie in nearly every sense of the word, Adelie had found herself pulled through decades, centuries even, by summoning circles and occult rituals. 

And, well, she’d always wanted to see the ‘20s at the absolute peak of their roar. 

“Why, aren’t you darling!”

Adelie blinked her white-on-red eyes wide before locating the source of the highly unexpected compliment. She was humanoid certainly, and much more so than most other demons she’d met since her passing, but she still looked very much the part of a demon. So who on earth would—

Well, the sort of man who’d specifically summon a demoness, she supposed. 

And what sort of man are you? Adelie wondered as she took in the man still knelt at the neat arc of his circle, slowly standing to his full—impressive—height and continuing to take her in while she did the same. 

He was a dapper young man to be sure. Possibly the very same age as she was when she’d died or maybe a few years younger. 

Or perhaps she was way off—there was a conflicting edge to his wide, jubilant smile that indicated an age to his heart and mind if not to his body. 

She knew well how trauma could manage that in a person. 

She knew next to nothing about him, however. Only that he was, in a word, beautiful and that he had at least some practice in the occult arts. 

Adelie’s eyes flickered briefly to the symbology decorating the circle and its offerings. Voodoo, if she wasn’t mistaken. 

Wait, did that mean—?

“Wait, where are we?” Adelie suddenly asked. She’d gleaned the year when her cursory glance about the room—a bedroom and likely his based on circumstantial evidence—had turned up a calendar. 

The man chuckled, combing his fingers through his flop of chestnut hair. It looked almost fluffy in its softness. “In terms of what, dear?” he asked. 

She wrinkled her nose at his chiding look and clarified, “The city. Or town, or whatever.”

“The grandest city in the world, sha,” he said, letting his transatlantic accent slip into a more natural—and she assumed his actual—drawl. “Nawlins. The one and only.”

New Orleans at the height of the Jazz Age? Adelie couldn’t help it—she swallowed an excited squeal and immediately tried to bolt toward the window to peek outside. Only to find the wards in the circle were keeping her in place for the time being. 

Disappointed and unable to fully hide it, Adelie fidgeted a little within her small “prison” and asked, “Erm… What exactly did you want? Per the summon, I mean.”

All she could hope was that he wasn’t some kind of fetishist. 

His initial comment had her on edge for that very unpleasant surprise but she was hoping perhaps it was something more suited to her tastes. Granting fortunes or perhaps a leg up in his career or something like that.

Even a murder of someone deserving would be preferable. 

He was considering her with more interest than before, his head tilted slightly while he idly thumbed the sharp line of his jaw. 

“Mm, right,” he murmured, giving a little bow. “First off, my dear, who do I have the pleasure of meeting tonight?”

Fucks sake, he’s going to be a fetishist, isn’t he, Adelie thought dismally. So much for having any measure of excitement for where she’d landed this time. Maybe she could trick him into letting her out of the circle and then make a break for it before any deals were struck. She just wanted a peek at the city in its prime. 

“Adelie,” she replied, lightly chewing the inside of her cheek. “And…you are?”

His smile widened somehow, charming and unsettling all at once. “So long as you don’t use it against me, I can provide you my name,” he hedged. “That can be the first of our deals tonight. Fair?”

Adelie nodded and extended her hand. “Fair,” she echoed, feeling a breeze stir the still room when his hand swallowed hers, his mortal warmth cool in comparison to her demon flesh. 

It wasn’t a deal she minded making to further the conversation. Should she really want him cornered, there were plenty of other methods. 

It was enough for the man at least, who inclined his head respectfully as he said, “Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.”

Truthfully, Alastor didn’t know what to make of the demon belle not more than a few feet from his person.

It was true she was somehow exactly perfect, save a few minor details, to fit his purpose in summoning her, but he wondered if this was a form she wore all the time or if she’d taken this form because she already knew more than she was letting on.

She was confoundingly humanlike. 

More confounding was that the precise reason he’d summoned her was due to the fact that feeling anything of societally dictated import in this era toward a young lady had been impossible for him thus far in life.

Of course that would change when faced with a clear creature of the arcane, from the white hair curtaining her sweetly shaped face to the unnatural white irises in pools of sclera red as blood. Her little canines were even more pointed than they should’ve been, but he found it oddly…cute?

Odd to boot was that, of the two of them, he felt he should’ve been the nervous one, but she looked anxious, too. He was soon to discern why and had never expected to feel sorry for one of Hell’s creatures. Or wherever she’d spawned in from.

“This…isn’t like a sex thing, is it?”

Alastor nearly choked on his own spit. With a gravelly clearing of his throat behind his fist, he quickly shook his head. “No, absolutely not,” he hastened to say. “Is that… Is that something that happens?”

Adelie wrinkled her nose again and Alastor once again found something endearing about the literal demon in front of him. He kept having to remind himself of that, reining in unfamiliar feelings he hardly knew what to do with, let alone control. 

“It has before,” she admitted. “It isn’t something I entertain.”

Something oddly near envy settled like a perturbed cat in Alastor’s chest, soothed only by her admission that the more carnal requests she’d received had been removed from the table. It bothered him, however, that she’d been put in that position in the first place. Demon or not, she was still every bit a lady and he’d been taught by his dear mother—fiercely and often—to respect women. Even when she, the most important of them all as far as he was concerned, was dotted by bruises from his father.

The thought of his father came with the memory of burying an axe into the back of his skull and Alastor’s smile quirked upward at the corners ever so slightly.

“What do you entertain, if I may ask?” he inquired before she could wonder at the shift in his expression if she even noticed it.

Adelie raised a hand, counting off her list on slender fingers tipped by black almond-shaped nails. Alastor noted that the black was the color of the keratin there and not a layer of polish.

“Money, job promotions… I played matchmaker once, that was interesting,” she admitted, her eyes scanning the ceiling while she parsed back through old deals and giving Alastor an opportunity to really study her in the low light from the lamp in the room and from the late afternoon, early evening glow outside. “Murder, obviously.”

Alastor’s eyes glittered with interest. “Oh, really?” he purred. For obvious reasons, it wasn’t every day that he met someone who shared in his most secret hobby. It wasn’t as if there could be club meetings arranged for such a thing. “Little thing like you?”

She scoffed. “First of all, rude,” she mumbled. “Second, I’m literally a demon, lest you forget. And third, no one expects it from the ‘little’ ones.” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, I’m nearly as tall as you, the heck do you mean by little?”

Adelie noticed her ire just seemed to amuse the strange man further and she deflated slightly, an annoyed, staccato click emitting from the toe of her heel tapping against the sigils beneath it. She couldn’t pace, so she was down to finding new outlets for her agitated energy.

While Alastor—seeming to be as smooth an operator as they came—smoothed her ruffled feathers, she noticed for the first time that he was dressed up. Even more so than she’d expect for the era. He wore a nicely fitted black-on-black classic tux accented with red.

Was he going to a party or something?

When she tuned back in to what he was saying—instead of half-salivating over a human man, come on, Adelie—he was still on the murder topic. Adelie had a sneaking suspicion that, if he was comfortable dabbling in demonic rituals, he was probably also comfortable in the art of murder as well.

“I truly meant no offense, darling,” Alastor said, not quite able to fully stifle the chuckle that bubbled up when she narrowed her eyes at him anew. “And, even so, that isn’t why I’ve requested your time and assistance.”

Adelie’s head tilted slightly. “Okay, then what did you want?” she asked.

“You know, you speak in quite the interesting way… Is this the norm for a demon?” Alastor asked, finding her bold, straightforward responses both amusing and supremely refreshing. 

His dear mother bantered with him and cracked the proverbial whip when needed, but any other women he’d met had tended to look up at him through their lashes and remain submissively silent, even when prompted to speak. 

When they did, it was often something soft and neutral, so as not to ruin their chances at being the “lucky gal” Alastor Garland, the radio host of their time, finally decided to court. Little did they know that boring him was as firm a nail in the coffin as offending him.

Then there was the other side of the spectrum—gals like Mimzy and some of the other flappers at her rumrunning establishment, who were too touchy and too boisterous at times. He did prefer them though, especially the ones he’d come to know who had also come to understand his boundaries. Some of his best nights had been spent on the dancefloor at Mimzy’s with these very ladies.

This one somehow found the gray area between the two. She held herself surely and looked him squarely in the eyes as she responded, “It all depends on the demon you’re speaking to, I’d say.” Adelie’s brow bunched with impatience and unease. “Now, if you don’t mind, Alastor, what business do you have with me?”

What an odd feeling to get just from hearing someone say his name.

“Of course,” Alastor finally acquiesced and Adelie felt her shoulders relax slightly at just the promise of an answer. “You see, I require a date to a party tonight that I admit is far more business than pleasure for me, but will hopefully not be too dreadfully boring.”

Adelie blinked owlishly. “You… You just need a date?” she repeated. When he nodded, she pressed the matter. “And…what else?”

Alastor shook his head. “Just the date,” he said. “Better yet if we can masquerade as a couple.”

“Why?” Adelie asked, the shock doing her in a bit as she said, “Certainly a ladykiller like you wouldn’t have any trouble scrounging up a date. Or a girlfriend even.”

His lips twitched with contained mirth. “Flattering as your observations may be,” he said with an appreciative inclination of his head, “I’ve little to no interest in such things.”

“Oh,” Adelie murmured. “A boyfriend then?”

Alastor’s features tightened, rather amazed at hearing someone suggest such a thing without sheer disgust riddling their expression. While he had no qualms nor interest in the dalliances of others and Mimzy’s had often been a haven of sorts for anyone who diverged from the road of what most deemed “normalcy,” the masses were far different.

“Neither, to be honest,” he said. “Although, after some time without evident interaction with the fairer sex, society begins to mutter, you see.”

Adelie nodded once as his implications and his plight clicked in her mind. “I understand,” she said, noting the faint traces of relief on Alastor’s face. “Still though, wouldn’t a friend perhaps take you up on the task? I mean, you don’t even know what I might ask of you for such a favor.”

“It came down to both who I could trust with any certainty and also who would be believable in the role,” he admitted. 

Mimzy would’ve kept a secret, but she was also a bit much and he’d never quite determined whether her enthusiasm over him was, in fact, limited to pure friendship as she said. In any case, he didn’t want to lead her on. 

“Clearly, I came up short,” he mused. His eyes refocused on Adelie’s, cunning like a fox’s. “What is your price?”

“For being your pretend-girlfriend for an evening?” she clarified. “And attending this business soiree you mentioned?”

“Additionally, meeting my mother,” Alastor said, his eyes narrowing severely as his smile became feral. “Assuring that no harm will come to her nor will you interfere with her life after that point.”

Adelie shrugged, unbothered. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Alastor said, relaxing some. “Then, yes. That should throw the lot off the nonexistent trail for a while.”

She nodded to herself and her expression turned considering. “For that… Hm,” she murmured against her fingertips.

“Surely my soul would be a bit much to ask for such a thing,” Alastor said, less suggesting she was thinking of asking for it and more indicating he’d be unwilling to part with it if she did.

Adelie hummed and noted, “You should be so lucky to be at the other end of my chain.” She let him mull that over as she said instead, “No, I’m not thinking of asking for your soul. But I do get the sense that you do a bit of soul-dealing, yourself. Maybe not intentionally though.”

One of Alastor’s brows arched high. “If you’re referencing my…hobby, then yes, you could say that,” he said. He’d never given much thought to the souls of the men he butchered—by all accounts, they acted like they hadn’t souls to begin with.

“Five then,” Adelie said, regaining his attention. “The next five of theirs you take, you’ll sacrifice to me. In my name.”

His smile took on a menacing curl. “Only five?” he wondered with faux innocence.

Adelie couldn’t help it—she smirked in response. “Hey, whatever else you send my way is welcome but unnecessary,” she said. “Five is fine.”

Alastor’s grin spread wide as he leaned in, offering his hand one more time. “It’s a deal then.”

-

Thank you for the request! x Will try to get a Part 2 out soon!

Update: A very long second part can be found right here.

[bleachbleachbleach]

howdy howdy (: I was wondering, because I didn't see it in my (admittedly cursory) search, and wanted to know if you folks have insight or headcannons about the timelines of Isshin and Kaien, since the timelines of bleach hurt my head (affectionate). Like, who died/went MIA first, if they would have been captain/vice captain at the same time, etc. I wondered if Matsumoto might have been a VC for a least a brief time while Kaien was, too? Idk, I think it'd be cute if Rukia had a little Shiba Connection with squad 10. I just find the six degrees of separation in osul society very fun to think about haha. Maybe it was Kaien who first crashed on the squad 10 couch during fillers to hang w his uncle, idk! (or maybe they didn't know eachother at all. I don't remember if it was ever mentioned...)

I feel ya about the Bleach timelines making your head hurt. I try not to think about them too hard, because they don’t make sense. I’ve just accepted that Shiba stuff happened in the *hand wavy* past. And that’s all we really need to know for the Bleach that’s presented to us. However, it is an interesting exercise to see how the vagueness of the timeline(s) can work out in fanfic. I’ve seen people put Kaien’s death AFTER Isshin had already disappeared and that legit had never occurred to me. I also feel like even in the Gotei’s culture of not talking about anything, if Kaien had only died when Isshin went missing, which was relatively recently by Soul Society standards, more people might mention him in at least passing.

Personally, I’d always assumed that Kaien’s death happened relatively early in Rukia’s tenure in the 13th. Like, maybe 10-15yrs after Rukia started? Kaien had to spend all that time training her and whatnot, since she graduated early from the Academy and only had Kuchiki-Kumon for an education. He needed to give her all that applied on-the-job training! I recognize that if Kaien died that early on, it would be a long time for a division to go without a VC but I feel like Ukitake would do that, and he’d get away with it because he’s Ukitake. I also buy the idea of Rukia having to mourn this guy for double the time she knew him (if we’re assuming that it’s been 40 years since Rukia left the Academy and our story starts).

Also if Kaien died really early on in Rukia’s time with the Gotei 13, I think it would explain why she feels so isolated from everyone. She didn’t have any companionship for a long long time, since Kaien was her only friend. If he died recently I think she’d be slightly better adjusted LOL. There’s no way he wouldn’t have dragged her out to make friends in 30+ years of working together. I recognize there’s a deep irony of “if the death were MORE recent Rukia would be better adjusted in the canon timeline” but you know it’s true. Kaien just gives the impression of being someone who was very briefly really great for Rukia and then torn abruptly away.

Plus if Kiyone took Rukia to her first living world mission… lmao Kaien would have to have been so dead at that point.

Side note: I also kinda feel like Isshin and Kaien didn’t know each other that well. Like, they knew of each other as cousin-uncle-whatever but weren’t besties even though they both worked in the Gotei. I got the feeling that Isshin also wasn’t a captain for too long before he went MIA, so he was probably toiling in the numbered ranks while Kaien was a VC. Kaien was the Shiba golden boy after all! And no one talks about Isshin that way LOL. I do love the six degrees of separation in Soul Society though, so maybe there are more juicy connections to uncover.

[kiruamon]

Part 24

Any second now. Oz stood there, eyes widened in shock and paralyzed. It would take a miracle to free himself from his current dilemma. What could he do? Run away. He had to run and find another way to get to Pip, but his useless legs were failing him again. Meanwhile, his classmate was coming closer and closer. He felt the panic inside him rise even further. And then he noticed it. A monstrous figure moving towards them at an incredible speed. His breath stopped. Thankfully, he didn't needed air to survive.

The shape grew bigger and bigger, took a powerful leap, rose into the air and in the next moment the cursorial bird in front of him was dragged to the side by his long neck from the huge weight of the predator.

A single strangled cry of horror escaped Leonard's beak as the werewolf yanked him around like a toy, causing the mirror to fall from his beak to the ground among the green grass.

Half scared to death, Oz stared in pure terror at the picture that presented itself before him. Why was all this happening? W-why did this werewolf suddenly attacked Leonard? Although he might have felt relieved to have escaped the magic of the mirror, Oz was still too confused and stunned to feel anything in that regard. The frightened entity was trembling and even his phobias were huddling together in fear.

A piercing howl of victory filled the air before the massive, hairy beast reared up - still holding their classmate's long neck in his mouth - and before letting out a deep husky laugh. "Huhuhuh. That big chicken was easy prey! My bros will be so surprised when I bring it back!" the pack member spoke excited to himself with a full muzzle and tail wagging in delight not noticing Oz at first.

Could today actually get any worse? All he wanted was to help his friend. Finding out if he was well or… or... No! He shouldn't think about the alternative… not yet. Oz was still shaking, but despite the dreadful experience he just had, a new thought managed to raise his voice loud enough to get him finally to act. He had to grab this chance! As long as the werewolf was distracted by Leonard, he could leave this place to search for Pip.

His feet still felt wobbly as he took his first step. And although Oz hadn't been particularly loud, the small movement was enough to attract the attention of his predatory classmate. Immediately, the werewolfs head shot up, ears pointing up and the two green glowing eyes fixated on him in bewilderement. Obviously, the jock had completely blanked him out during his euphoric mood. At least until just now...

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously as Oz sensed that the other was trying to figure out if he was a potential threat to him or not. The muzzle of the fur-covered monstrous wolf released its - most likely from shock - unconscious prey, which fell to the ground with a thud. One of the enormous paws rested on Leonard's now feathered back. Even under all the fur, the flawless interplay of the thoroughly trained muscles was clearly noticeable. Oz silently prayed that his classmate would not just rip his head off of his shoulders.

With bristled back fur and a low and threatening growl, the pack member approached him. "What are you staring at?" the werewolf jock asked him, his voice full of suspicion, before he clarified even louder: "This chicken is mine! I hunted it down all fair, so back off and find your own meal! I won't share with someone like you!"

In his mind, Oz could already see his pathetic life passing by. This guy would eat him for breakfast if he didn't act quickly.

What would he have not given away at that very moment? For Brian's unwavering nature. For Amira's boundless confidence. For Vicky's endless optimism. Or simply for the fact that his mind - instead of coming up with a plan - wouldn't go blank in an emergency situation like this!

What should he do? What was he supposed to say? What could he… Calm down… he needed to calm down. Oz squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, forcing himself to breathe more calmly.

He could do it. He would make it work. Hopefully... Not fully convinced by his own encouraging words, the still frightened student slowly managed to raise his head again and withstanding the urge to dodge the jock's piercing gaze. Or to run away as fast as possible. Instead, Oz looked the still intimidating looking werewolf straight in the eyes.

As carefully as possible, he raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "I-I d-don't intend t-to take any… anything away from y-you," tried Oz to reassure his scary looking classmate, which earned him a frown from the latter.

But at least the canine monster seemed to listen to him. That wasn't such a bad sign, right? The small entity gathered up some more of his little courage. Maybe… maybe he could somehow convince this guy to listen to what he had to say. For the first time, the desperate student felt hopeful again. It didn't seemed impossible anymore that he could retrieve the mirror in order to return to his friend with it. "H-honestly I-I h-have only one f-f-favor to a-ask y-you, if you cou-could just l-let me have t-the m-"

"ARGH! I knew it! You are after my chicken!" the werewolf immediately growled angrily without letting him finish his question.

"W-what? N-no!", Oz gave a startled cry. "T-that's n-not wha-what I-I w-w-wanted. I-If y-you w-would o-only l-listen to m-me, please… "

"LIAR!" Without waiting another second, the member of the Wolfpack took a step towards him. Oz heard an ominous creaking sound as the werewolf shifted his weight onto his leg causing the massive paw to break the glass of the mirror beneath it.

… Oh no…

A cloud of white smoke appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the enchanted figure of the kappa. Confused, the werwolf tried to catch a glimpse of something through the clearing smoke that hid his prey. Even Oz wasn't quite sure what was really happening right now. That was until he saw Leonard. Still unconscious, but back to his normal self! The magic of the mirror must had lost its effect as soon as the artifact was broken!

"Why is my chicken suddenly an ugly duck?" the werewolf asked, visibly shocked, before his ears flattened and a dark concerning sounding growl escaped the jock's throat. The fur was all ruffled. The canine monster gritted his sharp teeth while his muzzle crinkled itself. Oz gulped. That didn't looked good for him.

The former surprise in the predator's face was fully replaced by blind rage as the werewolf turned to Oz looking not amused in the slightest.

Oh Gosh... He really couldn't have a break, could he?

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CHICKEN! TELL ME! OR I WILL BREAK YOU LIKE THE LITTLE TWIG THAT YOU ARE!" Startled by the drastic rise in volume, Oz flinched hard. His ears rang from the roar of his opponent. He already expected to be devoured at any moment - even more so now that the canine predator had lost his original prey.

"B-but I-I j-j-just w-wa-wanted t-to...," Oz stuttered, nearly choking on his own words. He barely had the strength left in him to speak loud enough to be heard and was cut off once again.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

His fault. The words repeated themselves in his head. Over and over and over. Oz felt his knees finally giving out and he lost his footing. His hands scraped the hard floor as he fell. The angry hollering mixed with threats kept continuing. It was too much at once. He couldn't bear it anymore. All the yelling, screaming, the constant feeling of danger and fear. Not knowing how to handle it any longer. It was all too overwhelming. So exhausting. Draining. His mind went blank and Oz couldn't even manage to unravel the words of the other student. All these words were nothing more than static in his ears. There was nothing he could do but stare wide-eyed in fear at the grim face of the pack member in front of him, imagining how the other would end him in three dozen different, equally gruesome ways. Fine, maybe he couldn't die, but it would still be very, very painful…. His fingertips felt numb, though he could sense an irritating prickling in them. Why? Why couldn't he bring his body under control? Instead, the overwhelmed entity felt that he had begun to tremble even more, although he didn't believed that this could had been possible. His hands felt damp and ice-cold. He was afraid. So very afraid. From witnessing the brute strength of his canine classmate firsthand any second. Afraid of being yelled at again. Of not being understood if he tried to speak up. His chest rose and fell in unsteady motions, while his vision began blurring before his eyes.

And yes... yes... It was his fault. Completely and solely his. Just because he wasn't strong enough. Because he wasn't brave enough. If only he had never meddled with things that weren't his business. Without my help, it wouldn't have come to this, the thought crossed his mind. Pip would have surely found the magic artifact shortly after his transformation and would have changed back long ago if he hadn't picked him up. All these things had only happened because of his interference. Only because of him Pip was probably hurt now. Because he hadn't stopped Leonard. He should have protected his friend! But none of this could be changed now. There… there is nothing I can do about it anymore… nothing… Tears came to Oz's eyes as he thought about all his mistakes. He felt so helpless. And even though he didn't needed to breathe in order to live, he felt like he was almost suffocating. All the times he let others push him around. First Leonard and now this nameless werewolf. Yet all he wanted was to see his friend again. In order to help him. Was that so wrong?

Pictures of the little hedgehog, lying lifeless on the cold ground, while red blood collected in a puddle in front of the tiny body, made his chest tighten, although he actually knew that Pip should have changed back by now. But what if not? What if he was severely injured? He had to get out of here. He needed to run to him! So why? Why… wasn't his body moving? It was so frustrating! Why couldn't he move even though he tried so hard? Even though he wished for nothing more than that. His fears paralyzed him, made his legs shook, and his eyes teared up even more. Why… why was he just such an useless loser… ? "I'm s-s-so s-sorry. J-just bec-because o-of m-me… " Oz sobbed. Pip… Somebody… Please, someone had to help his friend. Someone had to make sure Pip was okay! "Somebody! Help! Please! I beg you! Please, somebody has to help my friend! He's hurt!" It surprised even Oz himself that - despite everything - he somehow managed to raise his voice loud and clear enough and that he was able to extend the radius of his message as far as he could - all over the school grounds. Even though he didn't know if his call for help would reach someone who would follow it. Or when this help was about to arrive. But maybe… maybe someone would find Pip. He needed to hope for the best... His loud cry for help seemed to stop the werewolf for a moment. Irritated, the athlete shook his furry head back and forth as if trying to shake off an annoying fly. But it didn't lasted long, and just a few seconds after Oz had fallen silent, the fierce green glowing eyes focused on him again. And this time the wide open mouth with its sharp rows of teeth approached his face without mercy.

_

To be continued. Next time we reach the final part of the story!

[wuggen]

Tagged in by @paradigm-adrift!

Relationship status: Got two wonderful partners and a handful of other tentative/ambiguous maybe-relationships going on. And like, at least one or two active crushes at any given time, usually lmao

Favorite color: puuuuuuurple baybee. Basically any variation thereupon, purple is so fucking good

Song stuck in my head: Drink and Industry from the new Dwarf Fortress soundtrack!

Last song I listened to: idem :3

Three favorite foods: I do not have the inclination to sift through all of the foods I've eaten to select my absolute favorites, so here instead is a collection of three from the top of my head that are Pretty Fuckin Good:

Katsudon

Something that a local Japanese restaurant calls kimchee but that I'm pretty sure is just, like, cucumber chunks marinated in a lightly spicy sauce of some kind. A native Korean would probably scoff at it being called kimchee, but it's fucking good

Goddamn motherfucking miso soup holy fuck it's so good

It would seem that I am currently in the mood for Japanese food, I just might go to that restaurant tonight 🤔

Last thing I Googled: Choosing to generalize this to "last thing I queried a web search engine for" since I pretty exclusively use duckduckgo. According to my browser history it was just the word "lexicalization", probably to make certain I was using it at least somewhat correctly in a post

Dream trip: So I don't really get the urge to visit Places or Events the way some people do. I do get the urge to visit People. There's a lot of friends and friendly acquaintances I've made online who live many hundreds to thousands of miles away, and I would love to meet all of them. Giant globe-trotting voyage to meet all of the mutuals face-to-face

Anything I want right now: I would very desperately and urgently love to be living in the same house or at least the same city as both of my partners please please and thank you ;w;

Tagacity: The premise here is to "Tag 10 people you want to get to know better"; I'm gonna interpret an implicit "at least" in there, and also make a cursory attempt to avoid people I know have already been tagged. @impossiblejellyfishfart @zerindel @k-simplex @sabakos @fingors @lumsel @metastablephysicist @kaiasky @n-bunz @morrak @toasthaste @cryptovexillologist @kata4a @kwarrtz Tag-ins are both non-exhaustive and non-binding; whether you're on the list or not, do what you want forever :3

[yamayuandadu]

Arahsamnum 2021 finale: Enmesharra (Halloween special)

A god fighting a monster identified as possible depiction of Enmesharra by W. G. Lambert (via A. R. George’s Nergal and the Babylonian cyclops -  which interprets this work of art differently) After a bit over two weeks, the series draws to an end! The final figure to be covered is Enmesharra, and I think it’s fair to say I saved the best for last. As a cursory online search can show, Enmesharra is incredibly obscure today - despite being attested from the 3rd millennium BCE all the way up to the Parthian period! And not exactly as a minor god or anything of that sort - but as a major cosmological antagonist for the very creme de la creme of the pantheon. Read on to familiarize yourself with Enlil’s evil uncle.

Enmesharra’s name is relatively straightforward, and suitably grandiose for this sort of cosmological entity: he was the “lord of all me,” me being a difficult to translate term which can be more or less understood as “divine powers” or “ordinances.” Myths frequently describe gods receiving (from parents or unrelated high ranking deities), distributing (commonly Enki’s job), or even stealing (Inanna) the me. However, “lord of all me” wasn’t exactly a part of this system. Rather, he was a vanquished lord of the cosmos who ruled it before the gods who were understood as its lords in everyday religion, chiefly Enlil. Frans Wiggermann went as far as proposing that Enmesharra represented the idea of inert, unchanging primordial cosmos, to be contrasted with the world actually known by the Mesopotamians, guided by Enlil’s dynamic and sometimes emotional rule. Enmesharra’s rule evidently wasn’t understood as rightful. A text known as Enlil and Namzitarra appears to outright allude to usurpation: “When your uncle Enmesharra was a captive, after taking for himself the rank of Enlil, he said: ‘Now I shall know the fates, like a lord.’” Determining the fates was understood as the prerogative of Enlil and his wife Ninlil, representing the rule over the universe. A late ritual text additionally associates Enmesharra with the Anzu bird, known from a popular myth in which he too decides to steal Enlil’s power over the universe. A single myth about the confrontation between Enlil and his malign primordial relative doesn’t survive, but allusions in other texts seem to imply the confrontation took place in Shuruppak. It was also apparently believed that the defeated Enmesharra lived in the underworld, or even that he was a mere shade himself in the present as a result of being burned (during the confrontation, one would assume?).. Some texts simply indicate that he abdicated, but his antagonistic character is attested well enough to assume that wasn’t the default option. There are also references to various gods allied with Enlil having to guard Enmesharra for uncertain reasons. Explaining the references to Enmesharra as Enlil’s uncle require a bit of context regarding genealogy of Mesopotamian gods: while popular reference works often simply state that Anu was Enlil’s father, in reality the situation was considerably more confusing and in sources such as god lists the default belief was that Enlil descended from a long line of so called “Enki-Ninki” gods (no relation to the wisdom god). All of his male ancestors in such lists, numbering between around half a dozen and 21 generations, bore names starting with the prefix en, much like Enlil himself and Enmesharra. The latter arose within the context of this tradition, and generally wasn’t associated with Anu. It has been proposed that this elaborate genealogy at least sometimes was understood as a way to avoid implications of divine incest. Anu was sometimes equipped with a similar, though less coherent, ancestor list of his own - a late adaptation of it, with some generations omitted and brand new ocs Apsu and Tiamat placed in a prominent position, is known from Enuma Elish. While Enlil’s regular ancestors come in pairs and each En has a Nin as pair, Enmesharra usually appears alone, though Ninmesharra is known from at least some god lists. However, this name could also function as a title of Enlil’s wife Ninlil and especially of Inanna, neither of whom was associated with Enmesharra. Regardless of whether a separate Ninmesharra was believed to exist or not, it was commonly agreed that Enmesharra did have children - there are frequent references to “seven (or more - as many as 15!) sons of Enmesharra” in various Mesopotamian sources. These are commonly identified with the Sebitti. As a curiosity it’s worth noting that at least one more independent tradition about Enlil’s parentage existed, as an enigmatic figure separate from the Enkis and Ninkis, Lugaldukuga (“king of the holy mound”), is occasionally listed in theological works as his father. One text inexplicably equates Enmesharra and Lugaldukuga. In the first millennium Enlil’s primacy started to decline, with imperial ideologies of Babylon and Assyria favoring Marduk and Ashur respectively. It didn’t help Enlil’s relevance that in the final centuries of Mesopotamian history in Uruk a new rather baffling theology redefined Anu as a more active ruler of the universe, at the expense of Enlil and Marduk, but also local superstars Ishtar and Nanaya and their courts (unlike the rise of Marduk it produced no interesting literary works, though. It was a rather crude development all around, in my opinion). However, his malign uncle remained a denizen of the realm of mythical cosmology, and as a matter of fact some of the best preserved Enmesharra narratives no longer associate him with Enlil. The best example is the so-called “Enmesharra’s Defeat.” In this myth, his enemy is not Enlil, but instead Marduk, and Nergal makes an appearance as well as his jailer. Surviving fragments indicate that Enmesharra seemingly wanted to usurp Marduk’s rule (assisted by his seven sons), but curiously he’s also identified as a luminous deity, and after being vanquished his radiance is transferred to Shamash. Another text which alludes to animosity between Marduk and Enmesharra is the so-called “bird call text,” according to which a certain type of small bird is associated with the Cosmic Evil Uncle and its cry means “you have sinned against Tutu,” Tutu being a title of Marduk. He’s also a mainstay of various lists of defeated or conquered mythical evildoers, next to more famous today Tiamat, Asag and Qingu. While no depiction of Enmesharra has been identified with certainty, two theories exist: Wilfred G. Lambert assumes that a mysterious cyclopic monster with a sun-like head known from at least one artifact might be him, while Frans Wiggermann instead proposes (in this article, generally irrelevant to discussion of Enmesharra) that scenes of judgment of an unidentified birdman on seals might represent his defeat. It’s also possible that some theomachy scenes represent myths of Enmesharra.

The mysterious birdman on a seal impression; source sadly unknown to me currently.

Further reading

Babylonian Creation Myths by W. G. Lambert

Mythological Foundations of Nature by F. A. M. Wiggermann

[labotor11]

[SPOILERS?] My attempt at decoding the Mysterious Artifact

Already posted this to Reddit, but it might as well go here!

Wanna pre-face some stuff:

I'm familiar with DnD, but hadn't ever touched a BG game before BG3 - so just keep that in mind when I maybe mess up/am not aware of BG-specific lore n such

I don't know if this has maybe already been attempted before, and if so, let me know!

I normally don't participate in fandoms or do any deep digging into files (like to watch others do that) so this is kind of a first for me - be gentle :')

So, what we 100% know about the mysterious artefact is:

it is of gith origin

it is specifically engraved with gith runes

I've seen some theorizing here and there about the exact nature of what the mysterious artifact is, but for my analysis it doesn't matter too much! I had stumbled upon this page (https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Gith_language?file=Tir%2527su.jpg) for something unrelated, and seeing the attached image I right away wondered if anyone had actually tried to decode the runes on the artifact. Couldn't find anything with a cursory search and had some time to kill, so here's my noobish attempt! I first remade the image from the wiki because it was super pixely:

Then I just tried to lay out the artifact flatly based on a 3d model I uncovered - tho its more of a mesh (idk technical term) so it was kind of hard to work with, but better than nothing lol: 

(it was my first time extracting stuff like this from a game so if anyone maybe knows how to get a clearer model, please lmk ;_;)

Fun lil sidenote: the shape of the artifact is actually called a icosahedron - aka its a d20! :P

Anyway, here's what I ended up with:

Some of these looked 1:1 like the existing runes, most deviated in some way slightly - tried my best to guess which ones they looked like the most.

The letters I got were (in no particular order): O-U-Q-C-V-W-C-B-A/P-D-I-E-J-EA-Q/Y and then 4 unknown ones

What do these letters form? No idea! But i'll leave the theorizing up to others :^)

Some of the runes were hard to decipher or were just completely not on the list, but I tried to recreate those to the best of my abilities in case anyone else can recognize them:

I'm also actually very unsure about the translation of the gith runes to english, because i've found 2 seperate alphabets - so take all of this with a grain of salt!

Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts on this - it'd at least make my wasted afternoon worth it haha :^)

[thisaccisdead]

Peter parker

uhh I’m only know the Tom Holland and into the spiderverse ones so I’m gonna answer this as the Tom Holland one—

favorite thing about them

babie

least favorite thing about them

mcu making him and tony be such a thing bcuz I like him but I very don’t like tony

favorite line

uhh I don’t have any of his non-famous lines memorized so the “oh we’re using our made up names!” thing

brOTP

him and ned

OTP

also him and ned... but also him and MJ

nOTP

just. Anything else I guess?? I don’t know this fandom well enough 😞😞

random headcanon

can we talk abt him and ned building legos. I mean that's canon actually i just wanna talk abt it--

unpopular opinion

they rlly did aunt may dirty he should get a more developed relationship w her

song i associate with them

He seems like the person who would genuinely just really enjoy fireflies by owl city

favorite picture of them

[ID in alt text.] found in a cursory google search---

[transformersaesthetics]

Top Ten Expensive Transformers

The hiatus is over! Thanks for your patience with last week folks. Something a bit different today Tumblr! Not the long awaited project, but a fun little aside. A while ago, I was scrolling around on Google, and I saw a clickbait article that alleged to discuss ‘the top ten most difficult to obtain Transformers’. I was curious, and, perhaps foolishly, I clicked on it. To my disappointment, the article was merely a list of expensive MISB G1 figures, which is… Well, boring. So, today, I hope to correct that grave injustice with an article about, in a loose order, 10 Transformers that are difficult to obtain, even if you’re willing to lay out a lot of money. 

A couple of rules before we jump in; First, these aren’t the most expensive Transformers or the rarest transformers, because those questions don’t really make sense. How much a figure costs varies from seller to seller, so it’s impossible to establish a list of the absolute most expensive. Also, many figures that are famously expensive are not expensive in absolute terms, but for their price point.  Similarly, with an exception we’ll discuss in a moment, actual rarity can be quite hard to establish. As far as contents of the list go,  Takara Tomy will occasionally create special ‘lucky draw’ figures for contests in magazines and things. How many they produce varies from figure to figure, but it generally is between 50 and 10. These will be excluded from the list, because if they weren’t, the whole list would be lucky draw figures. (Although they’re cool as shit and you should go take a look http://www.luckydrawtransformers.com/)  Similarly, there are a ton of figures like Victory Leokaiser that command a lot of money on the secondary market just because they were japanese exclusive. These would also take up a ton of room on the list, so I’m going to avoid them unless there’s a really good reason to have them on here. Same for convention exclusives. Without further ado, let’s get started! 

10: Action Master Thundercracker 

Normally, when a toy is exclusive to somewhere, it’s Japan. However, as we’ll discuss later, in G1, Europe and other parts of the world saw some strange distribution. (NexusShard17) Towards the end of G1, “the European Hasbro branches continued releasing new toys which the USA would never get.”(NexusShard17) Perhaps the most notorious of these is Action Master Thundercracker, which has one of the most magnificent color schemes ever seen on a transformer. Where Thundercracker is traditionally blue, Action Master Thundercracker is neon pink, lime green, and a bunch of metallic copper paint and baby blue thrown in for good measure. (Geewunling) Because of the exclusivity of the figure, and it’s desirable, awful color scheme, it tends to command quite a bit on the secondary market. 

How do I get one? 

You can reliably find him on ebay in varying states of completeness, which of course impacts the price. For the figure itself with a few accessories, he goes for around 70-80 dollars, ranging to 150 and up for MISB. 

9: Dark of the Moon Wheeljack/Que: 

Who? 

Wheeljack/Que had a bit part in Dark of the Moon. He was mostly kind of around until he got shot towards the end of the film, for emotions or something. (SFH) He had a toy fully produced, but, when the DOTM line was prematurely axed, Wheeljack’s toy was left in limbo. Takara was eventually able to release Wheeljack in their markets, but he never saw an official US release. (SFH)  

How do I get one? 

Because the toy did actually see an official release somewhere on the planet, it’s not particularly rare, just expensive for a deluxe. You can generally buy one for around $100 on eBay. 

Notes: 

This fate is actually fairly common for toys. Most of the final wave of DOTM was eventually released by Takara. Similarly, although much of the tail end of Transformers: Animated was genuinely axed, figures such as Blackout did see release in Japan.(Abates) (And are also quite expensive.) I mostly picked Wheeljack because he’s the one I always think of. 

8: Masterforce Browning

Who? 

Browning was exclusive to the Japanese G1 line, Super God Masterforce. However, what really makes him difficult to come by is his alternate mode; Browning turns into a Browning M1910 pistol. (TVsGrady) Not only does he turn into a real model of gun, it’s a pretty convincing alt-mode from a distance; no orange safety cap, just sweet sweet chrome the whole figure over. Obviously, this would not fly in today’s toy market, and that makes a reissue of Browning extremely unlikely.

How do I get one? 

Between the reissue problem, the fact that his alt-mode is honestly really cool and novel, and his limited, Japanese release, it’s tough to even find an original Browning for sale on Ebay. Even when he is available, he tends to command a clean couple hundred. Your best bet would be dedicated trading forums. 

7: Hasbro DOTM Leadfoot 

Who? 

Much like Wheeljack, Leadfoot had a bit part in DOTM. He showed up for a few scenes with the Wreckers and built a spaceship and made Nascar jokes. Also like Wheeljack, Leadfoot was planned to receive a deluxe class figure, but with the untimely demise of DOTM, it was not to be. Takara did release a version of Leadfoot, and, like Wheeljack, this is expensive, but not unobtainable. What is excruciatingly hard to come by is one of the unreleased Hasbro two-packs of the character, which contained Leadfoot in a different deco from Takara’s, and a deluxe Topspin. Packaged samples are known to exist, but never officially saw release in any market. 

How do I get one? 

Takara’s Leadfoot generally commands $80-150 on eBay, and you can generally find one or two floating around. If you want the Hasbro deco, well… Good luck. The transformers wiki confirms that there was once one listed on eBay.(MSipher) Now, nine years after DOTM, your best bet would be to know someone, to know someone who knows someone, or to have an in at a place where things like this are discussed and trafficked. 

6: Rally Rhinox 

Who? 

Many of you are likely familiar with the Beast Wars character Rhinox. Many of you are probably not familiar with the promotional toy that character received at local American chain Rally’s. (S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) It looks nothing like Rhinox, or even really like a rhino.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) However, “Most people didn't realize the promotion even existed until after it was over, and the restaurant chain is fairly small and somewhat regional.” (S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) Because collectors are how they are, it tends to be quite expensive. 

How do I get one? 

The cursory ebay search I did recently didn’t turn anything up. However, a little more digging found some previous listings on old transformers forums. It appears to have gone for about 100 dollars, which is quite a bit, considering it’s a worse happy meal toy. 

5:Latin American G1 product 

What? 

G1’s international distribution was a bit of a mess. Hasbro handled the US, but “The earliest toys released in continental Europe (minus Italy) were distributed by Milton Bradley, which was in the process of being taken over by Hasbro at that point.”(NexusShard17, The Transformers) In Latin America, the situation was even more complex. No fewer than five licensees were producing G1 figures, often in unique and striking color schemes. (Whalermouse) With the passage of time, the exact scope of what was produced has become unclear; for example, “There are supposedly upwards of three dozen different mold/color combinations altogether, many of them unique to the Peruvian line, but the ravages of time have made samples stunningly rare and reliable information scarce.” (Whalermouse) The actual rarity of the figures depends on what specific piece you’re after, but all of them command outrageous sums. 

How do I get one? 

Many of these pieces are available to purchase on ebay. However, even the mini-vehicles tend to command on the order of 300-400 dollars. However, as you can imagine from the fact that it is uncertain what all exists, some individual colors and figures might prove exquisitely difficult to find. 

4: W Cassettebots 

What? 

Wouldn’t it be cool if Soundwave had some cassettes that turned into dinosaurs? What if they combined? Well if you lived in Japan in the 80’s, and preferred Blaster, you didn’t have to dream. There were two teams of cassettes that turned into dinosaurs, and that combined, albeit somewhat awkwardly. (M Sipher, W Cassettebot) At the end of the Headmasters, “there were a number of toys exclusive to Japan, most of which today command large sums on the secondary market due to rarity (or at least perceived rarity) in the West.” The W Cassettebots were solidly in that category. However, unlike other such exclusives, the W Cassettebots didn’t see a reissue until 2018-2019. (Interrobang; S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) For decades these figures could command 2000-3000 dollars for the pair. Even knock offs would go for several hundred dollars. Although these are expensive simply because of their exclusivity, their notoriety earns them a place on the list. 

How do I get one? 

If you’re a reasonable human being, you buy the reissue. It’s two orders of magnitude cheaper and you can actually play with it.  If you’re actually interested in the real deal, an accepted path is to buy some KOs to familiarize yourself with what those look like, and then… find the boys themselves somewhere? Likely by reaching out to an individual seller; I’ve never even seen a real pair on ebay. 

3: G2 Bomber Megatron 

A toy that essentially anyone can buy, but with a packaging variant that is next to unobtainable? Oh baybee, welcome to this version of G2 Megatron. “A planned-but-more-or-less-canceled redeco of Generation 2 Dreadwing, this two-pack of Megatron and Starscream was only released to test markets in Ohio in very limited quanities, and never saw a wide release… the toy was instead made available, with just a few small deco changes, in the Beast Wars II toyline as BB and Starscream.”(ItsWalky) Why do we care about how difficult this is to obtain? My god, because it’s there. Because it’s there. 

How do I get one? 

I’mma say you don’t. I’d guess less than 500 samples of any sort of this are around, and new in sealed box which is the only thing you’d care about? You’re at the mercy of Ohioese children of the 80s not playing with the cool toy they were bought. Good luck finding one. When you do, be prepared to break your wallet in half. 

2: G2 Defensor and Menasor 

These guys really should be number one on the list (but they’re not quite for a good reason). The place they occupy in transformers culture is legendary. It’s a newsworthy event when a set of these figures even becomes available to buy. Even Hasbro has lampshaded the rarity of these figures in the bio of one Shortround, a Cybertron toy. (KilMichaelMcC; Bronzewolf) Much as the first entry on our list, Action Master Thundercracker, had a phenomenally garish color scheme, Menasor and Defensor were going to be released that way in G2. However, between one thing and another, they were canceled. In spite of that, several samples are known to exist. Imagine it. A G1 combiner, unreleased, with this magnificent, gaudy color scheme, all those delightful little bits and pieces to lose or misplace over the years, a bare handful of extant ones in any event… The stuff of legends, to be sure. 

How do I get one? 

Know someone who knows someone. These tend to go for in the neighborhood of 20000 dollars. If you have the 20k to drop on one of these guys, you probably know someone who can put you in contact with one. They are also, rarely, listed on ebay. 

1: Chrome Optimus Prime

Okay, I know I said no Lucky Draw figures, but this one is special. There aren’t ten, or fifteen, or fifty of these. There are exactly two, as part of a single display. (MasterX224) “Won by TFW2005.com member James Zahn, this one-of-a-kind (well, two-of-a-kind) piece is an almost fully vacuum-metallized Leader-class Optimus Prime in red, silver and blue (based heavily upon Generation 1 Optimus Prime), presented with a custom display base with an embossed silver Autobot insignia and a perspex display case.” (MasterX224) The fact that there are two of this figure catapults it to the absolute stratosphere of rarity. It’s difficult to imagine what figure that actually exists could be rarer than this. Maybe a one-off thing for a valued Takara employee? Maybe the very first prototype of Optimus Prime? Even things like Menasor and Defensor have a handful of samples. What has just two? Well… this Chrome Optimus Prime. 

How do I get one? 

Well it helps to be James Zhan. And… yeah I think that’s really all. He’s certainly not going to give it up any time soon. Maybe if you meet him he’ll let you take a look at it some day? 

I hope you all enjoyed this loose list of some of the rarest/most expensive for what they are Transformers. There’s a ton of other super notorious lads, (cough G1 Raiden cough) that really do deserve to be on here. These are just a few of the ones I thought were interesting and, candidly, know about. I’m not in the circles of those folks who are collecting the rarest of the rare. If there’s anything you know about or would even like to spread rumors about, mention it! I’d love to hear about them. Also, if this caught your fancy, make sure to check out the lucky draw website. They have all sorts of interesting stories up there.

TVsGrady et al. “Browning” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Browning Accessed 11/1/2020

SFH et al. “Wheeljack (Movie)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Que Accessed 11/27/2020

Abates et al. “Blackout (Animated)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Blackout_(Animated) Accessed 11/27/2020

NexusShard17 et al/ “Transformers: Dark of the Moon (toyline)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Transformers:_Dark_of_the_Moon_(toyline) Accessed 11/27/2020

MSipher et al. “Leadfoot (DOTM)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Leadfoot_(DOTM) Accessed 11/27/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 “Rhinox (BW)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Rhinox_(BW)/toys#Beast_Wars Accessed 11/27/2020

NexusShard17 et al. “ The Transformers (European toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/The_Transformers_(European_toyline)#1985 Accessed 11/27/2020

Whalermouse et al. “The Transformers (Toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/The_Transformers_(toyline)#Mexican_.26_South_American_Transformers Accessed 11/27/2020

MSipher et al. “W Cassettebot” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/W_Cassettebot Accessed 11/27/2020

M Sipher et al. “Fight! Super Robot Lifeform Transformers! (toyline)” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Transformers:_The_Headmasters_(toyline)#1987_.28The_Headmasters.29 Accessed 11/27/2020

Interrobang et al. “Graphy” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Graphy#Vintage_G1 Accessed 11/27/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 et al. “Dairu” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Dairu#Toys Accessed 11/27/2020

Geewunling et al. “Thundercracker (G1)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Thundercracker_(G1)/toys#ActionMaster Accessed 11/27/2020

ItsWalky et al. “Megatron (G1)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Megatron_(G1)/toys#Generation_2 Accessed 11/27/2020

Bronzewolf, “Unreleased G2 Menasor Prototype listed on Ebay again” Siebertron

https://www.seibertron.com/transformers/news/unreleased-g2-menasor-prototype-listed-on-ebay-again/36662/ Accessed 11/27/2020

KilMichaelMcC et al. “Generation 2 Defensor and Menasor” TFwiki.

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Generation_2_Defensor_and_Menasor Accessed 11/27/2020

MasterX224 et al. “Optimus Prime (Movie)/toys” TFwiki. 

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Optimus_Prime_(Movie)/toys#Leader_Class_toys Accessed 11/27/2020

[roseamongroses]

W.A.L: “It’s A Long Way Down To the Bottom of the River” (26)

s u m m a r y

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.Neither cared much for staying trapped.So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries,  Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing, some  dissociation

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Elliot, Kai, Lauren, Dot

Ship: Roceit

1) (2)   (3)  (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

---

Ms. Drak’on didn’t bother to look up once Logan had entered her office, her massive tail curled in her lap as she tapped away at her computer.

She was busy, always busy and today she was dealing with the mass freeing of the Sanders and all associated parties. For a curse that exhaustive it wasn’t just a matter of freeing them, but it was a matter of arranging new housing, placing younger children under adoptive care, and arranging for funeral services and preservation efforts for any humans or elders caught in the mix.

Overall the whole ordeal was incredibly profitable despite being horrendously irritating. And while being around so many humans was disturbing, it was ultimately for the best. The Council was this world's new future whether the magic-folk liked it or not and Annaliese would be damned if she let her folk be thrown to the wayside like so many others.

Her initial plan was to be a part of the Sanders, seeing as they were a powerhouse among the folk and everyone knew the Council had an eye on them.  It took decades just for her to convince her family to arrange the marriage between her and the Sanders, and many years later for them to forgive her for that failure of an investment. Still, she found away, and when that way fell apart she’d find another and another.

Logan cleared his throat, once then twice, and Annaliese looked up, “Yes?” she said, her long claws tapping impatiently, “Is this related to your studies or the coronation?”

“Uh,” Logan frowned, “No ma’am.”

Annaliese scowled, “Then what is it?”

“I was talking with Patton and Virgil--” Annaliese made a face. She thought he would’ve gotten over them once they had left for the colonies.  Logan continued, “And they mentioned that there was a series of break-ins at The Colonies.”

“And?”

“And… I thought it would a good idea for us to investigate,” He reasoned, “Large amounts of their discarded magical waste had been taken before it was properly deactivated and the only person known to experiment with that is The Stranger so I though-”

“Logan,” She cut him off with a sharp smile, “I admire your dedication,”

Logan blinked startled, “Uh, thank you ma’am,”

“You’re welcome,” Ms. Drak’on’s smile stayed unnervingly in place, “So when I say leave it alone, I’m not trying to discourage you--In fact, I say this as a way to encourage you to keep focus,”

“But nearly a thousand ounces of magical residue went missing that’s enough to--”

“Blow up a small nation, yes, yes I’m aware,” She finished, “Someone else will handle it. I’ll arrange for it personally in fact,” she promised, “But you are going to be the heir of the most powerful folk-family. You need to stop worrying about your friends, stop worrying about some no-name shifter and his joke of a mentor, and start thinking about your own future,” Logan still looked unpleased, “Do you really care about this magical residue or do you just want a rematch.”

“I…” Logan swallowed, “There’s going to be backlash…”

“And? They can have their opinions, it won’t change paperwork, ” Annaliese snapped, “You let them and their little prank under your skin once, but I won’t let it happen again,” she pointed at a singular talon at Logan, “You want to be heir, correct?”

Logan’s face hardened, “Yes.”

“In a couple of months you will be,” She said, “So leave it be, unless you’d rather me pick another heir? You have plenty of cousins who would gladly step up,” Logan flinched and at that, she hummed, “So you’ll leave it be?”

“I’ll…” Logan sighed, “I’ll leave it be,”

---

“It looks pretty, Sof,” Roman said, hands curling around the torn up leaves of the flowers she picked.

Sofia  batted his hands away from her arrangement on the table, “No it isn’t, it’s ugly and stupid,” she huffed as she picked at the flowers, “Marisol would’ve made them pretty,”

“Marisol isn’t here,” Viviane said, readjusting her flower crown with a careless delight, “Momma said she’s still sleeping,”

“I know that,” Sofia grumbled, though she started messing with her flowers more .

“Sofia?”

Her face scrunched and she ignored Roman.

Roman sighed, knowing that at any second she’d get frustrated and either cry or scream. Probably both. He bit his lip, “Sofia, can you do me a big favor?”

At that she looked up, still scowling and eyes watery, “What?”

“Can you help Ma in the garden?”  Roman suggested, pointing out the screen door, “Tami can’t be alone in the house, but Ma’s going to need a lot of help,”

Before Sofia could answer Viviane butted in, “Oh Sofia can’t help, she’d get dirty,”

Sofia’s eyes snapped up full of some equivalent to  fury, “Yes I can!”

“No, you can’t!” Viviane stuck her nose up, pointing to herself, “But I can,”

It didn’t take long for that disaster of an argument to spill outside, startling Ma and a dozing Marie. Once they were out of sight, Roman took a cursory glance at the flowers on the table, before oh so innocently dragging a hand over the stems.

It was a bit harder since the flower's roots had long since been ripped off, but that just meant he had to give them a new root system. It didn’t take long after that for dingy petals to brighten into delicate pinks and yellows and for the torn, leaves to wilt and be replaced with stronger, healthier greens.

While he was finishing up, Lauren walked in, looking sweaty--hair tied in a high ponytail  as she guzzled down water. She raised an eyebrow, “You’re spoiling them,” she accused.

“I can get you flowers too if you’re jealous,” Roman mocked.

Laruen’s eyes narrowed, “I can pick my own,” she scoffed, though her gaze still lingered on the petals, “Maybe you should take some out for your boy~friend, he’s been mean all day,”

“I mean…” Roman shrugged, “I’d be pissy too if I had to babysit y’all instead of, y’know, kissing me.”

Lauren sighed, turning on her heel,  “Leaving now,”

“Love ya too,” Roman said dusting off his hands. He breezed through the living room passing the slumped, heaving forms of Kai and Elliot. He poked his head out of the front door, easily finding Janus in the midst of doing cool-down stretches.

Roman closed the door behind them, a smile creeping on his face, “Darling?” Janus paused mid-stretch but didn’t look up, even as Roman crouched behind them, hugging them from behind. Roman pursed his lips, resting his head on their shoulder, “Janus, you’re ignoring me,” he whined.

“Am I?”

“Yes, yes you are,” Roman said,” Any reason why?”

Janus stiffened, not immediately responding so Roman waited. After a while he finished his stretch, leaning into Roman, “I’m... tired. Just gotta get used to the new training regiment that’s all,”

Roman frowned at that, “Anything I can do?”

“I stink, so a bath would be nice,” Janus sighed.

Roman hummed in agreement, “Can I join?”

“Now,” Janus said, pushing Roman’s face away,

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Roman laughed, giving Janus a little squeeze before standing up, “I’ll run it in a few minutes, try not to stay out here for too long,” He squinted at the setting sun, “It's getting late,”

Janus sighed, “I won’t be long,”

—--

His eyes were burning long after The Stranger gave him another vial. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t inviting, but it clawed into him deep, stoking an internal itch Deceit never knew he had. On one hand, he could feel himself getting stronger, on the other hand he knew that he had to stay vigilant, lest he lose control.

It wouldn’t be like the first time.

Eden and him had taken the vials at the same time, but it hit Eden much harder. He was human, after all. One moment they were laughing. The next moment, well… Janus couldn’t tell you for sure what happened. But he knew something  changed when the light jabs became shoves, and the words spilling were no longer loving.

Janus had always admired Eden, so of course, it hurt, but if it had just been about Janus well… maybe they would’ve all went to church that day. But Virgil was Janus’s responsibility and Eden… was replaceable. Eden was loved, he was cherished by his family, but at the end of the day he was just as disposable as Janus.

The only difference was that they at least searched for Eden, even if they didn’t really find him. They mourned for Virgil, they were furious at Eden, but never said a word about Janus.

Janus, Eden, Deceit, Janus. It was a mantra he cycled through constantly, but it was especially dizzying when he was alone with himself. One face wasn’t his own, but it was better than nothing. One embraced his nothingness with an obnoxious flair. And one… was nothing, but Roman said it like it meant something. And the more they said it, the more Janus found himself unwilling to hate it completely.

Janus dunked his head in the bath, not rising again until the stink of memories were drowned by his desperate need for air. Then he scrubbed himself as raw as his lungs were, ignoring how his body ached and not lingering on his scales or the irritated and inflamed scars, but instead focussing on his need to be clean.

Once he was done with that, he untied his hair. It had grown back long, but since Deceit tended to just shift to fix his hair it had gotten tangled and matted. After the temptation to rip his hair out of his skull intensified, he dragged himself out of the tub. Throwing on pants, he trudged back into the room--immediately rummaging through the dresser drawers.

Roman, who was hanging off the bed upside down, sat up, “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Scissors,” Janus grumbled, “Or a knife, anything sharp--” He frowned, finding nothing but books and clothes.

“Why would you…” Roman trailed off, “Weren’t you going to try to actually take care of your hair?”

“I did try-- it was taking too long,” Janus said, looking up when Roman sighed, “What?”

“Come here, you big baby,” Roman said, leaving no room for complaint as he pulled out a wider-tooth comb from the side-drawer. Janus complied, flopping on his stomach and burying his head in Roman’s lap.

Roman hummed, fingers kneading their scalp gently, causing Janus to tense, before relaxing, “Long day?”

Janus groaned, voice muffled,  “I hate everything,”

Roman had started sectioning Janus’s hair, “I don’t think you hate everything,”

“I hate most things,”

“Eh,”

“...I don’t hate you?”

Roman didn’t say anything to that, starting to pull the comb through Janus’s tangled ends and methodically working his way up. Janus lost himself in the sensation, not quite feeling the pit in his stomach go away, but instead feeling like he had more space to breathe.

At some point Janus had drifted off, only stirring when Roman stopped combing, slowly just rubbing circles in Janus’s scalp. Janus propped his head up on Roman’s lap, vaguely registering that Roman had stole another one of his shirts, “What time is it?”

“Ready to leave me so soon?”

“Mmm…” Janus wrapped an arm around their waist, playing with ends of the shirt, “Not quite,”

“Go--ood,” Roman stuttered, eyes closing as Janus pressed feather-light kisses along their thigh, hand drifting up their shirt, “Aren’t you still tired?”

“A little…” Janus mumbled with a frown, “But with this new schedule I won’t be able to see you as often,” Roman’s face fell, “But... I’m here now,”

“I guess you are…but--” Roman inhaled sharply as Janus’s fangs flashed, “Janus…” Roman squirmed as they sucked at the sensitive skin there.  

“Huh, I thought you were fucking with me, but, “ Janus smiled,  deliberately twirling a vine creeping over Roman’s hip, “You really do like them?”

“Shut up,” Roman whined into his hands, “Of course I like them,”

Janus paused at that, sitting up, “So if I grew a tail and started craving human flesh?”

Roman snorted, “Babe, I had a tail when I was younger,” Janus shot him a curious look, “It fell off--” he explain shortly, “But the point is I’m not even human, you don’t scare me,” he pushed aside his braids, leaning back against the headboard, “In fact, if you hadn’t noticed I find you very attractive,”

“You find Eden very attractive,”

“Yes, I am a fan,” Roman admitted rolling his eyes, “But I guarantee that you can pick any face you want- even your own, and I’d still be just as eager. And… you wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“We’re partners--” Roman squeaked, cupping Janus’s face, his sappy smile beaming into the kiss.

“Is it later yet?” Janus murmured, feeling how Roman’s skin was getting hotter and hotter,  “Cause I really would like to have that talk now--”

There was a knock and they both froze.

Roman was the first to speak, “It's  locked--they’ll go away soon,”

Janus frowned at that, “Are you sure it’s the triplets?”

Roman paused for entirely too long with a look entirely too pissy and Janus rolled off the bed despite their protests. Janus wasn’t surprised to see The Stranger when he opened the door, but The Stranger seemed pretty surprised.

The Stranger’s mouth opened, then closed, “Busy?”

Janus scowled,  “I’ll be out in a minute,” and he shut the door promptly. He winced upon seeing just how pleased Roman was, “Sorry...”

“Don’t apologize… just,” Roman’s gaze flickered to the door, “Be safe.”

---

Deceit had the decency to feel somewhat guilty when The Stranger handed him another vial. It’s just that it was hard to pinpoint any feelings after they handed him another, and another, and another. It was hard to even remember his name and it wasn’t like The Stranger was inclined to remind him.

Blood soaked and vaguely human-shaped, Deceit stumbled up as the snake-like creature slithered towards him again, fangs bared.

He didn’t have to turn around to see The Stranger’s displeased expression. This what...the 45th? 67th? time that Deceit was attempting this shift, whilst trying to avoid the creature -- the pitch blackness of the sky had long since softened into mocking pinks and swirling purples.

The snake lunged and for a dizzying second, Deceit didn’t even feel as their fangs sank into his skin again, tearing at the flesh. He dropped to his knees, fruitlessly clawing at the beast, feeling his shift sharpen and humanity slick away piece by piece.

The Stranger tossed his drink, the cup disappearing, “Alright, enough,” and like that the creature was gone.

Deceit shuddered, hands still grasping as if he could still feel the creature’s grip around his throat, “Was it...was it good enough?”

The Stranger inclined his head, lowering his glasses to observe the glistening, gold scales dripping from Deceit’s lower half, still radiating the same manic energy the snake had, “No, but it's a start,” he said, pushing his glasses up, “You’re too attached,”

Deceit swallowed, “Attached? Attached to what?”

“To your identity,” The Stranger drawled, “Forget it. It's useless anyway,” his spiked boots kicked up the dirt.

“Identity?” Deceit’s laugh  was a choked, guttural thing that caused the pain in his shoulder to flare up,” I don’t have an identity, I’m nothing, remember?”

The Stranger didn’t say anything, an uncomfortable silence stretching, “Same time tomorrow,” he finally said, turning on his heel, “Don’t be late this time,”

When Deceit returned to the house, Lauren took one good look at him before bullying him into getting cleaned up and getting stitches. Deceit let her babble about some T.V show wash over him before he dragged himself to bed.

The next night, it was some underground creature that only appeared when provoked and apparently when you provoked one, the entire nest appeared. It had taken so long to even get a glimpse of them and even longer to shake them all off so by the time he got back to the house it was already mid-day. After Kai stopped yelling at him for missing the sparring sessions they shoved a plate of food in his direction and chucked a water bottle at his head.

On the days that he was nonverbal, they switched to signing without further questioning after Elliot’s telepathy proved to be too overwhelming after a night trapped in a cave with a sound-based creature.

And every day, whenever he could--- he calmed down an upset Roman, letting them check over each new scar and relentlessly curse The Stranger’s name in a surprising amount of languages until they were content that he was in one piece.

Only then did he tell Janus about his day, telling him about the fort the triplets were building outside, about the new book he’s reading, or how he was going to start taking care of Tami and them more often since his mom had finally gotten the paperwork she needed to start working again.

It was odd floating between those moments of normalcy and chaos, but it was odder when they overlapped. Tonight it was less of a creature and more of a gelatin mass that seeped acid.

Deceit wasn’t allowed to attack it back, not unless he replicated it perfectly, but as he was letting that acid bastard swallow him all he could think about was yesterday night.

Roman had just finished Tami’s very specific bedtime routine when he had walked into the room doe eyed and really quiet. After a few attempts at prodding, they quietly admitted that they might want kids when he got older. Which wasn’t surprising, but what did throw Deceit off guard was the fact that they asked for his opinion on the matter. As if Deceit had a future beyond this--and if he did how much of it would be dedicated to being The Stranger’s experiment?

He hadn’t even noticed that the creature was gone until The Stranger snapped in front of his face, annoyed. Deceit staggered up, “Sorry--are we done?”

“Sure, this isn’t working anyway,” The Stranger said cooly and Deceit tensed, “You’re still distracted, you’re still attached,”

“I…” Deceit frowned, “I don’t understand,”

“Of course you don’t,” The Stranger scoffed, “You’re lucky you’re not a complete waste of time or I wouldn’t even bother trying at this point,” he the lollipop cracked in his mouth, “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow,”

Both relief and terror pooled into Deceit’s gut, “What?”

“Don’t get so worked up--” The Stranger scolded, “You get the next three days off and , after that we’re going on a little trip. If it goes as planned, we’ll have everything we ever wanted,”

“And...if it doesn’t go as planned?”

“Well, I'll take a break somewhere blisteringly hot and then try again in the next hundred years,” The Stranger shrugged.

Deceit didn’t have to ask to figure out what would happen to him.

[edenofmonsters]

automatonophobia | one.

automatonophobia | [o-do-muh-tah-no-foh-bee-uh]

definition: 

extreme or irrational fear of human-like figures.

subject: 

mannequin | roman

notes: 

originally documented january 16th, 2019

1,349 words | 01 part | s. f. w.

on the eerie night you are left to close up shop, you gain an unexpected stalker.

*✧🌙✧*

“Have fun,” Tina says, already carting away to ticket and stock last minute merchandises. 

You depart with a playful salute to her retreating back and head toward the back room where you’ll find clothes for the next season, already pressed and ready for handling. You hadn’t seen yourself striving for visual merchandising, but once you explored the field, you couldn’t imagine having more fun doing anything else. 

Once armed, you make way to the mannequins on window display, bidding your coworkers goodnight as you go. It certainly won’t be your first time to lock up the shop, but you admit you are a bit antsy today, already imagining lazing on your bed and binging through one of many tv shows saved on your list. 

But enough daydreaming for the night. You are quick to remove the first still-life model from its base and detach the legs from the torso. Once you strip the masculine dummy down to nothing, you redress it, pulling apart limbs and turning it this way and that as necessary. It isn’t easy work, especially when the mannequin is a bit bigger than you and awkward to handle; however, the finished look makes it worth the sweat. The mannequin now wears a button up tucked into pants, a double breasted coat, and a pair of loafers. You save the tie for last.

“Under, over, loop, and...pull!” You grin, patting the cotton strip tied to perfection with mock affection. “I think I’ll call you Roman. What do you think, honey?” you joke to no one in particular, stretching up to press a lingering peck on the mannequin’s blank face. 

If you had pulled away sooner, you might not have felt the plastic molding underneath your lips to mirror yours. Startled, you jerk away, causing the dummy to topple to the floor in the process. Upon inspection from a distance, you see that the face is as featureless as it’s meant to be, still and inanimate.

I must be tired… Yet a disturbing chill settles into your blood. 

It felt too real. You touch a finger to your lips, still feeling the ghost pressure. A moment later, you mentally laugh at your antics. You chalk it to your vivid imagination and continue your task, starting by righting the fallen mannequin, which suddenly feels denser than before. You hesitantly pat it down with the intention to feel if the model is truly fake rather than to dust it. Satisfied, you work in a hurry, telling yourself it’s because you want to go home to relax for the night, despite knowing deep inside your heart it's due to a fear urging you to leave the shop. 

Within the hour, you undress and redress the window mannequins. All you have left to do is store the worn clothes for later dry cleaning and lock up. You take a cursory look around the shop, searching for anything that may be misplaced. When nothing comes up, you finally walk out to pull the storefront security gates shut. As you lock up, you glance at the front windows and balk.

“What...?” you whisper, hardly even able to achieve that because you suddenly can’t breathe. 

One of the three mannequins is gone, the very same one you kissed.

You grow icy with crippling dread, unable to comprehend what the hell is going on. It’s impossible for someone to have played a prank on you, because no one was with you, and you know you didn’t move it—it was one of the last things you saw before leaving through the front. You can’t explain it, and you refuse to. 

Just as you’re about to back away, a blotch of whiteness catches the corner of your eye. You turn toward the source and stumble back to a fall, a scream attempting to claw out of your throat but failing to do so, as you’ve sealed your mouth with your shaking hands. 

The mannequin stands there, peeking from the alleyway between the shops.

It takes you but seconds to scramble to your feet and bolt off, blood rushing in your ears and fear caving in at your neck. You run, resisting the need to rest and catch your breath, you run as if being chased, and you don't quit until you reach the bus stop. By then, the winter winds prove to be blissful against your overheated body. Even with the great distance, your eyes dart around your surroundings in paranoia. You’re surrounded by the night, the streetlamp serving as your lone light to fend off the darkness seeming to creep in closer and closer.

You contemplate running your way home, despite it being half an hour walk, but that idea is put to halt by the sound of steps in the distance. You freeze in place, not daring to seek out the noise; however, just because you refuse to acknowledge it doesn’t mean it will discourage the oncoming stranger. The steps become louder with each passing second until they seem to be right next to you, and then it stops. 

If I can’t see you, you can’t see me. You chant to yourself in hopes this is all a terrible nightmare. 

Once again, from your peripheral view, you can see a figure slicing through the darkness, like parting a black curtain, and walking right into the disc of light bathing you for display. You detect familiar loafers, and it is no mistake your stalker is the very same mannequin you seem to have breathed life into.

“Stay away!” you choke out, a hoarse sound scratching out of your chords. 

It says nothing, does nothing for an agonizing minute. It stands frozen in time, acting like the mannequin it’s meant to be, and the absurdity of this all makes you want to laugh at yourself. You choose to remain quiet, save for emitting some whimpers, waiting for your doom. Finally, it—he shakes his head and reaches forward, a jerky movement that scares you.

You cry out, falling into a crouch, as if doing so might protect you. You’re sobbing, clutching your ears, and anticipating some kind of pain, any kind at all. Nothing remotely hurtful comes your way; instead, arms bracket around your shaking body. The sudden contact sends your instincts into overdrive, and you try to wrestle away. His arms hold you fast, and you feel as if you’re struggling against two slabs of stone. You only halt when you realize he is doing nothing else but keeping you close in his long arms. Curious, you peek at him. Of course, you meet his white face with only vague indents serving as its facial features.

You’re not surprised he can’t talk at all, seeing as he has no mouth; however, his gestures are so human and expressive you’re able to convey some gist of what he’s trying to communicate. He thumbs your cheek with the tenderness of a lover, and you know he doesn’t mean you any harm, not at this point, at least. Seeing as he won’t hurt you for the time being, you calm yourself.

“W-what are you?” you ask without expecting an answer, eyes unable to keep to one place on its face.

His head tilts a fraction, a universal sign of confusion or ponderment before his seemingly immoldable face creases, one brow bone rising higher than the other. It may be dark, but the street lamp doesn’t hide the indicating smirk of amusement shadowing the lower half of his face. It’s clear the mannequin is saying, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

Ignoring the unsaid remark, you struggle to articulate your next question in fear of what he may do. 

“What do you want from me?”

His shoulders shake, like he’s chuckling, a chilling action without the sound that sends your bones trembling all over again. His grip tightens, conspicuously sinking his plastic fingers into your hip. It isn’t difficult to figure out his intent. You know this will be the last time you’ll be standing at this bus stop.

*✧🌙✧*

fin.

*✧🌙✧*

thoughts:

i’m not the only one who’s walked through a clothes store and thought it would be amazing if one of those fashionably dressed mannequins were to suddenly come alive and begin romancing you, right? on a side note, this is one of many stashed writings i wrote on a whim. i don’t believe i’ll write more for this, but we shall see.

resources:

monster masterlist by thespelia

encyclopedia of monsters by thespelia

[sugarsugarmoon]

You spoke the truth and your self awareness makes me happy, you're one of the good ones. Do you have tips on how to deal w stubborn ppl who refuse to acknowledge BLM? Some of my friends pretend like nothing is happening bc we don't live in the US and it really infuriates me. I called them out on their bullshit but they just don't care. Should I give up on them… and I'd love to chat lit but I was a lit student who failed all the time- I'm good at absorbing info but terrible at writing them out 🤐

I can give you a couple of resources on how to talk to people who don’t understand racism because it doesn’t affect them. I will say that my sister is very good at listening and absorbing and understanding when it comes to stuff like that. She will hear my side and get on board at least acknowledging it, but she also believes everything she reads online and supports Trump...so it rarely sticks. You just have to plant little seeds of doubt. With my dad? Unless I want a shouting match or a physical altercation, I have to be very careful about how I present ideas contrary to his. I’d like to think I’ve mayyyyybe changed his mind a little (but probably not).

This post on Instagram talks about how to talk to white people about it (thanks @cheba-o for sharing it with me).

This post on Instagram is about redirecting conversation.

Additionally, I’m not sure where in the world you are, but there are resources if you just search “Racism in Europe” “Racism in Australia” “racism in _____” because it’s prolific literally everywhere.

Some links:

ENAR EUROPE

Talking about racism in Australia

Wikipedia entry racism by country

NY Times article

Anti-racist reading list

Washington post article

You could also do a cursory search for “how to talk to children about racism” because a lot of the same concepts apply.

[joannalannister]

Has anyone investigated whether curses made in the name of the Others come true? For example, has a character gone blind when cursed with "The Others take your eyes"?

Hi! Thanks for asking me! I’m not sure that magic works that way in ASOIAF. I don’t think that ASOIAF magic is something that anyone can just casually tap into. Think about how acolytes of the Citadel have to sit in a room with a glass candle and try to light it - they can’t do it. 

GRRM has described magic as a tool for his characters to use. I think like any tool you have to work at it. For example, Dany spent a really long time training her dragons before she got to rid one. Quentyn, unfortunately, did not - nor had he spent years researching dragonlore or w/e. So my own understanding is that magic in ASOIAF requires effort, or study, or at least sacrifice (your own sacrifice or someone else’s). 

To test your theory, tho, I did a cursory search using asearchoficeandfire of the phrase “the Others take”. It does have things like “The Others take [so-and-so]” where so-and-so eventually died in the story, but I think that has more to do with how common the phrase is and how high GRRM’s body count is. There are also a lot of people who have been cursed who are still alive in the books. Perhaps someone else would like to do a more thorough investigation, tho. 

[kohakuhime]

The Reluctant Guardian, ch. 21

You know, of all the villains I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with, Belmont has proven to be the worst of the bunch and frankly put I wish I could say we’ve seen him at his worst already.

We have not.

Disclaimer: this takes place post canon, and this refers to events that take place in an alternate verse. YGO and its associated characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and @mpuzzlegirl owns her OC’s that appear in this update.

“Did you find anything?”

“N-No sir. We searched the floor, and we checked the surveillance cameras. No signs of the intruder.”

Belmont tapped the desk idly. “Is that so?” he asked, staring intently at the speaker phone. His voice was casual, his expression calm and composed. Still, he could hear the audible gulp on the other end of the phone. “Do you care to explain how someone could manage to get to the top floor of a building without being seen?”

“W-We don’t have one, sir. We’re trying to figure out who tripped the silent alarms, but the system has been wiped clean.”

Belmont did not need to know how the alarms had been activated—it had never been tripped at all. He had known who was in the building the moment they had entered it, as the ring on his finger was still pulsing and throbbing angrily. Two of the children, so close…not just one, but two. And somehow, both of them had vanished as suddenly as they had come.

It was doubtful Dartz had simply brought them with him in his investigations. Yes, Dartz had been more active around his properties, but Dartz had done nothing but cursory investigations, never seeming to do anything more than look around and never staying longer than ten minutes. Belmont had cowed him so much that Dartz did not dare act out, he thought with a smirk.

Belmont’s smile faded. Dartz knew the dangers of actively interfering and out of some foolish sense of duty and responsibility would not endanger the children. Likely it had been an accident of some kind that had brought the children…but how had they vanished?

“Sir, while we were not able to find the intruders, we did find him on the floor.” The man on the screen turned, and Belmont’s lips thinned.

Ah. That’s how they did it. “Is he still there?”

“Yeah. We held him back. He’s outside the room.” He heard the sneer in the other man’s voice. “Do you want to talk to him?”

Belmont considered the options. He had one other appointment to keep, as his time here was incredibly limited, but he could spare a moment for this. “I would rather love to hear the explanation he has for his presence, as he isn’t allowed on that floor. Send him in, won’t you?”

                                           ++++++++++++++

Of all the Swordsmen, Raphael had been the only one who had brought the Nameless Pharaoh to his knees. Even Dartz had not managed that feat.

Raphael did not ever boast about that so-called achievement. He had treated it as a fact: he had been the one to drive the Pharaoh to his knees. And years later, it was not something he ever brought up. But he had, in fact, beaten the Pharaoh and he had been formidable in his own right. He had been Dartz’s right hand man, the one in charge of the Swordsmen, and the only one who had beaten back the Orichalcos.

If they thought they had Raphael subdued and under control, it was only because he had allowed them to think it.

The men who had caught him just outside the elevators had thought it had been because Raphael had been foolish enough to walk right into them. They knew Raphael was not allowed on the executive floor and so had brought him immediately to the conference room. Raphael had led them in the opposite direction, allowing Rowen to escape down a stairwell where the cameras had been malfunctioning. He also had his own backup plan to divert from the real reason he had gone to the floor.

While Raphael had been forced to wait outside the executive conference room, he had kept his outward appearance cold and distant; it wasn’t hard to affect nonchalance, especially since he had been made to sit down. It was a simple matter of folding his arms, crossing his legs, and forming a surly scowl on his face. Given his mood, that was easier than it had been in years.

Inwardly he had been silently panicking, waiting to hear if they had caught Rowen. Raphael could deal with many things—forced captivity, being constantly belittled, constantly threatened, and even the threat of having his soul taken. None of this was new for him. It had happened before, he could weather it again. But endangering the lives of his children…that was something he could not reconcile with under any circumstance.

Rules be damned, Raphael would not allow Belmont to get a hold of his son.

“All right, tough guy.” He was shoved to his feet by a man who could not be much taller than Valon. Raphael allowed the motion—he had learned early on that he was not allowed to retaliate. “Our boss wants a word with you.”

Raphael allowed himself to be shoved into the room, only scowling when one shove forced his shoulder to bounce roughly off the door. He knew Belmont was not here today, which meant he was speaking to a phone. They would be on even ground, then. Belmont couldn’t see his face to gauge his reaction, and Raphael would have to rely on verbal cues.

That wouldn’t be too hard. He knew exactly how to handle Belmont—he had plenty of practice when he had been living with his uncle.

“He’s here, sir,” said the other man.

“Ah, good. Raphael, how have you been?” Belmont’s voice was jovial, as if he was talking to a good friend he hadn’t heard from in a while. Raphael’s face twisted in disgust. “Have you been faring well?”

“As well as can be expected, considering I’m a prisoner,” Raphael retorted, folding his arms again. He kept his voice neutral, allowing only the smallest part of his anger channel into his words. “I’m guessing business is going well for you.”

“Oh it is. And prisoner? Why, as a consultant you have the run of almost the entire building! However…” Belmont’s voice changed, something cold buried beneath the light-hearted tone. “I do believe we had an understanding about the top floor, hm? So why were you up there today, Raphael?”

“I followed the yellow brick road but forgot to take the left at Albuquerque.”

“Raphael, good man, I do believe we also discussed that sense of humor of yours as well.” This time there was a distinct edge in his voice. “It seems you want to go straight to the point. What were you doing on the executive floor?”

“I came here because I had a question. I understand you don’t deem me intelligent enough to ask questions, but every so often I’ve been known to defy expectations,” Raphael replied flatly.

“Don’t play coy with me, son. You and I both know that if you had a question you were to direct it to Turner, who is in the building at the moment. There is no reason for you to be on the executive floor and you know it.” Now there was a warning and something dangerous in the other voice.

Raphael shrugged, allowing the motion to carry into his words. “So you think Turner knows more about the Orichalcos than you?” he asked, skepticism coloring each word. “Good to know that the man running the operations doesn’t know what he’s doing. That inspires so much confidence.”

“You are deliberately testing my patience, Raphael.”

“It was an innocent question, sir.”

“Lying does not become you. I know you weren’t up here and risking everything you hold dear just to ask a simple question. Do not seek to make a fool of me.”

“I should take this opportunity to point out that paranoid delusion is a very common side-effect to prolonged exposure to the Orichalcos. I can’t help you too much with the delusion part you had that problem before I got here, but the paranoia is certainly starting to show itself.”

“Raphael.”

Raphael could not allow himself to smile, not with armed men around him to tell on him, but he spotted at least one of the guard’s lips twitching. “Yes sir?”

“If you are quite finished with your significant lapse in good judgment, your question?”

Raphael sobered. “The Orichalcos is taking souls without warning. It’s not even allowing people past the trial of the stone and you’re rapidly running out of pawns to throw away. I personally couldn’t care less if you run out of employees—it just means less people running around with the Orichalcos and we both know how I feel on the subject.Thought you should know.”

“Raphael, it is your job to determine why the Orichalcos is not working—I suggest you figure it out on your own, as you have experience with it.”

“With all due respect,” Raphael said, only just barely tempering the disgust in the word ‘respect’, “I only used it. That doesn’t make me a qualified expert on how it works.”

“Well then, I suggest you earn your specialty in it. After all, whether or not you live depends on how useful you are to me…as well as those who count on you to be useful.”

Raphael’s fists clenched at his side, teeth gritting. Of the six of them, Belmont had rendered two of his loved ones “useless”. That was how he was keeping the rest of them in line, not just by keeping them separated but by also holding the souls of those he cared about ransom. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last, venom coating every word.

“Good. Oh, and one last matter. Raphael, were you aware that we had an intruder today?”

And there it was: Belmont was testing him now. He’d have to redirect Belmont away from who it was, or at the very least from the realization that Raphael had actively helped his son escape. This was an area he was good at, as much as he hated admitting it. Dartz might have been a good wordsmith, but Raphael knew how to manipulate and direct conversations where he wanted them to go. He had done it with the Pharaoh, and he could do it again.

Raphael allowed a hesitance that lasted possibly seconds before replying, even injecting a note of hope into his next words. “There was?”

“Yes. Oddly enough, they were on the same floor my men found you in.” Belmont’s voice carried a barely hidden threat in his words. “So then, good man. That’s more than a little coincidental, don’t you think?”

“There’s the paranoia again,” Raphael said weakly. He cleared his throat for effect. “Sir, I swear it, I did not see anyone. I didn’t know anyone had gotten in, I didn’t hear any alarms. If I had I wouldn’t have…!”

He trailed off, and for the benefit of the men in the room he let his features go slack and he ducked his head. Let Belmont think that he was afraid of the consequences. Let the men present think Raphael hadn’t known about the intruder. Don’t let them think I helped Rowen escape.

Another long silence followed. “So you understand the severity of your transgression,” Belmont said softly. “Not so bold now, are you? Have you forgotten what is at stake—your, ah, personal benefits?”

“Don’t.” This time Raphael did not have to feign being subdued. “Don’t take it out on them. I’m the one who broke the rules.”

“Hmmm. What should I do then, Raphael? How are you planning to make this up to me?”

Raphael did not say anything. He did not dare—Belmont had proved to be wildly unpredictable and he didn’t dare give any ideas.

“I suppose you couldn’t have known beforehand. It is decidedly unfair to punish you for not knowing. I’ll forgive you…if you submit.”

Raphael stiffened, fury rising. He knew what Belmont was asking him to do.

“I’m waiting, Raphael. Or should I see about Alister instead? He’s such an obedient little doll now, I bet he’d injure himself quite readily if I asked him to.”

Raphael’s hands clenched, teeth gritting. Then, reluctantly, he took a knee and bowed his head. He took a moment to make sure he wouldn’t allow his fury through his voice. “I’m sorry for disobeying…Master Belmont.”

“Finnian, is he kneeling?” It wasn’t directed at Raphael, but someone behind him. Raphael didn’t look up, his anger burning white hot.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, Raphael, for that intruder…if I ordered my men to kill this same intruder the next time they set foot on my properties, would you object?”

This was a trap. If Raphael said no, Belmont could use that as a reason to kill Rowen outright the next time Rowen came here. If he said yes, it meant Raphael knew who the intruder was and it would debunk his lie. Raphael processed his options quickly and then spoke. “I don’t have a say in what you decide to do.”

“Good answer. This is not over by a long shot and you will suitably be punished. Rise, Raphael—I have orders for you.”

Raphael was hauled to his feet. He kept his mouth shut, anger still burning fiercely. He had sworn long ago that he would never again bow to anyone, that no one would ever be his master again—Belmont knew just how much Raphael despised being forced into that mind-frame again.

He had expected Belmont to start delivering his orders. He didn’t expect Belmont to say to someone else over the phone, “Be a dear and give them orders for me, would you? I have another appointment to keep.”

And then a voice, cold and soft and dead, started to speak and Raphael felt ice slide down his spine.

He knew who was speaking.

                                            +++++++++++++++++

“There you are, my darling. All done,” Carmon said gently, hands falling away from the buttons on Alister’s shirt. Button up shirts were easier to manage than pull-overs, she had learned. “You’re ready for the day.”

Alister said nothing in response, nor did he give any indication he had heard her. His head was ducked, hands folded in his lap.

Carmon’s eyes softened as she sat directly across from her partner, a hand going to his face to tilt his chin upward. Brown eyes met black ones and she held his gaze. Once it would have made her shudder and she still felt the chill as hollow eyes bored into hers. Now she searched the empty gaze, trying to find the spark in the dead eyes that signaled that her Alister was there, that he was fighting back.

She had done this every day for two months, hoping that one day there would be something of recognition in the dark depths. There had been nothing yet. Nothing but the endless dark.

Two months. It had really only been so long? It had blurred together so badly Carmon could hardly keep track.

Two months since they had been taken. Two months since Belmont had stolen Alister’s soul. Two months since she had last seen her son. Two months and no clear idea of what was happening beyond her floating prison.

Alister was fading. She could see it so clearly and she was worried. Without his soul, Alister’s body had no reason to fight for survival. He needed orders for basic functions, and despite her attempts at setting meal times for him Alister was losing weight. He had always been pale-complexioned, but now it was unsettling how little color was left in his features. There were hollows starting to form in his cheeks. Most of the time he slept, unless ordered to duel in this useless stupid tournament.

Carmon’s hands clenched tightly, eyes narrowing. Yes, she knew about the tournament even though she had not yet participated in it. She had been “employed” to work on entertainment, food and sleeping arrangements, and scheduling. Because she was so easily recognized, however, she was forced to remain in the cabin at all times unless ordered otherwise; Alister, who was silent and no longer had free will, was a more “reliable pawn”. All they had to do was put a mask and cloak on him and they had Miracle.

The name was poison in her mouth. Belmont had claimed it was because of the fact Alister was still up and walking after losing his soul. Both of them knew better, and if Alister had his soul and could speak he would be blindingly furious.

Belmont had known about Alister’s younger brother, about the story of how Miruko had been named. Miruko, the one his parents had called their miracle child. Anything to do with Alister’s younger brother was sacred to him and the fact Belmont had given such a cruel name as an alias to operate under…her blood burned.

Carmon spent the time in the cabin always talking to Alister. She knew the chances of him hearing her were so terribly slim. She still tried anyways—for all she knew, the man she loved was fighting his hardest to break free of the Orichalcos, and even if he was soulless Alister deserved the utmost respect she could give him.

“We need to think about getting you a haircut,” she said, idly playing with his hair. “It’s starting to look shaggy at the ends. I can see if they’d let us.”

She hesitated, searching the empty eyes. “Alister…can you hear—?”

There was a sharp knock at the door and then it opened.

Carmon’s gentle demeanor vanished, her features as of polished marble. She rose to her feet, putting herself between Alister and the men now filing in. She noted with grim satisfaction that most of the men were keeping their distance from her, their expressions wary and hands on their guns. When they had taken her they had forgotten she had trained with weapons and learned self-defense for her movies, but they had learned.

Good. Let them be afraid. She had given them every reason to be afraid.

She wondered why so many of them were there until she saw Belmont step into the room, and her eyes narrowed.

“Well, good morning, dear Carmon,” said Belmont with a smile. “And how are you today?”

She did not reply. She would not play this game with him. He was not her friend and she would not even try to play nice—not after what he had done.

“An answer, Carmon.”

One of the more burly men—someone newer who flanked Belmont’s left side—raised his weapon at her. Carmon did not bat an eye, instead folding her arms silently and with noticeable defiance.

“That won’t work, dear fellow,” Belmont said calmly. He did not seem to be terribly worried. He smiled at her, eyes dark and pitiless. “I have a more, ah, certain way of getting her to talk.”

Carmon saw his eyes shift to Alister, who was still sitting in the chair behind her. Before she could react, Belmont spoke. “Alister, come to me.”

As if being pulled by puppet strings, Alister silently rose to his feet. Carmon made a grab for him as he passed her, missing by only centimeters. Even if she had managed to stop him, she couldn’t order him to not go to Belmont—he could only process one order at a time in this state.

Alister stopped in front of Belmont and the other man smiled. “Be a good man and turn for me, won’t you?”

Carmon’s teeth grit, but the fear started to grow. Alister was too close to Belmont and a lot of guns—if Belmont did anything Carmon could not protect him. She watched, features impassive but heart furiously pounding, as Alister turned to face her.

“Truly fascinating, isn’t it?” Belmont said, and Carmon’s attention snapped to him. “He obeys so readily. I could tell him to dance and he would do it. Anything I tell him, he would do it without hesitation. A step up from the defiance of two months ago, isn’t it?”

He reached over and pinched Alister’s cheek. “He doesn’t even flinch at being touched, either.”

“Take your hands off of him.” Carmon’s voice held steel and her eyes flashed.

“Oh good, you’re speaking to me. Too little too late, though.” He glanced at one of his men. “Hand him your knife, won’t you?”

Carmon’s blood ran cold and she started forward. Two men instantly flanked her, holding her in place. She struggled, anger replaced with full on fear. Don’t hurt him. Don’t. Belmont, if you touch him I swear to God I will tear you apart, don’t you dare…!

“Alister, hold it to your neck please.”

The weapon rose, the edge settling at his exposed throat.

Carmon stopped breathing.

“See, it’s truly remarkable. He doesn’t even have a sense of self preservation. I could very well order him to slit his own throat and he would do it without hesitation.” Belmont’s smile was icy, his eyes glittering with malice. “So let’s try this again, Carmon. I said good morning and asked how you were. Answer me.”

“Fine,” she said at last, her words ash in her mouth. Her eyes never left Alister or the knife. “Put the knife away, Belmont.”

“I think not.” Belmont’s eyes were dangerous flints. “I’ve heard that you’ve been rather defiant and have been terrorizing my men.”

“Your men think it amusing to not allow Alister to rest or to eat. Soul or not, he’s hardly useful to you dead and your men don’t seem to understand that.”

“I don’t tolerate violence against my employees, Carmon, and you know that all too well. You’ve been asked to cooperate and so far any chance you get you deliberately disobey. How hard is it to respect my orders?”

“When you barely respect Alister, what would you expect of me?” Carmon’s voice shook with anger.

“I can be reasonable, my dear, but only if you work with me. All I ask is a guarantee that you won’t attempt to escape or call for help. Do that much and I won’t have to resort to this rather crude method.”

“You and I both know I won’t do it.”

“Raphael has been following orders quite well, as have Valon and Serenity. It’s a shame you can’t follow orders either.”

Carmon very much doubted any one of those three were following any orders from Belmont. It was likely a bluff, and even as much as she feared for Alister she would call that bluff. “Then why aren’t they by your side? If they’re your loyal lapdogs, they should be here along with you.”

Belmont’s eyes narrowed. “Very well then. I won’t lie—no point in doing so. You’re correct, but don’t get comfortable. I’m addressing the issue as of today, by any means necessary. I’m here to deliver one last warning in person. Either you start falling into line, or I get rather serious about breaking you. I have been very kind to you so far and you’re treating me with disrespect.”

“You have to earn respect before you get it. Nothing you’ve done has earned mine. You’re nothing but a coward and a bully—you will be defeated and I will be there when you fail. What, you think you’re powerful just because you took Alister’s soul? He’s lost it once, but we got it back and we’ll do it again.”

“And what will earn your respect? Sparing your precious child, perhaps. Or dear Alister,” Belmont added condescendingly, ruffling Alister’s hair. “He is fairly useless to me as it is, so maybe I should let this soulless husk die, hm?”

“I’ve already said it before, so let me say it again. Touch either my son or Alister again and I’ll show just how poorly trained your men really are.” Carmon’s voice was ice.

Belmont’s eyes were reptilian and cold. “Alister, give me the knife.”

Before Carmon could react, Belmont had taken the blade and pressed it against the hollow of her partner’s throat. Blood welled beneath the cut. “Maybe you should get the point of this conversation.”

And she moved.

She was out of the men’s grip, crossing the room before anyone could intercept her, and she pulled the knife away from Alister’s throat. She made to stab Belmont with it, the blade flashing for his leg. She couldn’t tell if she had landed the blow or not, but he moved fluidly out of the way and twisted the knife out of her hand. She cried out when she felt a sharp stab of pain through her wrist, the knife falling away.

But she had her fingernails and she used them, gouging them into his face and holding on with grim death. Belmont snarled and lashed out, throwing her into the waiting arms of the men behind her. “Hold her, damn you!” he nearly roared. “What do I pay you for? You can’t even hold a woman in place!”

“You need to learn to listen. I told you not to touch him.” Her voice was even, every word holding fury. “Don’t touch him again, you pig. I will not tell you again.”

Belmont was panting, a hand rising to his cheek to touch the bleeding wounds on his face. Carmon had caught him through his beard and when she had been pulled away she had held on, ripping out a decent sized chunk with it. She still clenched it in her fist. Good, she thought with vicious satisfaction. As an added measure she emptied her hand, the hair falling to the floor.

Belmont calmed himself, fury lining his features. “You seem to not want to learn, so I will show you who needs to listen. Dietrich.”

The large burly man stepped forward. Belmont seemed to contemplate the two in front of them before he pointed to Alister. “Demonstrate for her.”

Carmon knew there was no one on the floor where their cabin was. Too much risk of discovery.

It was why no one immediately came running when she screamed, fighting with everything she had as she watched the thug punch Alister hard enough to potentially break his jaw. He dropped to the floor without a sound.

“Stop! STOP!”

Another blow, this time to his unprotected ribcage. Another kick to his back and a vicious stomp to his legs. He did not resist, never once making a noise.

“STOP IT!” Her voice was a horrified shriek, punctuated by sobs.

“Enough. The lesson has been learned.”

Carmon pulled and fought, sobbing as she tried to reach where Alister lay on the floor. She cursed them in every language she knew, trying to break free. Had they broken bones? She had not heard any cracks or crunches, but she couldn’t tell from here. “ALISTER!”

“Hear me, woman.” Belmont’s voice cut over her sobs and her eyes went to him. “Silence your sobs or I’ll start again.”

Carmon tried, shoulders trembling. Her heart burned with black hatred for the man glaring at her. Dietrich would answer for this. She would make sure he did, along with Belmont.

Belmont waited until Carmon was relatively silent before speaking. “I loathe violence against women, but that also means I won’t hesitate to punish Alister in your stead. If I have to beat your so-called lover to death to make my point so be it. The next time you attack my men, they have express permission to break his bones and do as they see fit to him in order to keep you in line. Do you understand?”

“…I understand.” Her voice was furious and held tears.

Belmont clapped his hands together, feigning cheer. “Good. Let her go—we have a mutual understanding. She isn’t a threat anymore.”

I hope your beard never grows back where I tore it out, she thought savagely, and another flare of vicious triumph rose when she saw Belmont limping—she had landed the blow after all when she had gone for his leg.

But the moment the arms holding her relinquished their grip all the anger left her as her eyes landed on Alister. Carmon stumbled to where Alister lay and pulled him into her arms, pillowing his head against her chest and holding him close as she started to sob. She only barely registered everyone filing out of the room, all her attention on the man in her arms. His breath was soft against her neck and she felt something warm and wet at the hollow of her own throat—the wound was bleeding.

Carmon rose to her feet and practically tottered to the table, reaching for the cloth napkin and returning to Alister to tend to the wound. She would have to check his battered body for fractures. “I’m sorry, Alister,” she said, voice quivering. “I swear to you he won’t touch you again.”

There was no answer.

                                       ++++++++++++++++++                                              

Belmont was beyond furious. This day had not gone as he had planned.

He had hoped that he could at least shove his pawns into a more compliant stage, as on the ship in particular his “guests” were becoming more and more defiant. On land it was easier to manage any defiance or outbursts. Here it was not so easy and it was why he had come in person to deal with it. Now he wished he had simply kept Carmon and Alister on the mainland.

He couldn’t tell if Raphael had run into his son or not, and even so the amount of defiance radiating from Raphael in spite of the threats hanging over his head was enough to make his blood boil. He was not stupid, any time Belmont was in the room he had Raphael restrained; the first time he hadn’t Belmont had learned, after he had retaliated against the man’s wife and had nearly been punched. He had been lucky that Dietrich had subdued Raphael so quickly.

The same had proven true for Valon. Belmont had been unable to even speak rationally to the angry Australian past the furious roars and snarls and thrown fists even when he was restrained. Finally Belmont had thrown the man in a straitjacket and locked him up in one of his branches. That had been just barely a week ago and he would check on Valon after leaving here. With any luck, Valon would be more compliant.

While Yugi Mutou and Seto Kaiba had not yet resorted to violence, they were equally noncompliant and only willing to listen simply because he actually had their children imprisoned; Yugi’s wife had thrown a vase at him when he had tried talking to her. Of the Mutou children on the ship, two were highly problematic and the other two unwilling to even look him in the eye.

Alister was obviously unable to act out, and he had thought that by keeping Carmon with Alister she would be compliant for his sake. Clearly not, he thought furiously as the medic tended to his leg. The slice stretched clear across the top of his thigh, dangerously close to a very delicate piece of anatomy. While not too deep it meant limping until he healed, and his face…

He stared into the mirror sourly, noticing the bleeding gouges in his cheek and the large, bleeding patch torn from his beard. He would have to go to the barber to hide this blatant injury.

He looked at the ring that was angrily pulsing at his finger. He knew why—there was only one reason the ring ever reacted the way it did. Dartz was active again and on the move. He reached for the phone and dialed Turner’s number. On the first ring there was an answer and Belmont said coldly, “Watch for Dartz. Shoot him on sight.”

He hung up before he could get a response, twirling the ring absently around his finger as his anger settled. It was time to intensify his search, he knew. He had waited long enough.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a moderate sized shard of Orichalcum. The ring on his finger lit up and warmed, and Belmont curled the stone into the palm of his hand. He could feel the stone curled around his fingers pulse to life, a tiny heartbeat in his hand.

“I want the children found. Bring them to me by any means necessary. You are forbidden from killing them, but any other method is fair game. Now go.”

The stone went white hot, flaring to life. Belmont uncurled his fingers and the stone rose from his palm. He heard the startled gasp from the medic and he said coolly, “Open the door, would you? I’d rather it didn’t break the window.”

The moment the door opened the stone flew in a streak and disappeared, and Belmont didn’t need to watch it to know it had left the ship. “Before you continue, radio up to the captain. I want my personal helicopter here within ten minutes and ready to go. I have work to do on the mainland.”

It was time to crush their spirits.

Previous | Master Post | Next

[pilawforhire-archived]

@lovelawactually | Memento | continued from here

As Law trudged up the stairs behind Tori (to keep a watchful eye on her back), his eyes flicked warily in every direction, darting all around, glancing back down the stairs. He regretted not palming a weapon from her shop, for he couldn’t shake the suspicion that this could all be a ploy to prey on his weakness. She could be leading him to slaughter. Once in her territory, he would be cornered, defenseless, entirely at her mercy. The chances of him succeeding in breaking out through her second story window and making a clean escape were highly dependent on luck. Tori had pocketed his money and agreed to help but women were sly and manipulative by nature. He couldn’t trust her. Later, he would forget and she could easily exploit his amnesia by demanding more and more payment every time his memories reset. He was a slave to her honesty and compassion here, with little other choices. Another tattoo artist could’ve labeled him a wacko in his condition and have him arrested.

Fortunately, Law was jolted out of his unbridled concern when they arrived at the entrance of Tori’s loft. Law lingered outside the doorway. Hands in his pockets, he leaned forward slightly and peered inside tentatively before he traipsed in, half expecting a gang of maniacal Yakuza to leap out and ambush him. He checked his blind spots as he moved, and almost crashed into Tori in his distraction, though he recovered quickly and regarded Tori with a searching gaze, attempting to dissect her good intentions and uncover her ulterior motives.

Law nodded brusquely to Tori’s explanation. Open concept meant lesser hiding places for the enemy, which was to his advantage. Regardless, when Tori disappeared into the kitchen, Law crept around her loft, to confirm they were alone. He got down on his knees and peeped under the bed. (To his credit, he refrained from overturning and touching any furniture, lest he upset Tori.) After concluding there were no Yakuza in hiding, Law stripped off his clothes, carelessly folded them and dumped them aside. He closed the privacy screen, stood under the running water and hastily scrubbed himself down as if attacked by an uncontrollable itch spreading across every inch of his skin—or by feuding colonies of ants engaging in battle over his body. In his preoccupation with taking the fastest (but also effective) shower in his lifetime, Law wasted no time on replying Tori’s comments about the curry and clothes. The only sign that he had not fainted was the absence of any thud of solid smacking against solid.

Law flinched at the loud series of beeps and knocked over the soap. Muttering a curse under his breath, he bent down and retrieved it before he straightened upright and it dawned on him that he was showering in a bathroom he did not recognize ever having stepped foot into. Tickled by a sense of dread, he turned off the water, and with shampoo still crowning his head, he slid the privacy screen wide open, caught a glimpse of a woman sitting at a table with her back to him, and instinctively, he slammed the screen shut. What had he done? Spotting a towel, he snatched it and hurriedly dried off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and inched the screen open this time, keeping his eyes peeled for signs of trouble.

All he observed in his surroundings was a foreboding calm before a storm. Nonetheless, he could not hide forever, and moving with slow deliberation, he took a bold step out into the open. A shiver danced down his spine as the cooler air hit his damp skin. He found a set of clean clothes scattered on the floor and quickly pulled them on despite not knowing to whom they belonged—he would not be assaulted in his birthday suit. At the very least, he could spare himself that embarrassment, he reasoned.

The loose-fitting clothes clung wet to his skin and the buttons of his shirt were mismatched. His hair dripped over the floor, leaving a spattered trail behind him. Nothing in the loft struck him with a sense of familiarity, until he closed the distance and passed a cursory glance over the woman’s tattoos and his eyes widened a fraction. So it was Yakuza business, after all?

His hands frantically patted down his pockets but to his dismay, they came up empty. He could probably take her unarmed, except his strength felt severely compromised, and he a little woozy.

She appeared to be waiting for him, with food set out on the table. His pulse elevated and he darted his eyes to the kitchen drawers, but the open concept style of the loft was to his disadvantage. Every move he made would be caught dead by her. Moreover, would she leave weapons lying around for him to find? Why couldn’t he remember?

Law padded over to the table and affected nonchalance as he took his seat opposite Tori. He cleared his throat and picked up the spoon hesitantly. It was best he didn’t provoke her prematurely, until he figured out what she wanted. For all he knew, more Yakuza could be lurking outside her entrance. He could only retain his composure and play along with whatever game she had schemed.

“…Curry…?” Law stared glumly at his bowl and stirred the contents aimlessly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought and effort of a home-cooked meal all done in my favor, but…” He glanced around the loft. “This is rather unconventional for a first date, huh? Feels more like an execution.” His eyes lingered on Tori’s grimly. “You’re not very romantic, are you?” He doubted either of them would have arranged a date—he couldn’t imagine her inviting him over without the intention of killing him. How much did she know? How lethal was the poison she’d added to his food?

“But thank you for the food.” Law offered a forced smile and folded up the cuffs of his sleeves. He dipped the spoon into the curry before he extended the spoon towards Tori’s lips. “It would be rude of me not to be gentlemanly—” He waited for her to take a bite from his spoon, when his eyes traveled to his forearm and he frowned at the faded words scribbled in block letters. However, even faded, he recognized four letters: L-A-M-I. Law dropped the spoon and shot to his feet.

“…W-What—” He lurched back, and demanded, “What is this?”

[the-dread-papyrus]

A flash of red, and the appearance of red spider lilies falling out of mid-air heralded WD’s arrival in the darkened lab. He took a moment to glance around the place, absentmindedly tugging on the lapels of his coat. He wondered for a moment if Alphys might not have been asleep, but he had no choice but to press on. He needed some time out of the house, after the clusterfuck with Rust. Poor guy.

WD raised a hand to his mouth and cleared his nonexistent throat.

“>>ALPHYS? ARE YOU IN?<<“ he called out. She didn’t really understand Wingdings all that well, but he hoped the noise at least would attract her attention if she were nearby.

He listened intently for the telltale sound of claws scrambling across tile. After a few moments of waiting and hearing nothing, his perpetual grin shrank. His footsteps clacked against the tiles, sounding practically deafening in the otherwise quiet lab as he made his way over to the escalator. He flicked the lights on as he passed them, figuring if nothing else that would probably get her attention. If she was upstairs, at least.

Up the escalator he ascended, to the loft area above. He did a cursory look around; there were some discarded robotic parts on the work table, but otherwise no real sign of the missing lizard.

He felt a warm fear settle in his chest. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm his quickening soul. No, no, he had to do his due diligence. He had to check thoroughly before he jumped to any conclusions. He went through the loft area, searching high and low. But there were no signs of her up here, either. Her bed was neatly folded up into its usual easy-to-draw state. Her work area was mostly clear of debris. She was not up there.

He made his way down the down escalator, taking them like moving stairs. He strode over to the elevator down to the True Lab and hit the button. The door opened with a shoop and in he strode, hitting the button for the bottom floor. He turned and leaned his back against the far wall as the elevator hummed to life and zipped down into the depths of the lab.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. She was just doing work in the lab, there’s nothing bad going on. She’s fine, everything is fine, he’s not too late to stop everything from going wrong again, it’s not his fault, he’s not a terrible friend who never checks in on people when he should—

The elevator dinged and the doors opened with another shoop. He took a moment to compose himself before striding out into the hallway.

It was darker than it should have been. Why didn’t she have the lights on? How did she ever expect to get any work done in such a dark, dismal atmosphere? He’d have to have a word with her about this once he found her.

He took a right at the vending machine and dug out his keycard to allow him entrance to the rest of the lab. It clicked and the door opened with a whoosh. This part of the lab, at least, was well-lit. WD put his keycard back in his pocket and let out a relieved sigh. So she was definitely over here. That was a good sign.

He strode down the hallway and made his way to the main branching chamber... and stopped in his tracks.

There were several beds arranged in this room. And the beds were all occupied.

He felt like the inside of his bones had turned into blocks of ice. She had started the experiments without telling him. Then again, why would she? He wasn’t her boss. Her only obligation was to the king, not him.

But she’d started the determination experiments. And he didn’t know how much time they had.

He stumbled backwards, trying to catch his breath. He raised a hand to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt in a vain attempt to try to calm his racing soul. He was so preoccupied with the task that he failed to hear the sound of claws clicking against tile.

“W-WD?!”

WD’s head snapped up. Alphys was standing in the doorway, fidgeting with her claws nervously. WD summoned a pair of hands that started signing.

“YOU’VE STARTED.”

“W-What do you mean? S-Started what?”

WD gestured towards the fallen monsters in all of the beds.

“YOU’VE BEEN INJECTING DETERMINATION INTO THEM, HAVEN’T YOU?”

Alphys froze, getting a deer-in-the-headlights type look on her face.

“H-How do you...”

“YOUR BLUE ALTERNATE HAS ALREADY SEEN THIS EXPERIMENT THROUGH TO ITS COMPLETION.”

“O-Oh.” Alphys sagged a little, feeling a little bit upset about being upstaged by her own alternate, of all people.

“THIS... IT’S BEEN DONE MULTIPLE TIMES ACROSS MULTIPLE DIFFERENT TIMELINES ALREADY. AND IT WILL NO DOUBT BE REPEATED COUNTLESS TIMES MORE.” WD took a deep breath, brushing his hand against the long-since healed scar in his head. “HOW FAR ALONG ARE YOU? HAVE YOU REACHED THE ‘JUST INJECT THEM WITH AS MUCH AS I CAN’ STAGE YET?”

Alphys’s eyes widened for a moment, and then she sagged again, curling in on herself sheepishly. WD stared at her for a moment, and then let out a wheezy sigh, his eyelights winking out.

“HOW LONG AGO?”

“O-Only... only a couple of days? B-But nothing’s even... h-happened yet, it’s just as m-much of a f-failure as...”

“IT’S NOT,” WD signed. Alphys perked up curiously. “AND IT’S NOT GOING TO FAIL THE WAY YOU EXPECT IT TO.”

“Wh-What do you... i-is it still going to fail, then?”

“IN A VERY SPECIFIC SET OF WAYS. BUT BEFORE I GET INTO THAT, YOU HAVE BEEN EXPERIMENTING ON THE FLOWERS FROM ASGORE’S GARDEN, YES?”

“Y-yeah, I thought I’d s-surprise him w-with the perfect vessel,” Alphys said, again sheepishly fiddling with her claws.

“WELL, YOU CERTAINLY WILL BE SURPRISING HIM. PLEASANTLY, DEFINITELY. BUT AGAIN, NOT THE WAY YOU’RE EXPECTING.”

“Okay, c-can you please drop the cryptic act a-already?” Alphys said, her nervousness melting away into irritation.

Before WD had a chance to say anything further, they heard the faint sound of knocking coming from somewhere upstairs. They both blinked and glanced at each other in confusion, before they heard another knock.

“H-How the fuck...?”

“10G SAYS IT’S MY BROTHER.”

Alphys shot him an amused smirk.

“Y-you’re on, then.”