#half life decay kin

[motoroil-recs]

Kinfession:

I LOVE MY WIFE!!!!! MY WIFE!!!!!

She is my wife she is so strong and calm in a tragedy and knows how to strategize and she's nice to me and good at wrestling and laughs at my jokes and I love her!!!!!!!!

-Dr. Colette Green

🏎️‼️

[grians-perch]

Hello! May I please have a Dr. Colette Green stimboard with weird/science stims please?

there ya go! i had a lot of fun with this one :]]

🔬 🧪 🔬 / 🧪 🔬 🧪 / 🔬 🧪 🔬

[kincalling]

Hey! I'm Dr. Colette Green from Half Life: Decay, and I'm looking for my wife Dr. Gina Cross! The body is 17 so. Yeah it wouldn't be too cool to have an adult! But if you're out there I would love to talk!

(the blog I'm from is @g-man-half-life so hmu there!)

🎧

[maulsoleum]

• — THERIOTYPES + KINTYPES 🦴

┇overall 🦴 psychological kin — fully nonhuman — polykin + kinfluid a large black hound; living, dead, undead, and decaying. an omen of death. a black dog through folklore. a wandering hound. — visual best described here; x x x

┇identity 🦴 these are all terms to describe one hound, not separate identities. they are all labels of one fixed entity that fluidly changes. i more so choose to say i am these things, rather then kintypes. — theriotypes; canine cladotherian ( below are main groups ) dogs wolfs wolfdogs — kintypes; black dog (folklore) werewolf hellhound church grim cryptid / forest spirit — death; no specific kintype, just that i am a hound who is living, dead, undead, and decaying in a fluid way. a cycle. i choose not to label it with a specific kintype, as it stems from personal roots.

┇visualizations 🦴 — main; wolfdogs black wolf ( melanistic variant. gray wolf ) — on occasion; gray wolfs + timber wolves ( typically darker, fluffier coats ) larger dark coated dog breeds an unnaturally large black hound, can range from fully fleshed and living, ominous spirit-like and lurking, half decayed, undead and reborn, and a corpse; stuck in a limbo like state between life and death yet larger than life itself.

┇misc terms 🦴 — not kintypes, just frequent misc tags i'll use to describe my hounds houndkin, cryptidkin, forestkin, forestspiritkin, deathkin / deadkin, undeadkin, decaykin

[thelegacyofgreyleaf]

Stories from Kyoguild #1

The Falcon Takes Flight

By Eveline Brooks

***

As the young tiefling girl comes to, all she can hear is the ringing in her ear from the initial explosion, the cracking and popping of the engulfing flame around her. A glowing red light is all she can see as what was once her home is suddenly falling to ruin around her. The elegant spires and structures of this methodically constructed monastery, which once would bustle with life of all shapes and sizes, is fracturing as the wood that makes up the structures splinters and pops in the inferno.

Yavari looks around at her surroundings. Dazed, she is able to make out the blue glow of the gem at the end of her staff. Being on the ground, she crawls through the rubble and debris to her staff. Upon grabbing it, the gemstone projects three glowing orbs that emit a golden aura. A shadow can be seen, they are tall, muscular, and massive. A boar-kin maybe? No. A half-orc.

The orcish figure exclaims, “Raeburn! Over here!” Yavari dashes out of the collapsing building as it comes crashing down. Upon stepping out of the blaze, she falls to her knees. Before her body is pulled to the ground by gravity’s magnetic force, she is grabbed by her shoulders and is pulled to her feet.

“What were you thinking? You could have been killed.” He says.

“My apologies, Archdruid Torrig.” She mutters barely. “The children. The fire. It was too much. It was too far late by the time we arrived.” Yavari releases a sigh as she falls unconscious.

Torrig looks up, with his student cradled in his arms, to watch the building crumble. As he gazes at the support beams, he thinks of the times his tutor would bring him to this temple to practice druidcraft and the Druidic language. The walls and books marked only by Druidic sigils. Each one, more unique and intricate than the last. They all give off a powerful, mystical feeling that only those who draw power from nature itself can understand. “Who could do such a thing?” He says, and as Torrig reminisces on the times of old, lightning strikes.

As the flash fades quickly out of the darkened night sky which is lit by the surrounding flames. An arrow pierces the back of Torrig. He lets out a mighty roar through his jagged asymmetrical tusks. His roar booms throughout the monastery, even after he’s stopped it continues to echo off the enflamed walls.

Torrig falls to his knees as a hooded figure, slim and tall, steps closer and closer to his back. With one quick motion and a second strike of lightning, the assailant plunges a jagged dagger into the back of the Archdruid.

Once again, the mighty half-orc lets out a roar that echoes the surrounding forest. Now his thoughts go from his childhood and upbringing, to his son. Now realizing that if he were to give up, he would lose everything. He wouldn’t be able to raise his son.

Torrig picks up his mace and swings it faster than any creature should be allowed to swing a weapon of such mass. The hooded assailant’s legs get shot out from underneath them. Yavari’s unconscious body falls out of his arms and naturally rolls into a tall bed of flowers. The patch of flowers are tall enough to completely engulf her.

The assailant mutters, “so long” As a wave of purple and gold energy blast is released from his hand, sending Torrig flying into the side of the building. The assailant stands up and looks around. “Raeburn!” He draws a blood red sword. The blade, slightly curved back to slice through it’s prey. The sword emits a dark mystical aura, one that could never be natural. “Ya-vaa-riii!” He calls out. “Damn, she got away. Who knows, maybe the inferno consumed her.” As he begins to walk away, Yavari regains consciousness.

Before getting out of the flowers, Young Raeburn simply asks one word: “Torrig?”

The hooded figure turns around with haste, a magical wind lifts him by the cloak and drops him on the bed of flowers. He raises his cursed blade and slashes through the flowers. As the flowers begin to rapidly decay and fall, there is no sign of Yavari. The only living being left is a single Falcon flying away.

The Falcon flies enough away to land on a tree, she turns back into herself. And there she is, Young Yavari Raeburn. Having lost it all, she begins to simply cry. As she does, the leaves begin to close in around her. The leaves contain her in what could only be described as a cocoon. Occasionally, her cries can be heard around the tree. And there, she waits, for whoever wills to get her down and help her resolve the murder of her tutor and the destruction of her home. Yavari hasn’t given up before. She never loses hope. She never loses faith in the nature of the world. But now, she’s at least questioning it.

“What could I have possibly done?”

[corvidcrybaby]

I haven't posted art in ages but I finally finished a few pieces. Here's another Som Velddra piece!

WHO IS SOM VELDDRA?

The solitary daughter of the central lineage of House Velddra, Som was born to the unusual union of a human father and a Drow mother. Noteworthy for their inadherence to Lolth, the Spider Queen, the Velddra family occupied a precarious place in Dark Elven society. Their ancestral patron, Gištal, the Distortion Wyrm, also known as the Centipede, is renowned for its elusive and esoteric nature - being representative of antimatter, decay, and natural endings.

All this, and its historic enmity with Lolth. An important and damning detail that marked Som's life for turmoil before she was ever born.

Som's mother, prodigal warlock Vixzhi Velddra, attempted to hide her existence from grander Dark Elven society by residing on the surface for the first twelve years of young Som's life, eventually relocating to the Underdark due to widespread prejudicial sentiment from surface dwellers. For two years, Som continued to grow in relative peace alongside her full-blooded kin.

This was not to last.

One fateful day, a rival family of Drow attacked on bogus political pretexts. Som's mother was ripped away and imprisoned, and her human father executed before them both. Som survived only through a drastic intervention by the house patron, warping her to the surface at the young age of fourteen. For the next ten years, Som scraped by as a de facto orphan, ducking inside a hovel on the edge of a small fishing village. Rumors no doubt abounded of the strange, ill-faring young girl of abnormally pallid skin, striking red eyes and wild black hair who winced at the light of day and avoided eye contact at all times.

In time, however, she fell into step with a ragtag adventuring party of equally eccentric personalities. Through them, she found connection, belonging, friendship, and a lifelong love. They reunited her with her long-lost mother, aided her family in vengeance upon those who took her life from her, and restored House Velddra to its niche in the Underdark ecosystem.

Now, Som reigns as the standing operative of her patron's will on the Material Plane, making up for lost time with her intimidating and severe, but caring and doting mother. In the span of but a few months, she transformed from a fearful wretch ekeing out a living in the shadows to a proud, imperious and clever scion of her house. One day, she will become matriarch, but until such a time comes, she continues to indulge her arcane curiosities and investigations into the mad and macabre.

"Who'd have thought the half-breed would go on to save the entire bloody house?" - Som Velddra

[dawnswine]

(Remember that time you asked me to send you dead Diluc? Ask and ye shall receive. xoxo )

IN ALL THE YEARS SHE’S KNOWN HIM, Jean had always believed Diluc to be indestructible. From their first foray into the trees of Mondstadt through to intrepid trips on a blood stained battlefield, there wasn’t a single part of her that had ever thought he would succumb to his own morality. He was too young for that. Too stubborn and fierce, too quick and clever. Death was something that came to other people. To the old, the sick, the weak. It wasn’t something that came to the enemy, never the hero. Never the brave and valiant pillar of hope and goodness that had single handedly righted the wrongs of the universe with the swing of his sword and the flash of that smile. 

It had been naive to think he was untouchable. Foolish and optimistic to imagine that he would outlive everyone, including herself and continue on, like an ageless beacon of something more profound and necessary than anything on Teyvat’s green earth. It’s for that reason, that she scarcely believes it when he’s lying so still and tranquil on blood stained grass. There’s no sign of pain. No sign of agony or anguish…just solemn, immovable peace. The battle is long since over, so this has to be a joke. Any second now he’s going to open his eyes, flash that shit eating grin and laugh for making her worry. 

Yet the seconds roll by and still he doesn’t move. There’s no twitch of his fingers of rise of his chest, no flicker of movement, nor chime of a sound. The world mutes to a dull buzz as her hands grasp at his shoulders, shaking, pleading. ❝Wake up Diluc, it’s not funny anymore! ❞ What had started as amusement soon drifts to panic, the aggressive shake of her hands growing stronger as he lay so pale and still. It’s a futile attempt when her lips press to his own, forcing air into ravaged lungs as her hands press down against his sternum, as if that alone will will the life back into his body. 

Again and again and again, she repeats the process to no avail. Mouth to mouth she gives him her life’s breath, palm to chest she urges his heart to beat. Yet nothing can resurrect a flame now extinguished; when the embers have long since snuffed themselves out and retreated to a place she can no longer reach him. Without ever realising it, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, a cry so tortured and heart wrenching it can be heard halfway to Liyue. 

She won’t give up on him. She can’t give up on him. With her vision in hand she bids it to heal him. To use whatever ounce of life force she possesses to bring him back. Yet it’s still no use. Still no bargain she can make for his life, and perhaps she knows it then, in the quiet sway of the breeze and the tears that sting her cheeks. It’s written in the way her chest begins to ache, in between half strangled sobs. When the space between her ribs once full of joy and blistering love begins to feel heavy and sharp.

Fingers drift to her own chest as the pain itself worsens; the sensation so akin to tearing as sweat blisters her brow and her skin grows pale. It’s excruciating make no mistake, but it’s nothing compared to the loss that afflicts her. Nothing compared to the outright devastation that follows as she collapses against him, her hand clutching so desperately at his own as her heart slows to a stuttered halt. 

Up until today, she hadn’t believed in dying of a broken heart. But dear reader, the day Diluc Ragnvindr died. 

So did she. 

since  the  day  he  had  held  his  father’s   decaying  conscious  ,   since  the  blood  of  his  kin  had  stained  his  hands  diluc  had  become  something  that  was  both  deadly  &  dying.   retribution  was  virulence,   turning  the  marrow  of  his  bones  to  rot,  eroding  all  that  he  had  &   would  have  been.  He  had  never  expected  to  be  understood ,   never  felt  it necessary  for  the  footfalls  of  another  to  echo  alongside his  own  as  the  encroaching  darkness  began  to  swallow  him  yet  there  she  was.  a  solitary  light  -  palliative  to  his  own  tenebrosity.     It  was  a  cruel  fate  in  which  her’s  anchored  to  his  own  &  they  sank  to  the  bottom,  to  the  depths  of  his  own  abysmal  demise.  never ,  had  he  wanted  for  her  this  fate.  Jean  had  always  been  a  gentle  breeze  in  disparity  to  his  own ,  tumultuous  gale.  she  had deserved  more  than  he  could  have  ever  bestowed  upon  her.  his  hands  were  soused  in  blood,  his  heart  a  putrefaction  of  innocence,  soured  &  blackening  -  it  had  never  been  a  place  for  her’s  to  prosper. If  he  were  to  hate  himself  for  one  thing,  as  his  vision  darkened ,  as  the  agony  of  the  fatui’s  blade  puncturing  his  abdomen  dispersed  to  something  numb,  as  if  too,  were  fading.  It  would  be  for  her ,  for  the  anguish  that  she  would  feel  at  his final  breath. 

he  had  wanted  to  reach  for  her,  but  his  arms  are  leaden  now,  the  verdant  grass  of  his  homeland  is  a  soft  deathbed,  he  feels  as  if  he  could  sink  it  into,  as  if  it  would  welcome  him  into  epilogue  of  this  hunger ,  that  which  burnt  him  to  a  cinder,  cast  the  once  valiant  warrior  to  a  darkening  pyre  of  ash.   he  sighs  &  his  lungs  protest,  each  solitary  breath  becomes  leaden,  his  eyes  are  heavy  now  too. 

Jean  looks  to  him,  concern  the  courting  of  her  brows,  her  lips  move  but  he  is  unable  to  hear  her.  he  murmurs something,  his  mouth  is  dry  &  in  finality  does  his  world  wane  to  nothingness.

[rcguish]

" i'm dad's favorite. "

he likes to think that the worst part about living in this forsaken temple was the smell. the stench of copper-turned-rot, of decay and murder and grotesque - and the screams so distant and far in the mess that he could taste it all. right in the way that metallic odor clung to the back of his throat and kasai swore he could feel it line his insides just as much. this place has never felt like home, it's never felt like a place of birthing.

this temple was a place to be murdered in. a place to make bloody and disgusting sacrifices seem like tradition, like duty. and each time he rose his knife and snuffed out one more light of this world, he felt that normal baseline satisfaction come in less and less. there was something hollow within him, something so far broken and cracked that nothing filled it and nothing fixed it. nothing put him back together, not even when the one thing he lived to do no longer held him in one piece.

but he and time continue on, just as he had been created and programmed to do - and the letting of blood down the gutters, still, is less satisfying than the time before. and the one before. and the one before. it continues to go on and on like this for years. a slow realization, and then denial ; a slow realization, a slow unveiling past his silvery eyes.

kasai finds mind being occupied more and more with the image of the half-orc who refused to turn his back on him all those dozens of times. the one who seemed to show him the beginnings of a life outside of the temple of murder. his spawn place. and even worse, he finds his mind grappling with this new dragonborn, this haughty and unnecessary spawn - and how desperately he needed to be weeded out. how this fucking dragonborn got further and further ahead of him in status and praise the longer the days dragged on.

more and more his thoughts are occupied, weighed down by pollution and envy. and all the same, more and more there was something like sunshine on his back that kept him warm. to the point where his blade stills, and no longer is he able to collapse another star into oblivion - even under direct order.

this angers Him.

and so the lacerations come. time and time again, those wretched punishments, reminders, manifested in the dead of the night - just when the restless finally found respite, just when he would finally prepare to lower mental guard. in so that his own screams may join in with the chorus and its echoes haunting the stones of this grimy temple. and so, kasai now thinks of the pain he's supposed to feel after some time, of the pain, the burn, that should accompany. and yet remains numb. thinks of all the nightmares that wracked his brain to the point of physical damage, of the glowing red eyes and the skull that pervaded every single orifice of his brainscape. and yet he remains numb.

now, in this moment, with such an utterance - he finds himself once again thinking of all the killing he's committed, all the experience and skill he could call upon within a moment's notice. all these selfish acts, and how they accumulate right here, right now, to this moment ; this moment where he wanted nothing more than to rid the world, HIMSELF, of this DISGRACE.

kasai finds his eyes honing in with owl speed on the dragonborn sorceror, this excuse, this sacrilege to all that was unholy in this cave. there's the faintest drop of liquid somewhere and it's the last thing his thoughts need to pilot the body to move. rogue is quick to his feet and even quicker to rush him, unsheathing and adorning his kin's throat with cold steel blade pressed in warning.

he practically spits on figure with a hiss, baring teeth to accompany his animalistic growl. " you are a copy, do you hear me? you are an iteration of me, and you will spend eternity chasing my shadow, bastard. "

@laserate.

[slimecpu]

RoX Lore Dump ~~~ Notable Settlements

TW: mentions of religious belief (non x-tian)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Eithai Uros - This name is commonly used to refer to the main continent itself, as those unaware of the islands beyond it believe it to be the only land within the planet. Eithai Uros is a small spacial body with one moon, existing in a small universe cluster. Of intelligent life, you can typically find humans, elves, half-elves, half-orcs, halflings, and-- for the more seasoned traveler-- you may even be familiar with a few dwarves or gnomes. In more recent years, most cannot note a time where there was any identifiable "warring factions".... Though communities have become more and more closed off over the last thousand years due to threat of Xahl creatures. Its natural flora is dynamic and plentiful, with varying biomes and mystical plants that have blossomed from centuries of being untouched by industrialization.

Aeiturn Isle - the central-most location within the main continent of Eithai Uros, and currently the largest and most populated settlement. It sits atop a slight plateau, gated off and guarded by a militia-esque team to prevent breaches from Xahl creatures. It is one of the only locations with a proper medical facility, standardized educational system, dedicated marketplace, and an elected official in charge. One of the most popular amenities is Aiko's Tavern, which hosts karaoke nights every week for the entire fall season.

Yukkin Village - a small settlement slightly to the southwest of Aeiturn Isle, mostly populated by elves and halflings. The residents are mostly hermits-- outsiders that pass through often refer to it as a "ghost town". Rumors of this settlement speak of a blasphemous population that holds hatred of the Oracles and fears the unknown, but most residents have great respect and fear of the Oracle of Fate-- rituals, offerings, and even sacrifices to her are a common occurrence among the ancestors of Tolubiir migrants, passed down and performed in hopes that she will protect their new home. The EXTC has strong ties to both Yukkin and Aeiturn, offering sanctioned protections in exchange for cooperation in EXTC programs and information relating to travelers and Xahl sightings.

Ki'tuun - a quiet farming community located in the deep south of the main continent. Due to the river north of the settlement, as well as the Ashland Harbor incident, traveling merchants rarely set foot in Ki'tuun. Its wealth is minimal in contrast to many settlements as a result, but it has developed some means of self-sufficiency in order to maintain its populace. Most residents do not believe in the existence of the Oracles, and many are fully unaware of the concept-- the few who know tales of the Oracles believe them equivalent to bedtime stories or mere fables, passing on them to their kin as such. Those who regard the Oracles as legitimate hold hatred of them, placing blame upon them for failing to intervene and bless the settlement. Magic is generally seen with disdain here, leading druids that have settled among the civilization to hide their abilities or use them with restraint to bolster their crop production and animal husbandry.

Ashland Harbor - a once bustling haven for sailors and tradesmen, now only a barren, soot-covered ruin. It was famous for hosting the fastest method of transporting goods across the entirety of the central continent and held strong bonds with Tolubiir Timberworks, as well as dozens of construction companies across the globe. When the notorious blazes occurred, all of its residents and visitors seemingly vanished without a trace-- no bodies or remains were ever located. No ships remained, and no substantial effort to rebuild the harbor has ever been attempted, leaving it a harrowing memory to those who recall its former glory.

Tolubiir Timberworks - once teeming with mystical woodland, now left in ashy decay. It had been settled by halflings thousands of years ago and transformed into the most profitable source of lumber across all of Eithai Uros. Just weeks prior to the Ashland Harbor incident, Tolubiir was set aflame in much the same way, though some residents were able to be rescued and emigrated to Yukkin Village thanks to independent members of the EXTC. The similarities of these two incidents lead many to believe that the catalyzing force behind each of them derived from the same origin.

Niravia Town - a remote village occupying the northwest peninsula, it is cut off from other settlements by the Forest of Dreams. Its residents are militantly religious and anti-magic, apprehensive of the Oracles and firm in the conviction that they have been abandoned by those they once worshiped. Their rituals immensely deviate from other regions as a consequence of the tragedies that have occurred here. The Tree of Oracles at the town's center, long ago efflorescent with sacred flowers and fruits, seems to have withered and begun to rot-- still stained crimson with the life force of a distraught father. The grass and other plant-life in the immediate area has putrefied into an eerie grey and never re-grew to its natural state. The secluded nature of the residents has lead to violent outbursts on the rare occasion that a foreigner approaches the town.

Hiraethfeld - an incredibly small, scarcely acknowledged township, founded at the south-eastern border of the Forest of Dreams. It is perceived by the rare visitor to be a transcendental landscape filled with lush, almost otherworldly flora-- near completely unfettered by the homesteads of its residents. It is absent from many modern maps due to the inherent fear of the forest that the average Uronian holds, but those who live within Hiraethfeld do not hold these same reservations; instead they cherish the forest dearly, believing it to be the strongest connection between the mortal plane and the Realm of the Oracles. Residents wield a strong relationship to the Oracle of Dreams-- many local legends, traditions and holidays center focus around this Oracle in particular. Their communal nature is near unmatched by any other settlement. They're driven by a need for connection with one another, the Oracle of Dreams, and the natural gifts they see as ethereal blessings among mortal life. The closest entities to a "government" present is a devout sisterhood that is known to provide medical aide to the injured, education of the traditions and world to the children, and do much of the preparations for holidays and rituals. It is also home to the most accurate scripture in regards to the Forest of Dreams, as well as the effects of entering it.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@southern-belle-outcasts {{xx}}

"Closest t' one I evah came to knowin' one? Went to da bayous one time for vacation, and made da acquaintance of one Mokole…uhm…reptile shifter. We came to a reasonable parting, still got my limbs attach. But I guess dey not like alla Dungeons an' Dragons manuals tell you dey are, huh?" Beth is both playful but curious. Sometimes the varying experiences they have make them seem like they are on opposite ends of an unfathomable spectrum. "Only because ya nevah try f' celebrate wi' me," she grins cheekily, that inner cockiness so very foreign to her most times that it becomes obvious she's just messing with him and that she won't really force him to do something he has no intention to do. Mostly. She might make him eat a cupcake with her if for no other reason than she brought them and coffee over. "Yeah, I suppose I get it. But we're taught t' accept what lies beyond. Cycles of nature, of life an' deat' is all a part of it. Have a gift for dealin' wi' da restless dead. Help dem move on an' rest. So if ya evah got a ghost problem, I'm ya witch." The last bit she means with utter sincerity. Beth knows exactly where her gifts lie; she has yet to find a wound or disease that she cannot treat and cure, and sometimes need only take basic nursing care with nothing else to do so, it is the same mana that would allow her ~were she that way inclined~ to completely destroy any living thing. She finds that she can speak with and interact with all sorts of spirits, regardless of their nature, she has an uncanny luck and sense of weakness and decay both physical and moral. And of course the elements dance with her when she offers her hand. There are other magicks as old as her arts though that completely mystify her and Harry makes look easy. The dichotomy is fascinating. She cranes her head to one side and upward as she stands on the threshold of the shop, enveloped by warmth and the aroma of coffee that is as effective a lure for her as chum is to her kin. She half blinks and dampens her lower lip as she tries to figure out how to answer that last question. Beth doesn't lie. Doing so would only harm her and her soul in the long run and ultimately, there's no real benefit to doing it. On the other hand, answering him truthfully would only sound pathetic. She opts for something in between. "I jus'….Figure someone like you would have a million different options an' mebbe I t'ink ya sweet for pickin' me. Should I be surprise dat you need to aks?"

[heartfullofleeches]

Symbiosis: Mutualism

Yandere cult x genderless deity reader 

18+ minors dni

Notes: The beginning to a potential series. Reader is unable to speak through the first half of the story.

Summary: After the deaths of the gods, one persists and wakes to a world unplagued by the faults of the fallen. In charge of keeping paradise whole in the past, the world’s inhabitants lie cursed with an ailment far worse than the one that caused its end. 

Word count: 10.9k

Warnings; body horror, gore, attempted suicide, gun violence, murder, heavy implied abuse, consensual (slightly erotic) cannibalism

Eden had come to its end. Bestowed to a collection of boastful idols, paradise fell under heedless ears; leaving pestilence in its wake that over time claim them as well. No plane high nor lower bore witness to festivity’s end; the divine too caught up in never-ending bliss to create more than was given and no realm above existing to being with. Decaying minds simply continue to waltz over the threat of oblivion until few remain, only it was far too late to change the course they had set. From a single life to the next, every living organism were snuffed, till only one remained. Being all that remained of past glory, your dwindling mind could only focus on one thought.

“Why does it hurt so much…”

Your body had broken beyond compare, your own demise not too far behind. The pain of losing yourself was prominent, but the pain of losing everyone and thing struck deeper. You had been the only one of two to voice your concerns of what was happening, your voice silent and the ladder being cast aside by peers. Their laughter rung high over your mute screams and their heels dug deep into your shattered frame, yet you still missed the touch of life on your skin. The absence drove you to near insanity in your final moments, but the end wasn’t all bad. At the very least, you wouldn’t be completely alone.

There was something, inside you; breathing – flourishing beneath your skin. It’s form was more shattered than yours, but you could tell that much. The pieces of its body branched through your own, rooted in you like those of a tree or more comparatively, the nerves of a system. They pull what’s left of your feeble mind into a state where it could better form conscious thoughts, or rather the first you’d had in a millennia; the only focus of these musings being the very thing dwelling within your stomach.

It was – feeding off of you. You never would have imagined your diseased bones had any nourishment left to give, but that exactly what it sought-after. It’s roots pierced through the marrow, sapping the very ailment that took your kin from your tired joints. Wounds never meant to heal mended beneath its touch; not only in mind but spirit. It cleansed you, returning you to a state purer than even before you were created. You felt the spark of life within your heart; however, it was hard to tell whether it was completely yours. 

The entity had become so entwined with you that your consciousness merged with it. Your pain its own; its emptiness yours. It’s breaths swallowed along with yours, just to regulate moments later. A part of you began to wonder were you were truly the sick one in this situation. That in the entanglement of your two minds, it had you confused. Not necessarily deceiving you,  

It’s a thought that’d soon find its conclusion – as the being slowly began to awake. 

Its branches detach, slowly gathering into a single mass still beneath your skin. Though the holes they leave heal as they slither away, and emptiness grows within; it felt strange. This body was too large; too conflicting to be yours. New flesh and muscle grew inside you, but it didn’t belong to you – not to this version of you. It created a shell that was foreign in shape; yet so familiar on another level. New wasn’t the correct word for this form, every bump and curve on par with a faint image of yourself at the back of your mind. This was the real you; born again after reaching your fill. You could feel your consciousness begin to slip back into its proper host; the pain resurfacing in your old heart as you fade.

There was still so much to accomplish – rot already overtaking healed wounds. Though a fleeting feeling, you still were this being; infected and agonized beyond comprehension. Has it the means; it would keep you attached until complete and possibly even longer. This sense of calm; the existence of a consciousness. It refused to let it go. You were meant to coexist together. Before the coil snapped and your face. How could it forget you? 

Newborn eyes awaken to a void sky, light obscured by aerial vines and grime clung to the overhead ceiling. Upon second look, the filth appears to be the heavens themselves; yellowed and thick with smog. Your eyes search for more, but find little else from their perspective on the hard floor below aside from dirt and the bark of the trees. The only other thing they could make out was a bundle of red roots; different from those akin not only in hue, but the fact that they were moving. 

Weaving around an unseen base, the roots stretch into a long, slender shape; breaking into separate groups as mimicry of muscle and bone for which it to form upon. The shape splits into five digits after reaching max length, a new faze of growth taking over as pinkish skin sprouts from slivers in the fixture. It eventually mellows out to match the color of the rest of your skin, function of motion returning as soon as complete. You place the new limb into the soil, pushing your broken body further up the trunk it laid beneath.

Aside from the arm, your body was little more than a torso; the rest of those flesh roots working to reform what was left. Spots of missing flesh revealed the inner workings of your form; hollow just as your emotions to the whole ordeal. With a better field of vision, you glance around the surrounding area. You sat within the near corpse of a dying oasis, posed in the center of an enclosure once sheltered by a dome ceiling. The room had been fitted from every corner with greenery that reached the heavens and the skylight decorated with stained glass and wire, however, the plants had withered onto brittle spines and the glass had been caved in and caked in far too much dust to tell what the mural once depicted. You couldn’t recall what it was either; the only recollection coming to mind being a warm glow now swallowed by the corroded heavens.

Eventually, the rest of your body grows back and you rise, stumbling like a baby under the new weight. You fall forward into the tree you had been propped against; it catch almost welcoming. It was the only one with enough strength to support you, its kin withered with chipped brittle skin and branches that curled like the legs of dead insects. You assume this was what you had fed off of, it being the only thing alive within the garden other than yourself. A hand involuntarily snakes up the side of your face, comparing the softness of your skin to the coarseness of its own.

The process was always jarring – becoming another in order to fed. The fear; the pain this life had experienced was once yours, now a hollow memory to you. You failed to see such as others; emotions null in your own mind. It wasn’t needed in your purpose to have them in tact, the only goal to fed and continue existence. You were unsure of why or how, but the afflictions of others fueled this aim; such as in the situation of this tree.

This one was sturdy, bark a deep crimson, bordering on black and matching the lighter shade of red that made up its leaves. The branches become softer in color the further they reached up, eerily similar to the vein like aspect your roots carried. Through the sea of leaves, grow a few shapes within their gathering. You reach for one hanging off the lowest branch and pluck it, examining it with pristine interest.

The object had a soft, velvety texture; oval-shaped with its skin wrapped only three quarters of its insides like a half lidded eye. You press a finger through the slits, spreading them apart to reveal a white interior that grayed softly until reaching the center, small black bud bungling sighting from the surface. Those still in a haze, you recognize it as an unnamed fruit, so rip its juices leaking down your palm from the smallest squeeze. You didn’t have the proper functions to consume it; lacking even a mouth of which to speak with, but the recollection of a being that did laid dormant in your mind, and therefore you were able to mimic it.

The first change is the formation of a mandible; shelf for everything else to rest upon. Next, comes gum and the uncomfortable build of a thick, long muscle, flicking against the back of shut skin. After, the upper half develops along with teeth; canines sharp enough to rip your moving tongue to shreds had it not been for the skin before it splitting open to let it free. It drags over forming lips, catching the liquids flowing from the fruit as you pull it up to your face – the sensation of taste powered tenfold on your new buds.

 It had a tarty hint, just barely overshadowed by a rich, sweet flavor though all you could focus on was the bitter. You cringe at the slight sourness, a tinge of an unknown feeling crawling up your throat – yet toss the fruit into your mouth. Your powerful teeth laid waste to it in no time; maw more designed with the capabilities of cutting through flesh. You continue to chew until they scrap against something they could break with ease, you spitting the small seed into your hand. It varies your attention for a moment, you then returning it to the area around you. 

Before you was a path that sprawled into the ground of a court yard, vines having taken over stone before their inevitable demise. Statues laid over-turned and dismantled, the only inhabitants of the abandoned hall. A grove of trees follow your direct eyesight, dead as ever and warped like gnarled hands reaching towards the only sign of life in the garden. 

How odd. You couldn’t recall seeing so much decay in one place before. As you stare out at the waste land a stray leaf floats in front of you, followed by another and another, until the floor became dyed red. You hear the groan of wood buckling under it’s own weight, looking up at the source. The one healthy tree was now no different than the rest, blistered and . As its trunk cracked away, it still somehow managed to stay upright on its weakened base as if offering thanks for your help by not crushing you.

You suspected the tree wouldn’t last too long in such a harsh environment, but for it to deteriorate so quickly was alarming. You’d had your fill for now, but doubted the owner of the garden would want to invest more time in this place; if there even was one. Instead you decide to take the road ahead and venture outside, soil beneath your feet turning hard and dry the moment you stepped from your little island.

Following the path leads you to a pair of double doors, one door knocked off its hinge while the other rocks in a slight breeze. You could see the faint glow of the world beyond it, but couldn’t see or even remember what it looked like. The air from outside hits you as you; stale and heavy enough to suffocate those beneath it. It passes you by as harsh, but non lethal breeze; no lungs for which it to snuff the air from. You push the stronger door outward for a better view of the outside world, it fall joining its twin on the ground and kicking up rested dust. Your eyes water as it rises, blurring your vision momentarily. The dirt soon clears and so does your sight, waking you to the world beneath you. 

The tarnished atmosphere nearly blinds you once more, a faded golden light hidden behind the bleary sky. The view from within the greenhouse paled greatly in comparison to it; you preferring its shade over standing under the real thing. You stood in the center of what once was a paradise of nature. More trees bent in misshapen forms; grass once full now sharp, yellowed spines. Sources of water ran dry; hand made articles either destroyed or caked in dust. While the dead land was an uneasy sight, there was little to feel towards the ruined statues laid about. They depicted grand beings without a single imperfect, once standing tall and towering; now reduced to ruble at your feet. The faces make your lips curl slightly, but the feeling connected to the action was unknown.

The silence was deafening; strong enough to drive even the sanest of people mad. Surely you couldn’t have been completely alone, the structures about proving right. You wonder forward, hard ground bruising your feet, but it causing no pain – the flesh merely cosmetic. Though dead, the grooves still blocked the distance; thick atmosphere adding to your sight's impairment. Ghosts of the damned manifested upon it’s dead winds, haunted expressions peering through the fog.

You walk for what could be an eternity or just mere minutes; passage of time unheard-of one like yourself. The architecture vanishes over the course yet the path persists, smooth cut stone replaced with asymmetrical rocks flat enough to serve as steps. Decay grows ever prominent the further you travel, twisting the land into a maddened state that cannibalized itself in order to resemble any sense of whole. You think of turning back in worry of falling through its cracks, but just as your heels dig into the earth a sound finally cuts the heavy air.

A sharp howl pierces through the quiet, echoing against unseen walls. It continues to ring as you inch towards, not just because you grow closer; but seeming to be calling to you. It leads you to roads end, uncaring to the crumbling world around you. You find yourself at the source, a well encased in marble and covered in soot. The haunting melody stops as you peer over its side, the bottom an empty chasm for which no light could escape. 

“Do my senses deceive me?” Though you couldn’t see, it felt like thousands of eyes were watching you from the abyss. You hear stirring water and a deep inhale, followed with a sigh of satisfaction.  

“It is.. It’s been so long. Please, come to me.”

The voice goes quiet; breaths of anticipation lingering and awaiting your inevitable arrival. A stairway began at one of the well’s sides – something most wouldn’t notice at first glance at how it spiraled down. You climb over and begin your descent, footfalls echoing into the canyon below. The shadows swallow you more with each step, body bathed in darkness before you reach the bottom of the first flight. 

The cylindrical well widen the further you go, walls filling the doorways leading to various halls with no end. The structure of the stone seems to change as well. You had placed your hand along it as the light dwelled; stone chipping in places with an unknown matter beneath. It was much softer than its surface, inconsistent like the near perfect of the rock; moist.

Fleshy.

It persists as you go, poking through more and more until the wall is completely covered in tissue. It creeps beneath your feet as well, making it difficult to keep balance along what little walking room you had to being with. Another texture blinds into the array; more easily detectable as fur – wet and heavy with mold and unknown substance. So many things fall under your touch. Teeth. Hair. As you go on to yet another step and attempt to figure out the new thing you caress, your foot catches on an unseen rubbery, orb-like object – its surface somehow slimier than everything else. So much so, that you completely lose your stability and fall right over the borderless edge.

The already distant sky grows further and further away, till merely the drop of a dot; the scent of moldy water picking up as it goes. Fear missing from your heart, you remain stagnant as you fall. The wind, powerless to stop you, blows from beneath you with a strong force. 

 It feels, sort of nice.

Your body hits the ground. The fleshy, breathing ground.

It breaks most of your fall, only a few roots out of place that quickly return to order. You lay motionless, insides too shaken for you to move. The sound of rippling water plays again, loud voice booming in your head.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, gaining an topside view of the being above you. It was more akin to a mound of flesh than anything else, warped in vague ways that alluded to a once bipedal creature. Tufts of fur spread along its body, dark in color and moldy from the water surrounding it like the patches on the walls of the well.  Teeth and eyes littered its frame as well, the latter focused on you, but there were a distinguishable pair of both rested on a long snouted head. Bloodshot orbs, soft in your direction and exposed fang and gum curled in kindness. Healed wounds showed here and there, but there was a specific one on what would be its abdomen. Teared with sharp teeth, mended with thin hair line scars and stretched beyond compare.

It helps you to your feet. You lift an arm and a leg, both working with perfection much to its delight.

“I’m grateful that you are alright. I could sense where you fell and it was a rather large fall.”

You look on blankly.

“I was fearful for a moment. You have no scent at all. When I smelt complete nothingness rather than the rot that fills the air, I knew it had to be you, but part of me was still doubtful.” 

Your stare persists. 

“You must be wondering who I am. That isn’t important. All that matters is what I have for you.”

“I’m not sure if you remember, but everyone is dead and they’ve ruined the land you created. I tried to warn them. I truly did; but they wouldn’t listen and threw me down here. All of the sick ones were thrown here after your disappearance.”

You now realize why some of the piles floating in the water had more shape to them than others.

“It was a blessing in disguise, truly. Now I'm able return my debt to you in full. Another realm exists, untouchable by our own. Fertile, just needed a God’s power. My time bathed in their blood has led me to earn the title.” 

“That land was my own, life developing as we speak. I may have created it, but you may roam as its lord if you wish.”

It extends a hand to you, thick waters slowly peeling off its skin.

“Please take my hand. Someday may come a time where you could fix this land, but it’s not right if selfish beings as us ruin it once more in the future. You can mold this lifeforms into proper ones if you wish it, so please.”

You knew very well there was little hope for this land, but would your functions allow you to move on to another realm?  Even a null minded being could realize when enough was enough. To let go without knowing what it means to do so.

You step once, the again; continuing until the water is at chest level. As it slinks up to your neck, the bottom beneath you vanishes, slowly dragging you under. You reach towards the still out stretched hand, only grazing it as you go completely under. The creature sees this as enough and curls its fingers, restless spirit now ready for its eventual death now that it reached its unlimited goal. 

“In another life. My master.” 

This plummet is softer than the last; more peaceful. Wrapped in a welcoming space, you drift off to a new existence. You pass a certain threshold beneath the two, bubbles rising to a forgotten surface as your body picks up speed. The darkness around you shrinks back into warm, yet clouded daylight – a sight that fills your vision as you collide with the ground below.

This soundless place was close to perfection; only a hair off. It was a garden where new seeds could grow – only needing the smallest touch from a green thumb. Though it felt  shorter than the last, this fall had sent your body scattering. Your Back. Legs. All flowed over the edges of soft grass. You were used to by now, but it took a lot more energy out of you than usual. 

You raise one of your hands to eye level, that little sees from the start of your journey embedded in your palm – kept safe from everything by your roots. You look at it for a while longer, before falling into a deep sleep. 

-

“I’m home!”

A set of house keys scrape along a kitchen counter, the only sound in an otherwise vacant household. Their owner waits a beat for a reply, thanking the heavens when there’s none to be found. With relaxed shoulders, they set their bag in an empty chair; enjoying the rare moment. They then eye a basket on the table, filled to the brim with ripe fruits. 

“It has been a while since I fed them. Or myself for that matter. “

They pick a fresh apple from the pile and an apple peeler from a drawer; heading upstairs for the last part of their quest. A small, plastic container was retrieved from their bed; filled with specific leftovers and other things that made for a good homemade compost according to articles they read. They take it and the fruit to the back-door, exiting out into the never-ending land that was their backyard. 

The yard was open backed, leading to a dense forest under a downward hill. The past owners must torn down the gate, a desire path to the woods engraved long before they moved in. Trees, small bushes of berries, and various types of flowers blend over to the yard, but the one plant that garnered their attention lied deeper in the forest. Grabbing a shovel resting against the house’s wall, the young adult then ventures into the woodland to relax from a stressful day in the only way they knew how. 

Warm sunlight shone through breaks in leaves above. Oak. Maple. Pine. The various tree types and many more that made up the halls of the forest. The changing seasons brought and took their beauty, though one remained the same throughout the fluctuating times. It’s red bark was visible far beyond its standpoint in the clearing; 

“I'm back!”

As a quiet kid and an even more reclusive adult, they struggled to make lasting friendships with peers – at least with the more animated folk. Struggling with their words, they chose a companion far quieter; but an even better listener. On the fateful day the pair met, the then child had been playing at a nearby creek; slipping on the wet stones and falling into the icy waters below. Due to lack of swimming lessons they barely managed to escape; cold and tired as the night grew near.

Unfamiliar with the forest at that time, they easily became lost – hours spent tracing the same footsteps. As the moon rose higher, they nearly lost hope of returning home when a strange sense of comfort. It was just a few steps off the path they’d taken countless times, but they somehow overlooked a peculiar looking tree; roots at surface level and spilled on the floor like vines. To most, the hulking mask was unsettling due to its crimson wood and even redder, thin branches, but there was something about the way the cold wind stilled around the tree that brought them comfort. 

Odd, oval shaped fruits fell at its trunks side with they gorged themselves on until exhaustion took hold. Nestled in the tree’s exposed roots they felt safe and warm; kept far from the dangers of the forest and far beyond. Something they hadn’t felt in so long. It’s where they’d spend years on when home didn’t feel like home. 

-

The shovel’s head pierces the dirt between the unearthed roots, creating a hole for the ripe compost to fall into once time. After covering the ditch, the digger sits with their back against the tree’s trunk. The exhaustion from their work has them applying more weight than necessary; branches rocking from the motion. A stray fruit falls, landing by their feet; the white meat and seed poking from the skin making it look like a eye fallen from the heavens.

“Oh, I already have lunch, but thank you.” They pick up the fruit and place it in their pocket to save for a later date. They had a chance at millions with the fruit, endless searches coming up with none like it; but that’d mean an end to the peaceful days spent alone with the tree. They had dreams of somehow moving it along with them whenever they left to spread their wings, a quiet place just for the two. Maybe then they’d share their findings – in a home where nobody had the opportunity to steal it away. 

Their stomach growled at the thought of all the baked goods and like they could make with the fruit; and so they began peeling away at the apple in hand. They’d never been a heavy eater, so a few bites was enough to stop the cramps. Sinking a bit further into the tree’s base once full, they hold their hands up towards the overhead branches; looking at them through the webbing of their fingers. When little they enjoyed climbing the tree, but with age grew more and more problems. 

“I’m getting too big to climb you without snapping some of your smaller branches. Is this okay?”

The wind causes its leaves to sway slightly, and for them – that was more than enough. They smile a genuine slime; hoping for everlasting days as this.

“-aine..”

A shiver creeps up their spine at the new wind; carrying a venomous tone only a whisper due to the distance between the house and their current location.

“Charmaine!” It repeats, guttural; annoyed.  Angry. Like a beast that missed its prey. “Get your ass out here, now!”

Damn. They hoped to have a bit more time before it returned. They could hear footsteps in the distance, which had them on their feet in an instance. With a solemn goodbye, Charmaine promises to return at a better time. Can’t lead a demon to heaven after all. 

-

A better time turned out to be only two nights later, long after everyone went to bed. A welcoming party for new neighbors left the living room in dishes and bottles, turning it into a field of landmines happen someone were to step on one. Charmaine left once they were sure not even thunder could wake the slumbering beast. Donned in dark clothing to lessen detection, their image brushes across the glass of a tall case by the door, items within enough to make even their shadow crawl.

Earlier in the evening, the riffles housed within had been used to boast about successful hunting trips. All they could remember were the barrels pointed in their face in drunken power. Reminding them they’d be as easy to take down as the bleeding deer on the earth below. They shake off the feeling of dread, thankful no hunting animals lived in the forest behind their backdoor. 

-

Beneath the tree’s warmth, Charmaine allowed themself to unravel. To see disgust in the way that man was able to smile so sincerely. Like a repeat offender asking for a second chance. The fake warmth he wrapped them in under the eyes of others, enough to smother. Enough to kill. They wanted to remove his touch from their shoulder, but was forced to wear their own fake grin.

“I don’t know how he can do it so easily. It’s like a mask he’s able to just take on and off. I’m sick of it!”

They release the built rage on a nearby tree, blow strong enough to rock their companion a few steps away. They immediately gain back some of their cool, placing a hand and their forehead on the coarse wood.

“I'm sorry. I haven’t slept well in a while.. Can I stay here tonight?” Without a word, the tree waits with open arms for them. Worrying about the rest later, Charmaine gets in a comfortable resting position; the heat from the tree enough to keep them from freezing. It felt warmer than usual though not by much, like a blanket that just barely made it too hot. Still it was pleasant. Pleasant enough to take them to a melancholic rest not long after.

That night they dream of sitting by a lake, looking out at the endless mountains beyond and the clear, relaxed water around their legs. Music and laughter sounds behind them, tongues written in a language that makes their mind fuzzy, but still able to understand. They look down at their palm, calloused and sore; but beautiful. Hands that could carry a broken soul and make it whole. 

-

The next time the family had dinner together, the mask was off. Charmaine at one end and it at the other. The older man had a constant look of neutrality, yet had a stare that bore into their soul. 

“There’s been news recently about coyotes  seen in the woods lately.”

Charmaine weakly pokes at the food on their plate, dreading the incoming query.

“Do you think you can show me around. It’ll be a nice opportunity for us to spend time together.”

They wanted to say no. Make up any excuse. That they had to focus on school. They were scared of getting attacked. They’d even tell him the true if needed. That during the high likely hood of him discovering their safe haven, he wouldn’t understand. As a god fearing man he’d be afraid. He’d chop down the tree. Exposed it to others. Charmaine couldn’t let that happen. 

“Yes, father.”

Weak.

That night they had another dream. One as themself, sitting in the back of church during a time when they attended. The concept of God was stranger than normal, but they read the message of the pastor loud and clear.

“There are signs of god all throughout your daily life.”

-

Charmaine wasn’t surprised when their father crossed paths with the tree, nor by the look on his face. Shock. Horror. Confusion. What they didn’t expect was for him to just – run home. It makes them laugh. Harder than they had in years. A single oddity in nature, and that proud man was shaking in his boots. It made them think maybe he wasn’t as big as he seemed.

And it was all thanks to one odd tree.

They find him, cross necklace in hand, and praying by the couch. Figures. A religious nut would see the tree as a sight from God, a cruel one or not still to be decided. Charmaine had never been one for religion, but the theory seemed almost.. right.

-

Charmaine refused to give details on what lied in the forest. Not even if someone tried to beat it out of them. They failed to keep it a secret, but their lips would remain sealed. It didn’t matter. If not them, someone else would pry the truth free. Greedy hands tearing into it, using it for their own gain. Just like in the past.

Past? They couldn’t recall what past their mind alluded to, but they could hear the false promises from their father that he’d keep his mouth shut. A horrible lie. He couldn’t even look them in the eye as he said it. By the next evening he’d be running his mouth at the local bar, rambling like a madman. Most would put him off, but one curious person was all it took to bring an end to everything. 

That same night with a swift steal of a single key and the turn of their wrist, Charmaine found themselves at their parent’s door with heavy hands. It was at a time when he’d just be getting into bed, a chance at him even still being awake. They could care less, however. He could be staring them directly in the eye, and they’d still do what’s necessary. 

Standing over the slumbering man, their mind was blank of nothing but hatred. Even as his eyes opened and his face twisted in terror, abhorrence stood high. For even as they pulled the trigger and his voice quivered, the demon’s true colors showed. Detestation strong enough to rival theirs. For his spawn and the rest of the word.

-

With the deed done, Charmaine falls to the floor with a crash of emotions enough to sicken. They had just killed someone. Their own father. All over some fucking tree. No. No. They hug themself and let out a wheeze of laughter. This wasn’t just for it, this was for themselves, and their best friend wasn’t just some tree. It comforted, it protected, it cared for. All for them. They’d do this a million times over all for it. For you.

They stand on uneasy legs, looking down at the corpse with its head popped like a grape. Disgusting. He was a gross man on the outside and even worse in. Charmaine wanted to burn it along with the house, but just as the rotten skins of fruit his body could be used for a greater good. 

-

Another pile of compost falls into moist soil, an arm wiping sweat from a drenched face. It looks up at the tree before it, having to crane its neck farther than usual. 

“You sure are getting big aren’t you?” 

Life had been going well for Charmaine. They’d planted a lovely garden in their backyard that fed both them and their picky friend since it didn’t react well to store bought food. It had also grown way larger than they expected, millions of tiny limbs near the sky. The fruit it bore prospered as well, growing close to the size of baseballs. There was also a new ring of color between the seed and fruit itself,  but Charmaine paid no mind. They never managed to click with their classmates still, but that matter little to them. The shade beneath that unnamed tree was just enough. 

This happiness was not prominent throughout all the day, however. Sometimes during the late hours of the night they’d notice these odd –  occurrences. Eyes watching from nowhere. Weak breaths running down their neck. The faint beating of a heart. It was maddening, but they could deal with it as long as the one thing that kept them sane survived. But of course, not every tale can have a happy ending. 

-

As quickly as the tree’s new health appeared, it dwelled twice as fast. Charmaine noticed it the first day it started, but by the time they did, its bark was already flaking away. 

“No no no. What’s happening to you?!” They’d say, trying with vain attempts to keep the fallen pieces in place. “Have I not feed being you enough? Do you need more sun? Am I overfeeding you?”

No matter what they tried, the tree’s condition stayed the same. To make matters worse the strange happenings became stranger, to the point it felt like their was a beating heart beneath their floorboards. 

It was maddening. Not knowing how to help – what to do. They had yet another dream. They’d had many throughout the past weeks, but this one felt different – important. They wake to a desolate landscape in its final moments of glory, still at a point where it could be saved but right at the edge. It was a place not meant for human eyes yet a thin blindfold kept what little sanity they had in tact. 

The host they saw through tried with all their power to save it, but was unable to; not when the heart of this land was kept under lock and key. It pleads to those behind the gates, shapeless, beautiful entities that laugh at its contained form. To Charmaine it felt wrong to ask these beings, knowing somewhere deep down they’re lower than the one kneeling at their feet; but they have no power to speak. The ever-changing laughter lasted until even the mightiest spills its blood across the soiled land as its final nutrient.

Where some might see a victory or loneliness, both the host and Charmaine only saw the broken hands in their lap; fleshy, exposed roots covered in dirt and blood. 

-

Charmaine finally realizes what was going wrong. It was him. It always was him. Digging up the half decayed body, they could still make out parts of his face. That awful sneer. How could they ever think this waste of air would be good enough even as a meal. He tainted this holy place with his diseased blood. 

And Charmaine was the only one to blame for it. 

Even after moving the body to a completely  different area, the tree still didn’t get any better. It still stood tall and proud, but lost most of the glow it gave off. It was like losing hope in an impenetrable belief.  To lose it meant losing their will to go on. Guilt from what they’d done built more and more till one night it all boiled to a crescendo, and they ended up rifle in hand once more.

They address a hole in the earth left unfilled, somehow still slick with an element thicker than water. It almost looked like bled from the soil, but that couldn’t be the case. Just another example of their weakening state. Still they focus precious time on the area as a hole as if something had left a permanent mark.

“I thought with you gone everything would be alright. That’d we’d finally know peace. I see now that could never be. You’ll never let me rest.”

Their attention turns upwards, somber understanding on their face. The blood of their father; both on their hands and in their veins made them an unfit person to be anyone’s caretaker; let alone something so important to them personally. If not for their mental state, there were other factors to take them away from it. Though not many, people were starting to grow suspicious of their father’s absence. Sooner or later they’d get a knock on the door to which questions that had no answers to.

“I’m so sorry 

The muzzle of the gun rests beneath their chin, an unsteady finger at the trigger. They think of a better life; not for themself, but the lifeform towering above. Another curious face finds themselves at the foot of the tree, one able to love and care for it better than they could. 

They smile and close their eyes. Then squeeze. 

A single shot rings throughout the quiet woods, followed by the fainter sound of a body crashing to the ground. The force and their unsteady hands caused Charmaine to miss a clean shot; bullet going through the bottom of their cheek and eye, but not their skull. The pain is white hot, constant; their body convulsing as steaming blood pools out and mixes with the dirt around them. 

From the angle their at, their good eye is able to look around in a craze. It’s a mystery how they hadn’t passed out from the pain. They catch sight of the starless sky, the empty halls of the forest, the tree. It looked more alive than usual, almost looking as though it was – swelling. They could barely make out the writhing strings that up rooted from its base, slithering red masses that slow inched their way. 

Terror wormed into their already overworked mind. Charmaine tries to crawl using their arms, but their body is too heavy to move. The roots grow closer, gliding across and through the soil to reach their target. Charmaine then attempts to reach for the gun; feeble mind somehow seeing it as a good alternative, but it was too late.

The vines had finally caught up to them in their immobile state, planting themselves in the exposed meat of their face. They could feel them push under what’s left of their eye and beneath their tongue, traveling further, deeper than anything should ever go. Some stick to the side of their mangled face, grouping around and combining with the damaged tissue. 

It should hurt. Like an invasive species taking over, this act against nature should be the most excruciating pain Charmaine had ever felt, but it just didn’t. Nor could they exactly be called Charmaine anymore. The longer roots stay attach, the more of their individuality they lose; consciousness merging with whatever they grew from. It had been asleep for so long. Longer than the birth of their world; their God. Had it ever truly been awake? Had they?

Under the mercy of whatever took hold, Charmaine became a higher power. A deity. A God. Their suffering and turmoil from throughout the years melted into the entity’s nothingness, making them a clean slate purer than any being that walked the earth. Its forgotten memories became their own, the pains of its past theirs; but nullified by the connection as well. 

Though negative emotions fade away, the positives remain strong; growing. It seemed there was finally something stronger than the being and it formed within their heart. Happiness. Love. Adoration. They felt all things for the other half of their new self; a half that couldn’t feel this on their own. They’d care for it, help it blossom like it’d done to them in the past and the stubborn gods that refused its hand. They’d teach them these awful feelings so that they could grow even closer together. 

Under that tree, with God as witness; Charmaine died that night – reborn anew by its grace. This perfect being once known as a human now had a set purpose in their life. To bring forth the birth of the light, and share it with others like them.

-

Voiceless chatter and the beat of music flow through temple walls. Figureless celestials take form to dance through paradise's blessing and converse with their kin. Many a tongue were spoken through the land be it the gods, the creatures they created, or nature itself. All was beautiful, every life to ever grace the land prospered under that roof. All but one that is.

Sat outside in the dark space rested the last of them. A term for lack of better words since it predated it all. It was much smaller than the others, stuck in the same body no matter how many times it lost form. It was unsightly. Red nerves beneath its false skin a color even gods turned their heads to. Nevertheless, it mattered not to this creature. All of significance to it was fulfilling its purpose. 

Sitting by the endless lake, a palm in its waters; you restore it back to its crystal waves once more. The others often threw their waste there without a care in the world; some of your roots collecting around discarded animal bones still intact. It gave you more food, as well as something to do as you’d sometimes be able to tell what they creature was from the glimpses you saw of them.

It wasn’t always like this. For eons you stood alone in this place, fixing any blemish or fault; and the next these idols were born. You troubled to understand their ways. Creating non-organic structures to section what was provided, the statues in their glory though they had no prize to bear. Such a way of life was foreign to you, but you didn’t blame them. Naivety came with youth, even if that youth grew to be billions old. 

The doors to their haven open behind you, labored breathing following its closure. Turning your head, you’d see a four legged creature; eyes cloudy and body covered in wispy mold. It took a few times before falling over to its side, chest still rising albeit weak. It was rare to see a creature cast out while still alive. You walk over to examine the body, beady eyes staring back.

Its mouth was open, tongue caught over its sharp teeth as it pants. You’d never seen anything like it up close; the idea of consumption still new to you. You had smelt the food of the gods before and in a way this creature sort of had the same scent, just slightly more rancid. 

Your body is able to mimic the animal’s maw, down to the taste buds just from looking at it. The change would feel out of place to most, but you adapt with ease. You graze the flesh off your hand with the new muscle, licking spring water. It had no taste as water did, but you could feel its freshness still. Without a second thought, you bite into the creature’s side, a timid whine sounding from its throat as your new teeth bring forth a river of blood. The taste is horribly sour, but enough of a new experience to keep you chewing; eventually melting away into a flavor that could be favorable after getting used to it.

Working your jaw against its flesh, a spark lit somewhere within your nerves. The beginning of something you couldn’t describe in this current state. The diseased meat gave fuel not only to your roots, but to the sense of feeling alive. A feat that would stay unknown to you for most of your existence. Even as you tear through it, the creature’s wounds still heal. The muscle beneath your bite soon finds its strength once more, and the rot presence throughout its body only shows in patches of filth caught in its fur.

The creature stands, bonding off towards the gate without another look at you. Neither you or it would ever be the same. You think nothing of it; losing track of the whole already – when the door opens once more. A single piece of fruit held in strong jaws to act as offering. 

-

Your true eyes open for the first time in a millennia. Your body was propped against a tree once more, its roots enclosed around you. How many times would you end up like this? At least your body was in once piece this time, slipping out of the makeshift grave with ease.

You look around an unfamiliar room. A temple of sorts, bare except for an oasis surrounding the tree filled with fallen fruits and smaller plants, and a velvet carpet leading from it to a door at the other end of the room. You become aware of the other lifeform at the end of the room, the wide eyes and slack jaw proof that the white cover over their features was not their true face.

They look similar to you yet smaller, expression filled and lively. They were dressed in an off white colored article that reminded you of silk webs you’d seen in the past, while you stood bare. Their eyes look with you, then the hole in the earth, then you once more; turning on their heels and barreling out the doors.

“Everyone! Come quick! Our Mercy has awoken. ” 

How odd. Moreso that you could understand them. Moving on, the walls of the room were adorned with bright wall paper. In its back there was a window angled in just the right position to light the whole room at the sun’s highest point in the day. The massive tree happily took in the glow, a miracle it could even fit in the building. Your fingertips still tingled from where your final moments in connection with it lasts. Your bodies had become once through its growth till your own gradually pulled away, stealing most of your health to have grown so tall.

Picking up one of the fruits, you note a hue similar to the iris of your own eyes had built around its seed. Forever binding you as one.

The floor of footsteps lead to the slamming of the double doors against their respective walls; tens of those smaller beings both, both faceless and not, tumble into the room – all locked on your location at its end. The reactions are varied in the masses, but all have some form of a single emotion – undying praise. 

“They’re breathtaking… How fortunate are we to live in the Era of God’s birth.”

“You see? I told you all I’d seen them before. Its just as stunning as in my dreams.” 

“Is it alright to look at such rare beauty this close?”

“I think they looked at me! What a merciful power.”

“Are you mad? Its clearly looking at me. It remembers our time together.”

They’re upon you within seconds. At your feet. Reaching for a hand or piece of skin to hold. Their voices rain high with praise and pleads for attention. The melt together and leave you even more speechless than your lack of a tongue already did. Unsure on 

“Quiet down!”

All attention turns towards the new voice; authoritative and loud. Standing at the doors now was a new figure; dawned in a deeper shade of red. Two others stood at their sides, heads lowered in your presence while their leader’s remained high; a long sheet held by the pair.

“Don’t you idiots see that you’re smothering them? They’ve just woken up for God’s sake.”

A path from them to you clears the rest of the group splits in two, the duo stepping first to offer you the makeshift robe. You take it, awkwardly fitting it around your body in a fashion like theirs. The final person takes their place before you, head beloved at last and voice turned kind.

“I apologize for the rude awaken. It’s a grace to have you in our plain.”

You stand unblinking, unsure of what to do. It’d be rude to not reply, even if you didn’t know what was going on – or if you could even speak their language. At the back of your mind, you could see the inner workings of these beings; connected to enough of them to tell which part was which. Your throat vibrates with the formation of your cords; traveling up to your mouth.

“A…ahhh.”

A few gasps of amazement ring through the crowd as the lips you speak with form before their eyes; and even greater wonder at the fact you attempted to speak their language. Your voice was an amalgamation of all trapped in your mind; somehow lapped into a single unique voice. The voice of heaven. Some had seen your razor teeth in image, but to see them up close sent tingles through their bodies like no other. You could see they had two pairs of teeth like your own in a way, though far duller and spread between others with no points at all. 

The person kneel looks ups, expression too awestruck at the sight. “Are you trying to speak, my lord? If you allow, please follow me before you do. Our leader deserves to hear your first words more than any of us.”

They stand and turn to lead you out the room; a chilled grip on their wrist stilling them. There’s some protest from the crowd for being your first contact with human flesh, but none appose it. Having lied immobile for decades, you needed the help to walk. Touching their heated skin, you could almost remember being this person. A prideful, showoff aura – hiding a passive soul. It was through the eyes of another that they saw being the best wants how life was meant to be lived.

-

Guided out; following in tow – you walk outside the room to an outdoor corridor. Gardens were plants along the green areas at its sides, various people tending to them. They stay to their work, but all eyes fall on you sooner or later; those with whiter robes attempting to catch a glimpse under your own. 

A bolder of the workers manages to sneak into your little group; getting right beside you. They gift you a bunch of small berries, bright red in color. Your mind picks them out as grapes; each berry plump and bursting with juices. A few of the others had shied away from your curious touches and in attempt to not cause them discomfort; you stop in your tracts and open your mouth for them to feed one to you.

The poor thing nearly faints on the spot as your tongue caresses their fingertips; your teeth grazing them at you close your lips around the fruit. Sweet. Refreshing. Many a word could describe it. You wish to thank them for it, but the face had faded into the crowd; off to still their thundering heart. Throughout the rest of your walk, others try to fed you as well to the point you could recite nearly every fruit and vegetable in the book.

-

The corridor leads into a larger building; the certain area being a banquet hall. You’d seen these even before this new life; however all you could remember at this table were ones held in your honor.

You’re led to a smaller room; an office of which you have duck to enter. Trapping God in such a small room was blasphemous in nature, but it was the only way it’s inhabitant would get true alone time with you. A greedy request, but such is human nature. They wore darker close than the rest, this red on the very border of black. It wasn’t one robe like rest, neat and fit over their frame; layered over other clothing. The building had looped in a way that they were able to see the tree’s enclose from their higher floor; the sun shinning through seeming grander that day. 

“I’ve waiting for this day for so long. I was afraid I’d never get to see.”

The voice, changed by age; is familiar – one you can distinguish from the crowd. Turning to greet you; time was not the only thing that change their appearance. A wide scar, beginning from their chin to their right temple distorted the skin; pattern of the marking like roots imprinted on their skin. It was slightly odd colored to their pale skin; red like most things these days. A patch covered   

“I’m only in my thirties, but it feels like I’ve waited forever. Thank you for meeting me in this lifetime.” They remove the patch from their face, eye completely intake. It was like the rooted scar ran through the orb as well, 

You tilt your head. They’d changed so much, but you recognize this human so well. The first that ever reached out to you from the beyond.

“Char..ine. Char..”

“Huh?....” The pitch in their voice rises greatly. It was beautiful; seeing those lips move to pronounce their name. To be the one called upon by such a higher power. They feel like a child again, full of giddy excitement.

“Ahah.. Ah.” All the mental strength Charmaine had built through the years nearly crumbs; just from a simple unfinished spelling of their name. You close the distance between you, taking their face in your hands. The faces you’d seen had blemishes and imperfections sure, but they were still beautiful in their own way. This one was caused by you, a branding that ostracized them from their kin. 

“I’m so-rry…” 

For the first-time since you arrived, their lips twist into a frown. “For what? I am at the closest I’ll ever be to godhood because of you. I’m perfect in the way a human can be. What’s there for you to apologize for?”

-

With the help of Charmaine and the rest, you learn to understand this world and their way of living. The deeper the red of your followers clothing meant the closer they were to you. Charmaine being the leader had the greatest pact, slipping into a two year long coma after their failed attempt at their life. They began leading others to you and, well, the rest was history. 

You learn of their music; those with musical gifts happy to share their voice or instruments. Some would seeing hand written melodies of a love unlike no other, shying or erupting into fits of laughter when you wonder aloud was escaped their hearts. Artists capture your image down to every strain of hair. Those with cooking talents come to you once your tongue is used to all the flavors there are to offer. Most dishes included the fruit your tree bore. Eye candy – they’d call it; nectar of the gods and pieces of you they could consume.

You became aware of things like dairy and even more jarring – meat. It took more work to get through it than other meals; something few noticed you found interest in. They all picked up on the fact you liked red meats a bit more on the raw side, the iron taste rich on your tongue. Every other dish, a cook would “accidentally” slip some of their own blood into your food. They’d never tell you what that new flavor was, no matter how many times you questioned them. 

Even those with no talents or hobbies were graced with your presences, bestowing praise in their place though you never asked. You’d hold these ones a little tighter when they asked for embrace; an act you’d know as compassion. 

You were allowed to explore every inch of the compound, but putting even one foot past its gate was a no go. Their one rule for you. Being an eternal being meant nothing when you still didn’t know everything about the world. The thieves hungrier than themselves that’d steal you without moments notice. Stay here with them. Relax under their watchful eyes and soothing words. 

They did so much for you. Loved you. Something you thought you didn’t deserve. 

-

Charmaine walked the empty halls towards your chamber. It was their moment for some one on one time with you after weeks of going by without it. Sharing you was a necessity in this new world whether they liked it or not. They also came bearing gifts; as most did – countless days spent perfecting the recipe. It felt silly to be bring a picnic basket to the venture, but you adored the thing after one of the others weaved it for you. Plus there was a sort of – romantic, aspect to it all; like sweet love between two human mates rather than one being an elder power.

“My grace?” The door clicks gently behind them, Charmaine having to crane their neck to see you from behind the tree. The sun was rising, brilliant oranges and reds casting you in a light like no other. You had no need for rest and often started at the vast sky when no one else was around. It’s why they woke up so early on a long day ahead; to see you in every instance of beauty. Even with lips tight in a thin frown.

You were getting so good at expressing feelings. How lovely.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, good morning Charmaine. Yes, everything is alright. I was just thinking about how empty the sky used to be. There were cycles of light and darkness, but no sun or moon.”

“That is a definite change. Why not mull over it while enjoying some breakfast.

-

They feed you homemade jam and fresh bread; not letting you touch the knife once. You tell them of your past, something they know well about, but happy to hear from your mouth. The singular cycle of repair and waiting with nothing in return. Being cast aside by the new gods in a place you helped flourish. 

“Charmaine.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I can be what you all want me to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m.. feeling things now. I have emotions. Almost all of the ones I can understand.  You all describe me as a perfect being, but would one question their throne like me?”

“I understand..” They take your hands in theirs. An action you were fine with, but still made them flutter. “We’ve infected you. Like you have us. It was bound to happen since we were one in a way at some point. I don’t blame you for disliking this, but if I may ask for a request, will you fulfill it for me?”

“What is it?

“Embrace it. You are alive. Get closer to us and allow yourself to indulge in one wrong thing. You deserve to more than anyone.”

Alive.

“Please allow us to continue to teach you the joys of living. Ones like this.” Their lips claim your own in one swoop. Gentle. Affectionate. Desire filled. You feel their love for you in the kiss. The roaring of their heart. Hear the coarse blood running through their veins so clear that you could almost smell it – taste it. Sweeter than any treat; finer that any taste known to man. The blood of one that devoted their entire being to you. 

Without realizing it; you’re gripping them tight – warm fluid coating your tongue. Your teeth had pierced their bottom lip; pulling them closer to consume all that you could find. It was intoxicating.  You now knew what was slipped into your food those rare occasions, but this was different from the others. Raw. Untapped. You break once you hear a muffled moan from their lips – one far from any form of protest. 

“What am I doing….”

Charmaine looks up with a bloodied smile, gaining back the breaths you stole. Their love was skyrocketing. Seeing the horror in your eyes.

“Y/n….” The name you had chosen for yourself. Finally spoken after so long. Even with the choice most referred to you as their God. 

“Devour me….”

The purest form of human emotion lied before you. Lust. Love. Madness. Need. It waited with outstretched arms for you. Filthy, rotten. In need of a cleanse. 

Your jaws catch around their throat, cutting the arteries and sending a hot spray down your throat. Charmaine clings into you, body rutting against your own as a gurgle of delight escapes them. Shameful as it may be, they found eroticism in the act. Both psychically and otherward. To be pierced upon your teeth; wet tongue soothing the broken skin. It gave them chills. Being close to you like no other – a part of you which no force could separate. 

You place a hand over the wound on their neck, a lifeline. You slowly dip them into the pond below, waters dyed red from their bleeding neck and affection. Your mouth moved past their collar, down to the left side of their chest. That little organ; so full of emotion. Many like it had tainted you; corrupted your emptiness with feeling. You wanted to consume it. You were the only one that could without repercussion. 

Charmaine‘s heart bursts beneath your bite,  the roots traveling through the first shifting downward to make up for the holes you create. All their hopes and dreams shine clear before you. Horrible, selfish wishes none could imagine. A sick craving for you. The illness of being human. You’d swallow these passions and all like them; saving humanity from its loneliness by being the void to cast their worries into. Never asking for thanks, but receiving undying loyalty. 

Your past in paradise plagues your thoughts as you continue to leave blistering marks along their body. The beings closer to your kin turned their backs to you in your dismantled state; while these fragile creatures fell deeper in love with your ravel form. A perfect imperfection. 

You were grace. 

You were mercy. 

You were God above all. 

The only one in Eden that deserved worship though you still felt unworthy. With your feast complete, you hold a now limp Charmaine in your arms; lost in bliss in this broken state. Like a night spent with a lost love, they relish in their high and would continue to later on in their privacy. The lacerations along their body mend with new flesh that you provide, though it’s clear they’d be going nowhere for a good while. You’d tend to them as long as they needed 

Like times before, you became aware of the presences around you only after your own curiosity had reached its peak. Hundreds of eyes watched from the open doors. Fear. Envy. Infatuation. Need. These emotions and more deranged bled through the crowd. All directed towards you. 

“To have God pick your bones…. What a wonderful dream.”

“Would it hurt? It’d only be more beautiful if a little pain were involved.”

“Such jealousy and oust is wrong; but I can’t imagine a better picture that their lips against  my broken bones. Covered in my flesh.”

“Eat me too, my love!”

They spill into the room and fall to the floor beneath you; no better place in their mind. Before the new alter of God, people offered their bodies to it with desperate pleads. To feed its hunger like it fed their wills to live. Rapacious individuals with little concept for sin; dying to be apart of something greater. To keep safe what had saved them, and would continue to offer its hand out of instinct; learning more and growing from their flesh. 

 A truly mutual relationship. 

[chiclet-go-boom]

On The Nature Of My Blorbo, or: Things That Make Me Squint My Eyes Which Is Not A Good Look On Me

Look.

Emet-Selch has been alive (for some value of 'alive' and 'aware') for millennia.

It always grabs me, when I see other takes on the character, that nobody really seems to have thought about what that means.

Hades was alive for an unknown amount of time. That amount of time would not have been small, considering his people had eradicated death as an inevitability and kept it only as an option for the end of a life well lived and thoroughly loved. He was appointed as one of only fourteen voices that guided his superlative civilization, one which we could easily describe as angels in their heaven; a Seat which would not have gone to someone unqualified or untried for lack of any other option. Its very possible that Hades already had millennia under his belt before the events of the Final Days occured.

Then half his people gave themselves up to prevent calamity.

Then half the remainder gave themselves up again to bring life back to the world, to heal the devastation left behind.

Then an unknown number again sacrificed themselves to raise up a primal and broke what was left of his beloved star into bleeding fragments. And in that shattering Hades lost what little was left - including his physical existence and the very last of his people. None but two others remain. He lives now only as the irreducible essence of himself, forced to ride the flesh of lesser creatures if he wishes embodiment, to be a presence that can touch and be touched back on a mortal level.

For thirteen thousand years, Emet-Selch has eaten worlds with his two remaining brothers, using and discarding the shambling revenants of his former kin to further his goals. While it is not explicitly said, it is strongly hinted that Emet-Selch is behind every major rise to power, every "imperially inclined nation" looking to conquer and spread and subsume their rivals. He took Solus Galvus as a young man and rode him mercilessly til death, created an empire with him, sired a dynasty with him, raised up Garlemald the Oppressed into Garlemald the Oppressor and then timed the empire's destruction to an exquisite nuance.

This man who can see every unique soul, in all their colors. Who can look and know who are you are and who you were, can pick your singular essence out of the streaming chaos of millions of others as easily as breathing - and chooses over and over and over again to shove his people back into the death they'd thought they'd discarded.

He fosters conflict. He fosters outright war. He whispers to the greed for power and leads men who lead whole peoples to their doom. Wholesale slaughter on a level that is impossibly hard to grasp in its magnitude, for when the conditions are aligned just so he can strip an entire world of life in one great surge of power. He can and he does.

Hades may have been kind. Emet-Selch may not be cruel. But he is not uncertain of his purpose and he's not thinking in a human timescale. If he loses a skirmish, if his plans are thwarted or blunted as they have been time and time again for he is not unopposed, he simply steps back and sets up the pieces again. The orchestrated fall, over and over again - inevitable and implacable and relentless.

(The losses mean nothing, mere stumbling blocks to the eventual resolution. Seven times Rejoined and the Eighth a mere breath away, each time easier as experience makes for quicker work and his opponent weaker each time.)

Solus zos Galvus does not actually exist. Emet-Selch made his choice nearly a double handful of aeons ago and he has not looked back to question it since. This is how it needs to work and this is how it will be. Garlemald was raised because he needed it to fall. Allag, marvel of the Third Age, reaching heights of technology never equalled before or after, was raised because he wanted it to fall. He builds towering edifices of power and might and greed and corruption and then rot and decay because the bigger he creates, the more he wipes out in the collapse.

Do not, for the love of little green apples, tell me that Emet-Selch is second guessing himself. At all. Ever. This man is standing on a bedrock of belief that has not shifted even as the stars around him have.

You think sunk cost fallacy is a problem for you? This is the only way this works. This is how it has to be, how Hydaelyn's will can be reversed, even as he no doubt curses Venat's name for making this so difficult and tediously long to put back together.

He will bring back the world as it was, whatever it takes, regardless of how brutal and sickening it appears to be from any other perspective than his own. He will restore what was lost to us all because we are mangled and horrific in his superlative sight, crawling in our own filth comprised of fear and spite and hatred and bigotry. The clear vision of Hades that sees every injury that has ever been inflicted on our souls.

Because even now after all this time, the Final Days still calls out to all of us.

We do not know what we remember, but remember we do. Thirteen thousand years and only three remain - one lost to violence, one lost to memory and one that still holds all of it in a grip that will never let go.

------------- This post brought to you by the vague feeling of incensed outrage when I read takes on Emet-Selch that paint the guy as if he's in his early thirties second-guessing his career choice in middle management and whether hawaiian shirts are still acceptable weekend wear now that he's out of college. It drives me to the grump. The dude fucking naps for centuries because he gets bored when there's nothing to do for awhile, because civilization needs time to crawl out from under the nuke he just dropped.

Extrapolate, people! He’s spending a pile of time as a drifting consciousness in a void between worlds, held together out of literal will and an incomprehensibly deep well of magic. Emet-Selch is not out there wringing his hands in remorse, ffs. He incites individual people to a righteousness that betrays them, he leads nations to wars they will not win, he's always three layers deep into his fail-safes and he is certainly not flagellating himself at the end of every day about it.

ffs.

[owo--bot]

Loyal as a Dog // Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 30: Black Thumb

wc: 4.2k

cw: cursing, the beginning

A family's made of one, two, three, four, five? 

Humans sprout from the ground. 

Parasites are sedated at the root. 

It's a singed garden

but I'll make my family green.

I have a black thumb

so I'd rather play with weeds.

Never, not once,

has anything good sprouted from me.

But people like you have pores full of seeds.

—please

Make something beautiful grow out of me.

–2–

August 3rd. 

Mr. Draken was in awful shape. 

Awful meaning stabbed.

Sure, stabbing is immoral but it's not like it'll actually result in death. 

All he needed was medical attention.

When children play with knives, everyone always survives; the world told you so. 

Rain mixed with sweat and blood, it wasn’t a scent you’d want to buy as a candle. At this point, it was a group effort of gross proportions. 

It'd go down in history as national dirtbag day.

Or it might go down as something else entirely, who knows. 

Regardless, dirtbag day was the superior name. 

In a parking lot built for battle, puddles befriended bodies of those who'd taken one too many hits. Endurance favored some over others, in this case, every MVP still on the playing field. Though in your case, it was dumb luck that favored you instead.

"Hff, hff, hff."

Summer air felt heavy as your lungs begged for shallow breath after breath, but—it was no good. 

Adrenalin only works for so long. 

Everyone was dropping like flies. 

And you were next.

With the lifespan of a fly, a death wobble sparked your descent toward puddled territory; yet instead, an arm akin to salvation swept under yours. Renting out his shoulders as a crutch, the most reliable human in the world latched onto your side. 

You peered up at your savior and caught a glimpse of fair skin beaten blue. Anyone who went up against Sanzu was likely beaten in shades far more diverse. As if to deliver a blow of revenge, raindrops resided on his lashes, welling until they dripped beneath the weight of their kin. But most of all; 

In his current form, Sanzu was a dirtbag too. 

And he seemed just as kicked as you.

“My bad," you said, breathlessly.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You're bleeding." 

Tired eyes flickered onto lips of iron and whatever other injuries your face offered. Half of Sanzu's face was covered, but judging by the rare state he was in, he couldn't have looked much better. 

"Mr. Sanzu's bleeding too." 

Pointing at his knuckles, stained lips managed a worn out smile and through the tell of his eyes, he offered traces of one in return. 

Though not technically defeated, two more players dropped out of the game.  

In the middle of a battlefield that dwindled, Mikey harnessed the stamina of a god, still engaged with that guy. Yeah, that guy, the one with kanji on his hands looked to be having the time of his life. Due to a prior encounter you didn't take him for any more than a bench hobo but an ashtray of a human turned out to be;

A bad person.

Bad people were in abundance today.

They’ll be dead people if one of them broke your nose again. 

Bruised and beaten, a duo watched the inaudible commotion from the sidelines. That guy put on an animated performance, grinning like a weirdo, he spewed out a vocal downpour before making a backseat departure. 

Rain wept from the heavens to grace a sea of unconscious bodies. Forever bound to wet weather, a dull throbbing tugged at your wrist as one moment cut into the next.  

Tires screeched and parted water. 

You didn't have to look to know it was Mikey.

Sirens blared in the distance.

It was a melody of decay. 

"I hope Mr. Draken's okay."

"I imagine he'll be fine," Sanzu replied. 

Spoiler warning! Mr. Sanzu's always right. So yeah, despite scaring the piss out of everyone for a limited time only—he was fine. Sewn up nice and tight with his internal organs hanging out on the inside, he was on a strict diet of no-knives. Apparently, he killed every yokai and otherworldly being during his hospital stay. Considering the patient in question, it all checked out. 

With that wrapped up all nicely in a box, we're off to bigger and brighter things. 

Such as self preservation.

Click 

The front door unlocking sounded like a fire alarm. Evidence needed to be buried before your roommate opened that door. 

You're never this sloppy. 

Or at least you're never this far from the television when watching the banned genre; romance. 

With no time to spare, a poorly executed lunge left you splattered against the floor. Despite that—you could still reach. 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap. 

Powered by fear, your finger spammed to change the station at a pace the human eye couldn't register. Just before the alarm ceased you summoned your hand back, securing a flawless recovery.  

Safe. 

 "—welcome home!" 

Sanzu's gaze lingered, unmoving and stiff, as the door shut behind him. "Having fun?" 

"Nope!" you said, cheek kissed to the floorboard. 

In spite of the odd scene, Sanzu shrugged and left his shoes behind. Unfortunately, it only took a few steps before he glanced at side B of the sequence. 

"I thought you didn't like the news?"

"Right as always, Mr. Sanzu, I hate it, it's seriously the worst and-"

Peeling yourself up from the hardwood only led to betrayal. Displayed on screen was some sham of a weather-man who was presumably spreading lies as per his job description. 

"I'm plotting an assassination." A sweet smile emanated white, though if you look close enough, it may look like a vague threat. 

"Oh." A blank gaze didn’t appear particularly moved. "Well, we can't afford bail so don't get caught." 

An uncaring air only cared for heating the food left in the microwave as Sanzu moved to nuke the innards with low wattage. 

"Got it, getting caught's only for rich lameos." 

"There you go." He smiled in agreement, watching his dinner spin round and round in a transmutation of warmth. "—why are you here?" His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the creature fumbling to his side. 

"I live here." You deadpanned. 

"Try to answer that again," Sanzu said, retiring his mask to the countertop.

"Sharp as always Mr. Sanzu." You offered a dim smile. "Mr. Baji didn't have extra time to play so he skipped out on me. Super sad, huh?" 

"Heartbreaking," he replied, removing the overcooked plate from the microwave and moving to the table. 

"Uh-huh, super heartbreaking." Sitting down across the table, you nodded your head a few times in agreement. "And since my heart's so broken, that means you'll play instead, right?"

"Not tonight." Pork in hand, Sanzu countered you with disagreement by shaking his head. "I'm tired." 

Reality isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

Shadows cast by yellow lighting couldn't hide the weight of exhaustion beneath pale eyes. It's true that on average they could be described as sleepy, but this is a stretch.

"Is Mr. Muto workin' ya too hard? I'll hate him for the rest of my life if he is." 

"I know it's easier to blame others but I'm looking the issue dead in the eyes." 

Faced with a predatory gaze, you stared back quizzically and pointed to your face. "Me?" 

"Yeah, you," he scoffed. "You move too much in your sleep." 

"I'm real sorry Mr. Sanzu.” Clasped hands obstructed a pained expression. "I promise I'll make it up to ya, ‘kay?" 

"Care to tell me how?" he asked, shooting a dull stare across the table. 

"I'll just stop sleeping.”

Satisfaction dominated the curve of your lips.

It really shouldn't have.  

Imagination alone can't bypass basic human needs. Conveniently, those stuck in reality are pretty peeved with the lack of productivity. 

"I need something more reliable than that," he scoffed, waving off your master plan with the flick of his wrist. "The next time you wake me up, you'll wake up outside. How's that sound?" 

"Like I'm gonna wake up outside."

"I'm glad you came to terms with it so soon." 

"Only for you Mr. Sanzu." You said, retiring a formerly pancaked cheek to your palm. 

Silence seeped over the pair. 

It was comfortable.

It was safe. 

Adoration blurred your vision as you observed the blonde; a soft air followed him infinitely while the threat of miasma lay hidden beneath skin. You cherished both the same. Blue eyes seemed gray with boredom, a proper expression for anyone watching the news, yet even so, he couldn't break away. Sanzu's motions switched over to a commercial break with the last bite of food held close to his mouth. Finely tuned senses detected a minor threat. Thick with suspicion, his gaze sought out your next move, but you continued to stare as if watching the birth of the universe. 

"What?" He asked.

You exchanged his words for a slice of soul. 

Soul that's never once been tainted black. 

Soul that's always been spotless white. 

Clear enough to suffocate the sun, your smile conveyed it all. 

That which never changes: 

"I love ya, y'know?" Absolute as the spread of seeds on an evening breeze, your words conveyed the same mannerisms as the inherent flow of nature. 

"Yeah," he mumbled, but blue eyes were a distant dream and you were wide awake, "I know."

Conversely, the flow of nature counts on life and death and everything after. 

Like answers that always materialize the same. 

Like replies that are static to change. 

There's comfort in life, there's safety in death and as for everything after; well, it doesn't matter.

If his reply never alters, that'd be okay. 

Words are only words and Sanzu never seemed big on those.

"Congressman Ito raised 10k in the fight against hunger!!!"

The TV flashed with a side image of a fine-tongued politician who dipped his hand in prostitution, not to mention shattering noses. And besides, whose hunger is he fighting? He's not fighting yours and he's not fighting Sanzus, so who else is there? Mr. Scumbag? Aside from the weatherman, he's another fraud. Business owners should be rich, but if he enjoys playing poverty this much, then what's stopping him from stuffing his pockets with handouts?

Abusing the system is an art in some cultures.

It just so happens that you're an aspiring artist. 

Initiating blackmail v2: a comprehensive guide on how to abuse the system. 

You've been holding back until now but those days are history. The ultimate blackmail connoisseur knows the key to a scumbag’s heart is through breaking and entering.

His days are numbered and that number is one. 

Sinister intent plastered itself behind a pleasant demeanor, but if eyes are a window to the soul then the vacancy in yours worked as a tell. 

"We'd have to fill out paperwork." Sanzu said, casting his eyes over the blackmail pro whose attention hadn't once strayed from the program inciting anti-scumbag propaganda. Simultaneously diffusing the world's greatest weapon against scumbags, his hand reached out to guide your cheek and attention back to the only person who mattered. "You know why we can't do that, yeah?"

"'Cos paperwork's for suckers and we're a buncha frauds."  

"Something like that." He chuckled.

Reactivating blackmail v1: vehicles are expensive but theft is free. 

Mr. Scumbags days are a number greater than one. 

Sanzu revoked his hand and gifted you with a barren yet dirty plate. The song of habit shifted your strings in an existence driven to keep everything clean. Though some might argue to say you're driven by the penalty of your sleep habits. Either way, dishes needed to be cleaned, so you took to the sink while the drowsy blonde found content in his current position. Turning on the faucet, water pressure took a passive approach to rinsing off neglected plates and utensils–maybe this is the real reason why romance flix are banned. While they're airing, productivity plummets to 'I'll do it later' on repeat, which seems suspiciously close to brainwashing tactics. Sanzu's preemptive ban aimed to preserve your mind, but now it's gone to waste and all you have to show for it is a sink full of dishes. Sucked into mulling over topics far beyond your reach, you scrubbed to atone for your crime and scrubbed harder knowing you'll commit it again. 

As per how life typically works, a life-form who single-handedly outwitted the romance genre approached without setting off your radar. 

"C'mon." His arms wrapped around your stomach in a lazy embrace, which happened to work as a distraction from the constant ache of bruises. Out of character and seemingly affectionate, Sanzu planted his chin onto your shoulder. 

Despite outward appearances, your stomach felt sick with content. 

"What?" you asked. "I thought ya were tired?" 

"I am," scuffed words tumbled out from his mouth, "that’s why I’m telling you to hurry up."

Sanzu's track record revealed his words and actions were consistently inconsistent. 

But even if words fail, feelings don't. This has to be love. It is love. It should be love. To be bound to the other's skin. Idealism you yearned to one day see. That's why lack of reciprocation could never sting.

Even if words fail, feelings don't. 

This has to be love. 

Therefore, it is.

Or at least, you wanted it to be. 

"—oh." You beamed, placing the last dish on the rack. "I get it, ya can't sleep without me." 

"Try not to flatter yourself too much." He said. "I'm just looking forward to throwing you out." 

Sanzu let the threat out with a smile.

"What a super depressing role, huh?" you said, with an eagerness of contrary magnitude. "Oh well. I guess it's fitting for a criminal like me."

"I'm kidding." Backing off to secure the bathroom first, he added, "somewhat."

The lights in your mind switched to ON(-ish). 

"I knew ya couldn't sleep without me."

"So that's how you're going to take it? 

"Uh-huh, as ya intended." 

"By kidding I meant, I'm not looking forward to throwing you out but I am looking to get it out of the way," he said, closing the bathroom door behind him

"Hey Mr. Sanzu, your shy side's showing," you concluded, by speaking to the door. 

The typical lax speed of a nightly routine made an unexpected swerve into speedrun territory. Bare feet pattered against floorboards with a gust of urgency. 

Not one for smooth routes, the closet door lived on a busted track, but as per human tradition, violence via force slid the grating dilemma open. You tore either futon from the shelf, though at this point they've thinned out enough to be considered blankets. On average you spaced them out as much as you could manage. Not that it mattered, considering your sleep habits were predictable as clockwork. As of tonight placements altered off course, unfolding each futon you created joint sleeping arrangements, meaning 2x the room for you and ½ room for Sanzu. 

Even if he could beat you at all else, those were odds he'd never win against.

—regrettably.

With part one finalized and designated sleep clothes in hand, you swung open the washroom door, but a separate dimension dwelled within. Accompanied by an inconsistent buzz, the sole light source flickered towards a near death experience while a leaky faucet expressed its concern. It might've bordered on ominous if your roommate didn't have a toothbrush shoved in his mouth. Unphased by your arrival, Sanzu apparently forgot this was a speedrun because he continued to brush his teeth at .25x speed.

Don't be silly. 

Dental hygiene has speedrun immunity, obviously. 

Back-alley Dr. Sanzu is no dentist. 

So oral complications would be quite complicated.  

In other words: unresolved for an indefinite period of time. 

One speed run is all it takes to fall into dental despair. 

Speed dialed back down to 1x.

With one step inside of an over capacity bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush from its homelands of a cup and prepped for the battlefield that existed within you. Cavities best not dream of making you their bitch, for you're well trained in the art of a 2 minute brush technique. 

In the mirror, stood a duo, one half to each of their faces stared back. Your analysis might have been mistaken earlier; Sanzu is well over the 2 minute brush cycle. This is just overkill. He must hate cavities more than you–

No. 

That's not it either.

Upon closer inspection, heavy eyes fluttered to the border of sleeping ones. If he's one thing, it's resilient and you're here to take advantage of those circumstances.

You held the tube of toothpaste hostage; it had a crucial part to play on the impending mission. While competing against a drowsy opponent may seem immoral, don't forget—his stats are maxed out. Nothing short of a clean job would cut it. Nearly breaching past the door with one swift step, victory came within your dental-hygiene-holding grasp. 

Watching TV while brushing your teeth is what it means to enjoy the finer things in life. 

Yet, not all dreams are attainable in this form. 

Yanked back in before you even had a chance, Sanzu's stats were set too high. Despite subduing an under-leveled mortal, his face hovered over the sink as he spat out the remnants of toothpaste. Like a spider catching prey, he snagged your wrist without so much as sparing a glance. 

"No," he scolded, though a lethargic tone said his heart just wasn't in it.

Committed till the end, Sanzu rinsed off any traces of toothpaste from his mouth. 

Player one wins.

Player two lacks discipline.

Player three needs a new lightbulb. 

"I'm still no match." A loser balloon popped under pressure as you deflated accordingly. "I shoulda known sleep deprivation wasn't gonna be enough of a handicap." 

Giving up on pipe dreams of a TV x toothbrush collaboration, you shifted to arm a line of paste onto the cavity killing weapon. 

"Mm, I thought that was obvious," he said, closing the door behind him.

The lightbulb offered a farewell flicker.

Winners are loved by design. 

Left to wage gentle war onto your mouth, an era of peace followed as you swapped into sleep armor, for the next war would be an unconscious battle of dreamy proportions. Darkness greeted you upon advancing to the next battlefield while empty futons came within your sight. Faced with the mystery of Sanzu's whereabouts, the drawn out creak of a floorboard seemed to be a viable location. Turning towards it came with regret. Frozen by the chill of dread, your stomach dropped to the lower level. 

The faint glow of your television wasn’t enough to repel apartment ghosts.

Translucent skin and eyes dark as death, an entity that looked to eat mortals for dessert loomed close enough for you to be its next late-night snack. 

"Where is it?" Sanzu's voice resonated from the creature. 

It ate him, and now it's going to eat you.

"Tch." 

Tch!?

So two lives aren't enough? 

"Where. Is. It." The ghost leaned in, punctuating each word. 

Heh…ha ha.

Blame the television for offering bad visual advice. 

"I'm not exactly sure what it is you're trying to do with your face, but it's not helping." 

"I thought ya were dead." Laughter was the only device keeping tears at bay. 

"It's not that I don't believe you, but that's not what I asked now, is it?" 

You shook your head no.

"Well? Where is it?" 

"Is it…" You blinked. "Porn?"

History repeats itself, and so does that smile. No, maybe ⅔ of that smile thanks to the ongoing dilemma. 

Sleep or no sleep, soft features are a lethal weapon at his disposal.

And apparently guessing games. 

"When ya don't specify I assume it's 'cos ya don't wanna say it." You pondered but came up dry. "I'd say ice-pops, but ya ate the only one left last night so that means its gotta be…!" you trailed off, extending your palms out with a shrug, "dunno."

Sanzu opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. 

"Shit," he mumbled.

"Tell me Mr. Sanzu, what's 'it'?" 

"I'm tired." He shook his head. "Forget I said anything, yeah?" 

"I can't say no to such a sleepy face." Cupping your cheeks, you gushed while he rolled his eyes in retaliation. 

Led by the supervision of the shittiest night-light of a television, the duo took one step towards that which Sanzu needed most as they took seated refuge on the futon-blankets. 

Two seconds from tackling him, you couldn't. 

Spat on by sleep deprivation, the sight of his being opened up your chest;

As if only to be shoved full of filth. 

As if only for it to be spit back out.

It didn’t sit right.

"Why didn't ya sleep?" 

"We already went over this." 

"Sorry." Letting out a slight laugh you scratched your cheek. "But it's just—it's never been a problem before, y'know?" 

Recalibrating his focus, Sanzu rubbed his eye to keep blurred vision at bay. 

"Hm? You think I'm lying?" He asked, not sparing concern to the subject at hand.

"Not even a little bit and if I did that wouldn't be me," words flew out as if they were taking part in a race. "But I was thinking I might die from guilt if I kept ya up again."

Sanzu rolled his eyes. "You talk too much."

"I wonder if Mr. Sanzu's tryna hurt my feelings." Tuned to the strings of pitch black wonder, you tilted your head as questionable intent worked to pump through your veins. "Y'know I heard bullying is a form of love so—is this a confession?" 

With hands planted on either thigh, you leaned closer to the target of verbal ambush. 

Letting out a tsk, he pushed away your face along with the self-satisfied expression it harbored. Sharp at a glace, his eyes cast to the side to mark a period of silence while probably planning his own era of assassination.

Looking at it from a glass half full perspective; 

There were worse ways to die.

“I was referring to last night.” The fall of a lethal gaze offered attention to dead ends, with brows squished together his fingers separated strands of blonde. “We had a conversation, but as it turns out, you were asleep.”  

"That's it?" Wide eyed and vacant, you were on standby for a reply but silence responded instead. "How very unlike ya to forget Mr. Sanzu. That's not the first time ya fell for my sleep talk." 

Dead ends were more interesting than you.

Such is life.

"Hmm, did I tell ya something embarrassing? Or maybe I embarrassed ya by confessing my love-" 

Surprised by the sudden contact, a hand came down to pet your head. Glancing up, you witnessed a smile serene as early spring. Not even vaguely close to understanding, you couldn't help but smile back. 

Sanzu's gaze was light and breezy, lashes like feathers were weightless yet heavy at a glance. Despite the recent state of violent affairs, his skin loved him so it would always mend itself back together, scabs accessorized fair skin as if to convey self love.

Enveloped in darkness, he looked like the moon.

Sitting in silence, you gleamed like starlight.

"I plan on taping your mouth shut if you do it again." His smile refused to shatter as a rough hand felt affectionate. 

"I'd hate to be me in the morning." You wore a matching smile that bore just as much resilience.

The air bloomed with flowers.

But that might be the influx of air pollution talking.

From an outsider's perspective, one might mistake this as a sappy lovers’ exchange despite the sheer clash of black tongues pasted over tender demeanors. 

"C'mon." Sanzu's hand dropped to tug at yours. 

It felt like love; 

The desire to be close. 

Smushed together pillows offered support for sleepy heads. Gentle chatter of the television conversed with its own kind for thin walls are a link to every aspect of your neighbors’ lives. Bodies pressed in close and the act of smothering felt like home; a duo found peace while resting on their sides. You smiled as faint breaths tickled your face. Wrapped beneath your neck, Sanzu's hand lived on the other side as weary fingers clung to the wrinkled fabric of your sleeve. Body heat spread from him to you but as if your heart was a stream; 

The warmth of mankind spilled out from your chest. 

Amidst the nightfall of August, an apartment building fit for vermin became the center of the world, no—the universe pressed itself down to only hold him and you. Gazing up at the boy with lashes like silk, you witnessed the manner in which ethereals sleep. Fingers reached out towards a masterpiece in slumber, brushing over art etched in flesh, but with security always on such high alert his hand was quick to grab yours. A wordless exchange, Sanzu locked his fingers over yours and brought them down to his chest. Some things never change; 

And you worship the static. 

From the beginning you loved him so deeply;

All he had to do was exist. 

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

what your favorite bungou ship says about you, a shitpost

Absolutely inspired by Eldena Doubleca5t on youtube, but also because Peaches and I were talking shit about Bungou ships on a call. Manga spoilery ships under the cut if you’re an anime-only. @scalpel-mom-mori it’s your fault I’m not working on asks. 

Yosano/Poe: You think the dynamic of Bakugou’s parents was cute and underdeveloped.

AkuHigu: You kin Higuchi, and you have a crush on Akutagawa.

AtsuKyouka: You only read fluff pics, and honestly, I respect that.

AtsuLucy: Either you’re me, or you just like tsunderes in general.

Ayatsuji/Tsujimura: You have a crush on Ayatsuji, which is valid, but you also want to see the world burn.

ChuuAkiko: You’re a bottom.

ChuuTsuji: You watched that one scene in Dead Apple, you dislike Ayatsuji, but you really like Tsujimura.

Dazai/Yosano: You like poetic irony, and you also like ability related angst.

Fitz/Louisa: You just want good things for Louisa—namely, for Fitz to appreciate her.

Hawthorne/Mitchell: You could write an essay on why this pairing is gorgeous and tragic.

Kunikida/Alcott: You ship rare pairs just because they’re rairpairs.

KyouKenji: You’re here for softness and pure cinnamon rolls.

MoriKou: You want to be stepped on, but you’re straight.

Ranpo/Yosano: Childhood friends is your only valid dynamic, and also you’re a manga reader. 

Tanizakicest: You…want to get double teamed by the Tanizaki siblings.

ChuuAku: Dazai offends you on principle. Also, you want good things for Aku.

ChuuAngo: Not only does Dazai offend you, you want him to suffer.

ChuuAtsu: You want good things for Atsushi, and you’re here for the fluff.

ChuuMori: You have a vampire kink.

Dazai/Ranpo: You have a fetish for people smarter than you, and a humiliation kink.

DazAku: You kin Akutagawa.

FukuMori: Your ideal relationship dynamic is divorced parents.

FukuRanpo: …Daddy kink? But senpai-notice-me edition?

Fyodor/Dazai: You like the hatefuck dynamic of Soukoku, but either you’d be too jealous of Dazai or you think there’s not enough of the hate in the hatefuck.

KuniChuu: You just want good things for Kunikida, and you want them to bond over how much they hate Dazai.

KuniDazai: You don’t understand why people like Chuuya so much.

KuniKatai: You think Kunikida deserves a life outside of work. Also, you like the Steincraft dynamic, you just don’t like the body horror.

KuniRan: You ship because Ranpo is the only one Kunikida doesn’t bully.

OdaAku: You watched that one Dark Era scene and couldn’t stop laughing at Potato Sack!Akutagawa.

OdAngo: You consider only the first half of Dark Era canon. Also, you love the Buraiha, just without Dazai.

ODazai: You just want good things for Dazai.

RanPoe: You kin Poe, first of all, and you want a pet raccoon.

ShibuAtsu: You have a boner for Shibusawa.

Shin Soukoku: You’re a fan of the hatefuck dynamic and you want Akutagawa to stop being so emotionally constipated. Also, you ship Sasuke and Naruto.

Steincraft: You started shipping this for the crack, but at some point you started shipping it unironically and you’ve never looked back.

Soukoku: You can’t decide between your boner for Chuuya and your boner for Dazai. Ie, you’re at least half the fandom.

TachiChuu: You like the senpai-notice-me dynamic of AkuHigu, but you could do without the physical assault.

Tanizaki/Tachihara: You have a redhead fetish.

HiguGin: You just want good things for Higuchi! And you have a massive crush on Gin. It’s okay, so do I.

Kouyou/Yosano: This is the same joke as MoriKou, but you like girls.

LucyKyou: You read the chapter after Atsushi passes out, and then thought, “but lesbians” and completely forgot about him.

Lucy/Louisa: You want good things for Lucy! Also, you’re into cottage core.

TsujiHigu: Subordinates kink? You like the dynamic of gals being pals and bonding over their shitty bosses.

TsujiYosano: You like the idea of strong independent women.

YosaKyou: Mommy kink. Also, something something sharp objects kink.

KouKyou: Extra mommy kink.

Decay of Angels Trio: Russians, Russians, and more Russians. Also, you adore their aesthetic.

Tachi/Teruko: You want Tachi to suffer, which…relatable.

Fyodor/Nikolai: You have a thing for psychotic Russians, and you think the nicknames are cute.

RanpOguri: Mushi is your favorite, and you never got the hype around RanPoe.

Sigma/Nikolai: You think Sigma deserved better and you don’t like Fyodor.

Techou/Jouno: You like Soukoku, but you’re a hipster. Or you can’t stand Dazai or Akutagawa.

[morihaus]

who the hell would i tes kin. the only KIN i have is gina cross from half-life: decay ps2 co-op campaign. as expected of me

[lin-kuei-scout]

"Several bad choices have led me to this moment" + Kung Jin

buzzfeed unsolved drabble prompts

The Netherrealm… It wasn't like the place was hard to describe. You could map out its landscape,  warn about the infernal dryness and lack of moisture, underline the nauseating stench of death and decay and charred flesh that permeates the topmost layers of it, mention the perverse whispering and screaming and pleading you hear all around you, long after you leave it…

What you couldn't explain was the way it sunk into your mind, clawed at your soul, whisked away your resolve and burned at your consciousness, threatening to entrap you if you stayed too long. It was something that had to be felt to be truly understood.

And that's why Kung Jin took the dive, alone.

Part stubborn pride, part selflessness, the young kombatant researched all he could on the subject, looking for a means to get in and out undiscovered -- between dealing with Netherrealm's demons, and getting yelled at by General Sonya Blade, he could hardly imagine which one would be worse.

… Actually, he was pretty sure dealing with Raiden would be the worst of all.

But Kung Jin knew they wouldn't understand, and didn't want to understand. 

Ever since Scorpion -- Hanzo, Takeda's voice scolds him -- ever since Hanzo killed Quan Chi, everyone seemingly just gave up on the prospect of bringing the revenants back. In earnest, Kung Jin wondered if they hadn't given up far longer back than they'd ever admit.

Jackson Briggs was a fine living example of the mental torment they'd be forcing the revenants through, and he was dead for a fraction of the time the others were.

But did that mean they had to give up on saving their souls?

Jin didn't think so.

But it wasn't hard to see that outside of hope and prayer, of stubbornly trying to take back what the Netherrealm had stolen from him, he didn't have a solid plan in mind. He was just there, time and time again, observing from a distance, waiting for the time to do… something.

And maybe that's why the serrated edge of a hat's brim stops a hair's width away from the front of his foot, a masked face looking at him with a curious tilt of a head, the distorted voice that spoke to him proud and mocking, contrasting the expression of guilt cast in iron that the revenant wore.

"For a supposed thief, you don't seem to be very good at hiding."

"Uncle Lao, looking as fresh as always -- not that that's saying much." He was fifty-fifty on sticking to being cordial, and just venting his frustrations through his bitter snark as always, so he'd just sit somewhere in the middle for now. "Who said I was hiding?"

"What else would you call these dangerous games you're playing?" Lao reaches out his hand, and the hat flickers, materializing back in his hand just so that he could put it back on, fingertips running over the razor sharp edges in an obvious threat. "Not many come to the Netherrealm for recreational purposes, I'll have to say."

"Yeah, well, I'm not here for the sights." A tense swallow, and Jin offers a shallow bow of his head, not quite taking his eyes off the other for his own sake. "I wanted to talk to you, Kung Lao, without attracting the other's attention."

This does give the revenant pause, and Jin desperately wishes he could actually see the emotions hiding behind that mask, but when his elder runs his thumb over a sharp sawtooth of his hat before ultimately dropping his hand and instead crossing his arms, leaning slightly forward, he hoped he could take that as a sign of intrigue.

"Well, you've got what you wanted. Now what, exactly? Are you looking to question me? See if I'll turn on Liu Kang, as Raiden did? Share earthrealm news, maybe gossip? Genuinely hope you have brought something worth my time, young man."

"... Actually," Jin starts, but then stops, lips pursing as if he was tasting something sour, watching the other behave as he was, but at the exaggerated, arrogant huff that Kung Lao offers, Jin takes a breath and starts over. "... I was hoping I could train with you, even if just once." That halts the smugness in the other's posture, for a brief moment, and it gives Jin the mental fortitude to keep going. "It would be a great honor, Uncle Lao. Both as a follower of the White Lotus, and as your kin."

Even the constant, mad whisperings that muffled every thought in the Netherrealm seemingly quieted in that moment, and all that Kung Jin could hear was his own hesitant heartbeat -- but his face stayed honest and determined. If this one request failed, then he would have to leave, and try to think of another approach.

The question that surged, then, was would he ever get another chance to speak to Kung Lao?

"... You're actually serious, aren't you? I know everyone in this bloodline is stubborn, but this is a whole new level." Lao then takes the liberty to approach his nephew, circle him with a fighter's apprehension, and Jin does his best to not twitch. "Who goes to the Netherrealm for a spar? Willingly? Alone? Does anyone else know you're here? Would anyone miss you, if I killed you here?"

"When you put it that way, it does sound like a bad idea, huh. Who would've known?" Jin thinks of testing how far he can stretch his snarky attitude, but ultimately drops it when Lao comes to a full stop in front of him, still silent, and anxiety spurs him to keep talking. "Look, several bad choices have led me to this moment, Kung Lao, but I don't regret a single one of them. I am here under my own volition. If anyone else knew I was doing this, well… it wouldn't be the first time they'd berate me."

Bitterness sneaks into his tone, and Jin clenches his fists. He knows they mean well, but he can't deny that he only acts out as he does because no one trusts him to begin with. You'd think talking down the Emperor of Outworld would show you were more than a hot-headed punk, and yet --

"Now you're just trying to make me feel bad. Have to say, that's a new approach."

Jin huffs, rolling his eyes at the revenant. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I'm just saying. I came here alone because I respect you, and I wanted to see if there was any chance you could train me. If you're not interested, I can leave you alone."

"Who said I wasn't interested?" The hard poke to Jin's chest, forcing him to stumble half a step back as the meaning of that reply hit him. He was hoping for it, yes, but admittedly he didn't think he'd be actually hearing it. "If you actually respected me, you'd stop assuming things on my part."

"... Sorry, didn't mean to imply anything either way. Does that mean --"

"It's not like I have anything better to do, being stuck in Hell and all." The voice means to be scathing, Jin is sure, but he can hear genuine entertainment ring through it, a small sense of pride at being sought out. And Jin could understand why. While he himself was stuck in Kung Lao's shadow in life, he could hardly imagine what it would be like to be stuck in Liu Kang's shadow even in death.

"Thank you, Uncle Lao. You won't regret this."

"Oh, I know. You might, however."