#diverged backstory

[ghostat7am]

OK actually back into my creative flow. Have one of my WarioWare: Diverged ocs because I was talking about him today!! He's named Miles.

He's a relative of Spitz, a chemical engineer and a former coworker of Crygor. He does not appear in present time due to him being deceased, but he has an important role in Crygor's backstory and Spitz' current story.

I should really show off more of my Diverged ocs... I have like, 12.

[atoltia]

imagine how traumatizing it is to suddenly be intelligent enough to process and verbalize that you don't like that the woman that raised you calls you her bodyguard rather than her child. you confront her about it, and you yourself are confronted by an onslaught of painful emotions that might not have been as painful back when you still had an INT of 6. you're not used to these emotions, to this articulation, because all your life all you needed to do was to follow, to listen to your boss, to protect. it was easy back then, you know that.

but right now you know better and it hurts so fucking much because you just want a mom. you just want your mom. you deserve your mom and yet you got a boss. you love her so much and you know she loves you so, so much. but still it wasn't enough because she never really made it known, not in the ways you needed.

you tell her. in the middle of a street where tensions are high because the gods a lot of these people worship are going away one by one and they don't know how to handle themselves, how to process it. the war is still ongoing. you're hunting some fucking asshole that stabbed the hand of his own child. a child that has your mother so worked up and want to save. and why? why that kid but never you? she's had you for years. she hatched you. did she ever do the same for you? was there urgency in her voice, fear in her eyes, when you got hurt? or were you just incapable of seeing it?

(or maybe, you thought bitterly to yourself, maybe it was never there in the first place)

so you leave. you walk away. turn your back on the woman who raised you, on the woman whose eyes were blown so wide as if you just slapped her with a hand rather than a simple truth of what you truly felt. it should be better this way, shouldn't it? you're strong. you're capable. you've been taught how to survive in the wilderness and you know your ways in the city. you'll be fine. you don't need her. you don't need your mother.

but you do. you really do. you need your mom because you love her so much that the thought of fighting with her makes you sick. you just want to be held by her, to feel the things you should have felt when you were a child. you need your mom. you want your mom.

so you turn back but she's not there. she's not there and you can't find her. you look and look and look but you can't fucking find her. something deep is burning inside of you, burning so hard and yet it's ice that coats your veins as you tear through the streets to find her. but you can't find her goddammit mama where the fuck are you?

you see an open window and there's something in your gut that tells you to look. so you look. because you can't find her and you need to find her.

she's dying.

bleeding out on the floor as that bastard stands over her with her own goddamned knife. you confronted her and left her. you left her. she now she lies, bleeding and dying on the floor minutes after you walked away because you weren't there to protect her. you left her you left her you left her.

(was the floor cold? or was it getting warmed up by the blood that's flowing out of her body?)

you want to kill him. rip out his fucking throat and tear him limb from limb because he fucking dared to hurt your mother. you'll kill him, you'll kill him, you'll fucking kill him.

he waves his hands and mutters a few words and suddenly- wait, why do you want to kill him? he raises his hands, takes the child, and you let him go.

he tried to kill your mom and you let him go.

you snap out of it, the ice that froze your veins is now at the deepest pit in your stomach, dragging your heart down to the depths of hell as you tried to stabilize her. your boss. your mom. your mom whose blood is now smeared all over your hands, her eyes fluttering against her frighteningly cold cheeks, because you left her alone. minutes. you left her alone for mere minutes and she almost ended up dead in a random room and on the cold fucking floor.

you're her bodyguard and you left her alone.

now how fucked up is that?

[deiaiko]

#27.2 Shinsu contest

Horyang assessed the room quietly.

"Ah, this is boring." The annoying brat giggled. "I thought there'd be something special on the twentieth floor, but this is just a game for kids. This level is so lame. Are there only losers here?"

Horyang stole a glance at Goseng –her name was written on the scoreboard, not making it in the top eight. He noticed how she hugged herself tighter when the brat said that, and he felt his blood boil in her stead.

"Why don't we play a game?"

"Why not. But what game?"

"Well. For whoever comes in first. Um…let's see…" The brat turned to his girl, "Right." 

The girl looked uncomfortable. "...What?!"

"I'll give my Yeon."

"W-what do you mean?!"

"S-sir, that's…"

"I may owe you some money, but you're going too far!" 

Ah, so they were only bound by money, Horyang thought.

Honestly, he had no intention to stand up for the girl. Their problems were theirs alone to solve. But they were clearly making Goseng and everyone else uncomfortable with their banter, and he wanted to do something about it. 

Horyang waited until it was his turn so he wouldn't disturb the test. And when the time came, he stood up, easily drawing everyone's eyes. Then to make his point, he glared at the annoying brat as he passed him by. "Can't you be quiet?" 

The cocky brat didn't give him much of a reaction though, despite Horyang towering over him and trying to appear threatening.

Horyang deepened his frown. "Don't you get that you're making others uncomfortable?"

"Do you want me to care about regulars who are about to fail?" The brat glared back. "Don't ruin my day. Run off now, before I beat you up."

The nerve… Horyang pressed his lips together. Let's not get too worked up. He's not worth it. Horyang stomped away and muttered, "Brat."

"What?!"

Horyang stood in front of the punching machine, circulating the devil's power into his fist and felt as it morphed his right arm. "Sooner or later, you're going to fail, too." And he hit the punching bag with all his might, letting out his annoyance over that brat.

The machine rolled his number, and he wasn't surprised to see that his name was written as the first in rank. Six thousand three hundred and fifty huh…not bad.

As Horyang made his way back to sit, he passed by the brat again. "Your mom never taught you manners, huh?"

The brat still had the nerve to laugh. "...You're better than I expected. This won't be as boring as I thought." He flicked his fingers and the big guy beside him cracked his knuckles.

"Hey, pal. Have you ever seen the devil?"

Horyang didn't have time to mask his surprise. What?

"I'll show you." He passed him by and stood on the stage. His right hand began to transform, rigid and snappy. It was as if his bones were broken down so new ones could grow in.

Horyang wasn't expecting that there would be another person that was made to be an ignition weapon other than him and Cassano. And as if the transformation wasn't surprising enough, the guy –his name was written as Robdevil– scored almost twice higher than him.

The brat got even more cocky after that, so Horyang decided he'd just watch from the sidelines rather than wasting his energy to deal with someone like him.

The girl was next. And even though she tripped, her score was twice higher than Robdevil. So that's the power from a great family, huh.

That brat, however, was able to score three thousand more points than her. Is he actually that strong? Or is the machine broken? Horyang began to doubt.

The guy in black with the ponytail stood up from beside him, it seemed like he was the last on the queue. He strode to the stage, ignoring the brat who was still so full of himself.

Foil head –his name was Akraptor, Horyang tried to remember– cackled. It piqued Horyang's interest.

"Hey baldy, what's so funny?" The brat glared.

"Everything. You're all losers and you don't even know it."

"What?"

Akraptor pointed with his chin. "Look at him, he's the strongest regular here."

Horyang followed his gaze, noticing how the guy was equipping a black cotton mask over his nose and mouth, hiding his expression from view. He walked up to the stage and stood in front of the machine.

Calmly, he placed his palm in front of the gauger board and–

BOOM!

–a loud explosion shook the room.

After the smoke dissipated, Horyang saw that the stage wall was destroyed. The board beeped as it registered the score, and Horyang felt a chill on his skin.

The numbers reached seven digits, compared to the five digits that the brat had scored beforehand.

Damn, what a monstrous power!

Horyang spared a quick glance at Akraptor since his claim turned out to be true, and found out he also looked very shocked. Horyang would be wrong if he were to think that his pale skin couldn't be paler.

'Grace' was written as his name. Horyang would surely remember that. He was undoubtedly the strongest regular in the room.

Everyone parted ways when Grace walked back, even the administrator was glaring at him.

"The test is over now. All the regulars, please step forward." The administrator quickly announced. "First place, Grace. Please come up here."

Horyang heard a sob coming from his left. It was from the blonde guy– Wangnan, he recalled.

"Get it together. Stop crying." Goseng scolded him, though whispering.

"I'm not…crying." He said between hiccups.

"You're making Miseng cry…"

Wangnan sniffled.

True to her statement, Miseng cried along. It only made Wangnan cry harder, and so was Miseng.

Goseng eventually gave up, and it pained Horyang to see her sad. But he didn't know what to do, how to comfort someone. He could only stand there, watching her helplessly. The thought of passing the test without her also made his heart ache, but there was nothing he could do but to move on.

"Ok, now. Grace, what you should do…is…" The administrator paused, his gaze befall everyone in the room. Horyang got a bad feeling about this. "...choose seven teammates to take the test with."

Horyang blinked, and then the realization dawned. The whole room roared in unison. "What?!"

Masterlist

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[empty-dream]

It all started with a prayer. I prayed for the kind of world that only newborns and gods could believe in.

[bardic-tales]

Day 18 | Day 20

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 19: Connection to the Cetra

In today’s reflection, we dive into Bianca’s enigmatic connection to the Cetra, a people whose role in the world of Final Fantasy VII has always been intertwined with Gaia's very essence. While the Cetra are known for their communion with the Planet and their guiding role in the history of the world, Bianca’s connection is one marked by absence, divergence, and a deep, cosmic dissonance.

Her ties to the Cetra are not rooted in heritage or spiritual alignment, but in the ripple effects of her mother’s distant involvement with Gaia long ago. Join us as we explore how this alienated relationship shapes Bianca's existence and her disruptive role in the unfolding of events that threaten to unravel the world.

Trigger Warnings: abandonment, celestial trauma, demonic violence, existential isolation, parental loss, spiritual rejection

Bianca's connection to the Cetra is not one of heritage or spiritual alignment, but rather a distant, ancestral ripple through her mother, Seraphine. A Celestial who came to Gaia long ago, Seraphine was drawn to the Planet not by prophecy or destiny, but by duty: one rooted in the Celestials’ divine role as stewards of balance across all realms. When the Cetra faced the threat of Jenova, Seraphine descended with others of their kind to aid in sealing the Calamity. With the Weapons’ support, Seraphine helped contain Jenova within the North Crater. This act was not driven by foreknowledge of any future messiah or harbinger, but by the Celestials' intrinsic mandate to protect the equilibrium of creation.

Bianca herself was never meant to interact with the Cetra directly. She was not born of the Planet, nor does she share the Cetra’s innate bond with it. Her origin is external: her soul cast from a higher plane, fractured as part of the Creator's attempt to prevent a prophecy involving the merging of light and dark.

Bianca's very presence on Gaia is artificial in nature. Planted into the womb of Sarah Moore, Bianca's earthly path began as a child until she was displaced from her intended realm at 23: not a child of Gaia and certainly not one welcomed by the Planet’s will.

Unlike the Cetra, Bianca cannot hear or commune with the Planet. In fact, her very existence would be considered hostile by it. With her corrupted powers awakened by trauma and her alignment with Sephiroth, who embodies Jenova's will, the Planet would sense only danger in her essence. The wounded and wary Planet would reject Bianca as an invader rather than a protector. Even if Seraphine once stood beside the Cetra, the legacy did not pass on to her daughter. Bianca is marked by the influence of Jenova and the abyssal powers she has both battled and reluctantly embraced.

This absence of connection to the Planet isolates Bianca in a world where spiritual resonance is crucial. She has no access to the ancient knowledge the Cetra passed down. What little she does understand of the Planet's history comes from observation, confrontation, Sephiroth's cryptic rantings, or from those she opposes, such as Shinra and Hojo, who exploit that knowledge for their own ends. Her understanding of Gaia is filtered through pain, war, and betrayal, not through communion or reverence. The Planet’s voice is forever silent to her, replaced by the haunting echoes of her past and the distant guidance of Seraphine’s fading influence.

Ultimately, Bianca’s role in the FF7 world is one of disruption, not continuation. She is a force that neither the Planet nor its guardians anticipated. Her journey collides with the remnants of the Cetra’s legacy, but not as an inheritor or revivalist. Rather, she is a celestial anomaly forced into a realm already teetering on the edge of collapse.

Her fate is not tied to the Planet's will, but to the prophecy that even divine hands failed to prevent. She walks a path entwined with Sephiroth and Jenova not to restore the world, but to end it and Existence, and perhaps, rebirth something that will never hurt her or her loved ones again.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[shadowqueenjude]

Doomed to fall for sarcastic side characters with daddy issues.

[quibbs126]

You know something that annoys me is that in the Earthspark episode Age of Evolution, we get a couple remarks from Mandroid that he’s familiar with the Malto name, and specifically that he’s familiar with Alex, recognizing his face and calling him by his first name when he sees him

But then in Prime Time, we finally get payoff to this mystery when the two finally meet each other, but all it amounted to is that they used to teach at the same university. Like that’s literally it, and I think the only new information the group gained is Mandroid’s real name of Dr. Meridian, which was entirely unneeded info and something the audience has known from day 1. Mandroid wasn’t even a cover name, nor was he hiding his identity, it’s just what the Terrans decided to call him when they met him and the name stuck, because they never bothered to learn his real one

Like what was the point of dropping the hints that they had a history if it wasn’t going to go anywhere?

I can only assume that initially it was supposed to be a bigger deal, but by the time of the reveal it got to changed to just “they used to teach at the same university” and that’s it. I’d say either they had the idea that they knew each other, but could never figure out a good payoff and/or how to work it into the story, so they just had to settle for this, or higher-ups didn’t like the idea or decided to take the story in a direction that wouldn’t have made it work, so again they had to change it

Though it also came like, super late into the season, I’m half wondering if they just had it in there so they could just get the loose thread tied up, even if it didn’t amount to anything

I don’t know, I know it isn’t important in the grand scheme of the story, but it just ticks me off, it’s a plot point that never gets used to its full potential

[gunpowder-gemini]

Eyo finally settled on a design I like for my Rito OC Cirra! I have gotten so much practice drawing braids now lmao. She's got a dad, 4 little sisters and a dead mom I'll draw (eventually)

I got the sheikah brush pattern for the background from @/ezlo-x here

[andreafmn]

Bound | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: graphic depictions of death, implied/referenced SA

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: tried my best to write the pain and turmoil Rosalie might have felt during such a horrendous moment. I feel like her backstory is so overlooked in the story and, for me, it's one of the most tragic. I hope I do her justice with this and the coming chapters. Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Rosalie Hale should have been protected. That much she knew to be true. She should have been able to revel in a perfect life. A perfect house, perfect children, a perfect husband, all complements to her being a perfect wife. 

Everything should have been perfect because she already was. 

But there was something about a perfect thing that she did not know until it was too late. Whenever it was scrutinized, the cracks started to appear. The paint that was used to make everything seamless was bulky and uneven. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could even come close. 

Still, it had been far too late to see all the flaws of what was supposed to be her perfect life. 

Everything had happened to her so quickly. Her courtship to Royce King the Second, to their engagement, to the date of the wedding. It was the thing of fairytales. Or at least, that was what she had thought –what she had been raised to believe. The perfect prince to the beautiful princess. 

His façade was impeccable. He did the right things, said the right things; he played the part well. Too well. It made it easy for Royce to hide his faults. Because they didn’t exist to the naked eye. His lingering eye was only witnessed by the women he would make uncomfortable, but they would never speak of it. His drunkenness was reserved for the late hours of the night, in the company of his closest friends. His blatant disregard for Rosalie was only spoken of in whispers, spilling into the ears of his most trusted confidantes. He did not have to worry about anyone else knowing just how execrable he actually was. 

The fact that he was marrying the Rosalie Hale was enough to allow his behavior. She was a testament to the fact that he could have anything he wanted without having to work too hard at it. All it took to reel her in were a few words and flowers, some public outings and he had her trapped in his spell. 

At that point, she didn’t know it. That the love he seemed to have for her was only his part to play. How could she? Royce King was her ticket to everything she had ever worked toward. He was the trophy for the part she had to play. It didn’t matter that she was not in love with him, she loved everything he could give her. She didn’t mind feeling like an empty shell of a human if it looked like she had everything. She knew it was vain and shallow, but it was what she had been molded to be. 

What she never thought was that the same person she believed would grant her every dream would be the very reason it was taken away. Ripped and taken from her without another thought. 

The day had started well enough for her. With her wedding only a week away, her head could only be preoccupied with the final details of the event and everything that would come after. Even as she spent the night with Vera, her best friend, watching as her husband loved her and her son grew beautifully, Rosalie could only think of when it would be her own child reaching their arms up to be carried. She would have the life she wanted because that was what she was promised. 

But the night was harsh and unforgiving. In hindsight, she would have taken that as a warning. The cold truth was slapping her in the face long before real hands had. When she was yelled at by Royce on the empty street, she should have turned around. She should have listened to the trembling in her limbs as he treated her as nothing more than a prize he had won. She should have ran and kept running. 

But his grasp around her was tight, bruising. He grabbed her like she was his possession, as though her body had never belonged to her. And he wanted to show her off because she did, she belonged to him. 

She remembered trying to fight. Whatever happened next, she could hold on to the fact that she had tried to fight. Even if it had been to no avail. No amount of strength could have been enough to protect her, at least not of any she knew. 

Then, she remembered how frozen she had felt. Not because of the cold in the weather, but because her limbs had gone stiff. Royce and his friend were drinking in her pain, rejoicing in her screams. She couldn’t give them that. So, she froze. Rosalie allowed them to take everything from her but the fact that she was in so much pain. 

They took her clothes, they took her will, they took her beauty, they took her body. They took and took until there was nothing left to give. They even believed they had taken her life. But something inside her was holding on. Something she cried would just let it all end. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, Rosalie just wanted the nightmare to end since her dream definitely had. 

Rosalie could have sworn that she had spent hours on that dimly lit street begging for death to take her in its arms and whisk her away. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want to be in pain. She no longer wanted to be. All she could do was wait until it all stopped. 

Instead of the impending doom of death, she had been carried away by someone she couldn’t identify at first. At first, she believed it was the Angel of Death crossing her to the afterlife. The speed at which they were traveling felt as much. But soon she was being laid on a bed, where she was bitten on every inch of her body and it made her wish she was back to the pain from before. At least that was bearable until death came. This kind of ache ran across her entire body, freezing her veins and adjusting every fiber of her being. It was overwhelming enough that she could smell… sage? Maybe even moringa and rosemary. Possibly even a hint of ginger. 

Rosalie wanted to laugh at that realization, not that her body allowed her to. She wanted to chuckle at the mere fact that her brain had decided to trick her with the smells of herbs as she went through the worst agony of her life. But she had to admit, it had eased her slightly. And she wished she had perceived those very smells until the change happened. 

She also wished for the longest time that Carlisle had never saved her. What he did felt more like pity rather than a moment of salvation –she did not want to be saved. When he took her in his arms she wasn’t thankful, she was tired. If she’d had the ability to speak, she would have begged him to end it. Rosalie would have used every last breath she had to beacon death quicker than it was coming. 

Instead, he saved her in the worst way possible. He submitted her to a life where she would never have anything she desired. She would have her beauty, and she would have a sort of family, but she would never have something that was truly hers.  But nothing that was hers. Nothing that was just hers. 

At least there was one thing that the imposed immortality had brought her. She was strong. Stronger than all those men the night before. She could feel it. The solidness of her skin, the strain in her muscles, the itching in her limbs for speed. It was supernatural strength. An unlimited source of unimaginable power. 

A vampire. That was what they had told her she was now and she knew it was the truth. The burning in her throat yearned for only one thing and none of the people in the room she had woken in had it running through their veins. She craved the crimson liquid as though it was the sweetest nectar in the world and it was the only thing to satiate the deep void in her stomach. 

But that hunger was nothing compared to the appetite she had for revenge. For the craving she had developed to have the same men that had made her tremble in her sacred body to quiver in theirs. She wanted them to beg her for their lives, to know what it feels for their lives to be in the hands of someone that could not give two shits about them. She wanted them to plead until their voices were hoarse. Until they were so scared that she could hear their skeletons rattle inside their bodies. She wanted them to pray to their god for their lives and then she would take them with her own hands. Her eyes would watch as their souls left their bodies, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. 

She could have answered Carlisle Cullen at that moment. When he had asked her if she wanted to join their family, she knew the answer was yes. Not because they were the perfect choice, but because it was the only one she had. Rosalie didn’t want to be alone and the Cullens were offering her companionship. She would say yes, eventually. First, she had something to do. So, she asked them for a couple of days to set her head in order.

Rosalie waited until the sun had set and dressed up for the occasion. She styled herself in perfect curls and demure makeup. She was dressed in tailored clothes and high heels. At the end of the day, she was still Rosalie Hale and those men would know exactly who it was that would take their lives. 

The first two were easy to find. Buck and Andre Hubert, brothers that still lived under the same roof. With her newfound strength and speed, she slipped into their house without making a single sound. One thing she knew was every party and social appearance the rich people of Rochester, New York had to attend. She knew who would be where and when. And it just so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert would be out all night. 

She wanted to go play with their minds first. Start building that nest of fear deep in their chest as they had done to her. To laugh as they questioned if they were losing their minds. 

The brothers were in the drawing room. Maybe reading, maybe drinking. Definitely drinking. It made her smile. Her legs took her to the table in their foyer, slamming a vase she had admired for years against the wall. 

“Who goes there?” Buck called out from the room to be met with the crackling of the fireplace in response. “I’ll let you know that I have a gun.”  

Rosalie remained quiet, instead making noise by slamming a framed picture of the brothers to the floor. She stared as the frame splintered around her and the glass bounced off her impenetrable skin. Bring your gun, she wanted to say, there’s nothing you can do to hurt me now. 

But she kept her silence. She wanted to draw both of them out, not just their guns. Their bodies would be the first warming call to the other three men. So, she broke more things, until the room was filled with splintered wood, glass, and roses. How she detested roses now. 

“What the fuck is going on, Buck?” Andre said, his voice shaking slightly. “Who’s there?”  

“I don’t know, man,” he sighed in frustration. “I’ll go check.” 

No. It had to be both of them. She called out, “Why don’t you both come to check?” 

“No way,” she heard one of them whisper, not really caring which one. 

They walked out slowly, each sporting a rifle in their arms. They stood tall, their eyes trained on hers, trying to appear courageous. But she knew they weren’t. She could hear their hearts racing, she could see the beads of sweat forming on their forehead, she could smell their desperation. 

“Rosalie Hale,” Buck said. “What are you doing here?”  

“Surprised to see me, boys?” She smiled sweetly and she could see the way it made them shiver. “I just thought I would pay you a visit after last night. You left without so much as a goodbye.”  

 “No, but you… you were…” Andre stammered. He was so young and it showed. His brother towered over him and he was shaking in inexperience. 

“What’s wrong, Andre?” she feigned worry. She had also been so young and they had not cared. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

“You died last night,” Buck interjected in big brother fashion. “We left you on the street and you were dead.” 

“Correct!” Rosalie clapped in fake excitement. “You did leave me on the street, but I wasn’t dead. No. I suffered for hours waiting to die. But alas, death arrived in a different way.” 

She took steps toward them, closing the distance of the large entryway. Her movement made Buck fire his gun, the bullet flying right by her ear. It was so close she could hear the whistle of the shot as it passed her. 

“Careful, Buck,” she reprimanded. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”  

“W-what?” 

“I know, it’s practically unbelievable,” she chuckled. “Death becomes me, doesn’t it?”  

Rosalie was so close now that it would only take four steps for her to be nose-to-nose with them. Her appearance was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open front door, every feature now unmistakable to the men in front of her. 

As they looked into her eyes, they couldn’t help the scream that bubbled from their throats. It was at that moment that they knew their guns would be useless against the intruder. She was definitely not human anymore. 

Buck shot at her stomach, watching in astonishment as the bullets ricocheted against her rather than fly through her. On the other hand, Andre decided to take off in a run. Rosalie could only laugh. Her beautiful voice made their veins run cold, fear grasping them by the throats. 

The blonde took Buck’s gun in her hand, bending the barrel until no more bullets could move through, and grabbed him by his throat, walking toward Andre. She dragged the man's body with one hand, smiling as he tried to claw free, twisting and turning in her grasp. In a couple of seconds, she was behind the younger Hubert. With the damaged gun, she shattered his right leg, smiling as he yelled in pain. 

“Please, please,” Andre cried. Tears and snot mixed on his face, the mask of pure desperation sliding onto him. “Just let us go. We’re sorry, Rosalie. We were just having some fun. It should have never gotten to that point.” 

“Oh, then, please. Tell me when I was having fun?”  Rosalie said. She had dropped both brothers on the floor, one right next to the other, kneeling. “Was it when I begged you all to stop? Was it when my body had been assaulted to the point where I could not even move a finger? Or maybe it was when you were telling Royce he had to start looking for a new wife since I was dead? I would love to know what was fun about any of that.”  

“It wasn’t,” Buck blubbered. “We were wrong, Rosalie. What we did was despicable.”  

“It was, wasn’t it? It was the most vile thing you could ever do to a woman –to anyone,” she smiled. “But you still did it. And it cost me my life. Now, it’s gonna cost you yours.”  

The brothers let out strings of ‘no, please’s and ‘have mercy, Rosalie’s, and it made the fire inside her burn hotter. The vampire stared at Andre first, the youngest of the two. The one she had gone to school with. The one that was only a couple of months her junior. The boy that had acted like a man and taken everything from her. His cheeks were stained with tears, his eyes red and swollen from crying. 

“You could’ve made a woman very happy, Andre,” she smiled. “At least, the boy I knew in school would have. You, as you are now, don’t deserve the dirt on my shoes.” 

“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” he sobbed. The attractive boy she had known had been battered to a sorry excuse for a human, and she reveled in it. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll never do it again.”  

“You’re right. You won’t do it again,” she said, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Save your sorry for your god, Andre.” 

And she snapped his neck, watching as his body slumped to the floor. 

Beside him, Buck let out a guttural scream. A completely broken and full of agony wail. Music to her ears. “Does it hurt, Buck?” she said. “To see the body of the little brother you had sworn to protect, lifeless and beaten? Does it hurt that there was absolutely nothing you could have done to save his life?”

When he kept quiet, only responding in whimpers and whines, she took his left arm and broke it under her grip. “Answer me,”  she seethed. “How bad does it hurt.” 

“It’s the worst pain imaginable,” he yelled out. “I should have saved him. Saved him from you!” 

“No, Buck,” she tsked. “You should have saved him from you. From the wickedness of your mind and your actions. Your brother? Your baby brother is dead because of you. And you can let him know when you join him.” 

Her pale hands wrapped around his throat once more, her eyes observing as the fight left his body. With his only hand, he tried to claw at her skin, to sink his nails into her in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. He couldn’t even squeeze her. 

She stared into his eyes, the way they pleaded, and she committed them to memory. And she wondered. She wondered if they had looked into her eyes, would they have shown her mercy? Would they have at least let her live to see another day? The fact was that they hadn’t and she would not dwell on them. On these men that were barely human. 

Rosalie squeezed until Buck’s hand fell to his side and his heart stopped beating. She squeezed until there was nothing left in his eyes but the colored irises. She squeezed until she was satisfied. Once she was done, she let his body fall to the floor, slumping against his brother. They were a masterpiece before her. Dead without shedding a single drop of blood. 

She called the police after, claiming to be a neighbor that heard a ruckus in the Hubert house and she watched from the shadows as the scene unveiled before her. The Huber parents arrived before the police, though they weren’t far behind. Mrs. Hubert let out a heart wrenching wail, calling for her boys as she collapsed in her husband’s arms. And, instead of feeling guilty, she wondered how her own parents would have reacted to finding her body. 

Would her mother shriek? Would her father turn heaven and hell until he found the culprit? Would he yell at the policemen to do their job and find the bastard that did such a violent act as Mr. Hubert? Those were answers she would never get. There was no body for her parents to find, no crime to be reported. Not anymore. 

The girl remained at the scene for only a moment more, waiting until the front of the estate was flooded with neighbors and people from deep in the town surely woken from the commotion. She waited until everyone’s attention was on the Hubert brothers and none would be on the people farther away. Especially people staying at hotels in the town center.  

There were two men down on her list. Three more to go. And she would not give them even a second to escape. Their karma was coming for them in the shape of a beautiful vampire. 

Next ->

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[ghostat7am]

"I want you to need me, but please understand that you'll never know me."

[adarssuggestionbox]

Roundabout and Reasonance

Adar- *After having woken up from my stabbing, I find my eyes are blurry and I feel a weight on my chest. Shocking memories come flooding back to me. Then a jumbled mess of frantic begging fills my ears repeatedly. After a moment, the pitiful cries become focused to my ears when the ringing sounds cease.*

Glûg- Lord Father! Adar! I'm sorry! Please can you ever forgive me! Please! I never wanted to! It was too late for me! *He pleaded clinging to me in tears*

Adar- *I cannot fault him for his mistake. Instead of wrath I grip his hand. Then I sit up pulling him into a hug.* How could I not forgive you? I know of its dark arts just as well as you. *I huff out of breath, my vision still is heavily blurred and I can just barely hold myself up* Do not blame yourself my son.

*My own sadness slices through me like a knife while we sit in the silence of what seems to be a darkened hallway.*

-Suddenly echos of frantic, angry and confused voices roar down the hall like a blast of wind. Soon that argument erupts into something that shakes the ground beneath our feet. Not long after clashes of metal, breaking glass and clattering chimes in with the screaming disarray of voices.-

-However one voice rings loud and clear above all others. "SEND THEM BACK! I'M SENDING THEM BOTH BACK!" The unknown person screaming reached his wits end-

-Glûg and I hold each other panicked. I only just notice my wounds seem to have been healed; I can't focus on it for long when the two of us seem to be swept up in a whirlwind. As we are sucked through the wind tunnel I grip Glûgs hands for dear life. I can't lose him. I can't loose my son again! With all my strength I pull him close to my chest to at least shield him from bricks and gravel that shoot in all directions. I wail in pain and tremble with adrenaline as I am pelted with them. But I have survived far worse. I would take any amount of pain if it meant protecting my son.-

-We are soon blasted from the funnel and into the ground in a cannon sort of manner. I have no choice but to release Glûg as my body grows limp upon impact.-

Adar- Glûg!!! Son? Glûg shout if you can hear me! where are you!! Glûg! *I scream, though I can hardly tell if it comes out booming as I would like it too. Im deafened with a sharp ringing in my ears. My vision finally fades to black while I fail in my battle to move.*

--------

-One of my daughters from my camp opens my tent flap-

Lord Father, we await your orders. What will you have us do?

Adar- *I bolt up from my slumber with jetting pain all over my body. My head pounds and I struggle to settle my breath.*

*I look around seeing her, she who was slaughtered before my eyes the night before. I get up on wobbly legs hugging my daughter overjoyed to see her living and breathing once more.*

*That joy is soon clouded by a furious inner storm that casts aside all that once was. Mistakes might have been made previously but having this second chance has allows me to fix all of it. I know what I must do now and that 'thing' will not play me, my children or anyone else like pawns again.*

*Just then I realize Glûg must be in his quarters. With a look of determination I recall my own advice.* -Never make war in anger. That is a mistake I will not be making again-

*I take a stabilizing breath and pull away from my shocked daughter* We aren't going anywhere. Have your siblings gather in the center of camp in about an hour. I need to speak with your brother Glûg. I'll give my orders at the gathering. There's been a drastic change of plans.

My daughter- *She looks stunned and severely confused but bows her head with a grunt of respect as she leaves* If that is your will Lord Father then it shall be.

[ohboyhowdybuckaroo]

I finished the last chapter of Frame Pieces AKA the first part in the SatoSugu Soulmates AU, but it's like 10 PM, so I shall instead post it tomorrow once I have the time to skim through it and when it's a reasonable hour lmao.

In the meantime, have the summary for the next chapter before we get into the weeds on the next story:

[frizzlelamb]

I wish Veil Jumper Rook had a bit more backstory content. Non-elven VJs had nothing more outside "yeah I lived in a city before" while an elven one says they lived both as a city elf and among the Dalish. Even then, all this is tucked away in a single dialogue from a side quest.

And Strife still being SO pissed at Rook for screwing up the Arlathan expedition, even (a) year/s after the incident? That level of pissy attitude can't just be about an "oopsie"--there's gotta be more to that. Plus, both he and (potentially) an elven VJ Rook were city elves before joining the Jumpers, so it's likely he was aware of the similarities in their past lives...

IDK. I want to give Veil Jumper Rook all the love, but I have to lean heavily on my own headcanons just to make their story fun and engaging. That's not really a huge problem, but when you compare to the backstory crumbs that other Rook factions get... 😖

TL;DR - Veil Jumper Rook has backstory crumbs for roleplaying freedom, but they're so minuscule that it doesn't matter.

[dracaeons]

got seized by the urge to create a second adaar inquisitor ... his name is meraad, he's a mage. born in a qunari stronghold on seheron, his (adoptive) father is a former ashkaari who was tasked with preparing saarebas, and who had been considering fleeing the qun for some time when meraad was brought before him - four, and nameless, his magic having manifested shockingly early, enough that ashkaari was asked to evaluate whether it might not be best to simply dispose of the child's potential danger, either through qamek or humane execution. he took meraad and fled south to hasmal. there, he met ineri, a dalish mage who had been captured and brought north, only to escape. she had been attempting to find her way back to her clan and was temporarily waylaid in town when she met ashkaari and meraad. instead, the three of them settled in hasmal more permanently, and formed a family. ineri trained meraad in dalish magic, and ashkaari found work helping tevinter escapees resettle in the marches - meraad chose his name when he was about twelve. eventually he found work with the valo-kas mercenary group and the rest is history. he is a soft gentle little baby - cassandra tells him about the conclave blowing up and he bursts into tears. also definitely more on the tall and skinny side of things than brawny at all. ineri jokes that it's his elven heritage.

[bardic-tales]

Day 25 | Day 27

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 26: Encounter with the Turks

Encounters between Bianca Moore and the Turks were never destined to be alliances or rivalries. They were tragedies waiting to unfold. Born from the severed ties between herself and Shinra, Bianca’s inevitable clash with a Turk would serve as a brutal reminder of her transformation from experiment to harbinger.

What followed was not negotiation, nor mutual understanding, but a swift and merciless annihilation: an omen of the devastation she and Sephiroth would unleash upon the world. In a silent crossroads near Rocket Town, loyalty, ambition, and the desperate remnants of humanity met an unstoppable force and were erased without a second thought.

Possible Trigger Warnings: blood, body horror, burning, death, gore, mutilation, trophies, violence

Bianca Moore’s encounter with the Turks was less a meeting and more a silent, brutal end to someone else’s story. It occurred a year and a half after the Nibelheim Incident, during the fragile interlude when she was little more than a broken vessel, unconscious and dying (as at the time Sephiroth nor Bianca knew of how her body reincarnated) in Sephiroth’s care. As he carried her stolen body across the Western Continent on a chocobo, a Turk named Kaela was dispatched to intercept them. Armed with Shinra’s orders and an almost religious devotion to the company's cause, Kaela sought to reclaim what she saw as property: a rogue experiment that needed to be dragged back in chains. But what awaited her on the outskirts of Rocket Town was no mere retrieval mission. It was an execution.

After she saw and tried to approach, Bianca's unconscious body, Kaela never even reached it. Loyal to the promise of Bianca's survival and place in his grand plan, Sephiroth slaughtered the Turk without hesitation. It wasn’t a battle. It was an annihilation. With surgical precision, he drained Kaela of her blood, offering it as nourishment to Bianca's broken celestial body: sustenance in the form of stolen life. As a fallen daughter of Asmodeus and after her awakening, Bianca’s needs were monstrous and sacred: blood, souls, or life-fluid were her sacraments, her necessities. She had no awareness of Kaela’s death at the time, lost to consciousness.

When she awoke later, weak but alive, Sephiroth presented her with the grim trophies of that encounter: several of Kaela’s severed fingers, severed and preserved. This was his proof that no hand would ever dare try to claim her again. After all, she was his.

There was no rivalry between Bianca and the Turks because rivalry requires mutual recognition. Kaela was nothing to Bianca. She was no more than a lamb led to slaughter by its misplaced faith. If anything, Kaela’s death marked a deeper realization for Bianca when she learned of it later. The world and Existence itself would send endless pawns to try and leash her again, and it would be her and Sephiroth’s duty to obliterate them without mercy.

In Kaela’s blind loyalty, Bianca saw the hollowness of Shinra’s empire laid bare. Its servants were not protectors or warriors. They were cattle branded with numbers and orders, marching to their own deaths without ever questioning why.

In the aftermath, Bianca felt no guilt. If anything, she felt an unexpected surge of vindication. This was proof that her existence was no longer something Shinra, humanity, and the divine could own or retrieve. Kaela’s quiet death was not just an end to a mission. It was a small, silent victory in Bianca’s greater war against the existence that had mutilated her. Her blood, her body, and her soul? All of it now belonged solely to her and to Sephiroth (and, in the shadows, Jenova). That moment solidified the truth Bianca would live by. She was no longer someone’s creation to control. She was destruction incarnate and sealed in blood.

Thus, Bianca’s encounter with the Turks was never a relationship in any traditional sense. It was an early omen of what the future would hold: endless bloodshed between her and the armies of men who would try and fail to stop the inevitable. After the Nibelheim Incident, Kaela’s death was only the first of many. And Bianca, still bearing the severed remnants of Kaela’s fingers as grim keepsakes, would go into Meteorfall carrying that memory like a talisman: not out of mourning, but as a reminder that loyalty to a dying world would only ever lead to an individual's ruin.

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[7clubs]

Fresh refs for the coming Artfight (my profile is here)!

Here are my new gay dog OCs.... who totally aren't like... spin-offs of a pair of videogame lawyers or anything.....