#honestly its a fun challenge to like

[invisible-b0nes]

Life is Short CPI-Ify your club penguin ocs

[carameatea]

Poster Boy

[definitelynotshouting]

saw this post assigning devastating quotes to each life series members, got incredibly inspired, and decided to try my own hand at it but specifically with snippets of the poetry ive personally written throughout the years :] thoughts and musings on several of my choices will be under the cut if you're interested in that sorta thing!! Enjoy<3

Bdubs: "it's all so blue. so blue, so wet, so cold, but you've got a fire in your heart like a hundred rockets. you aren't hungry, but you could eat the dead, / cut your teeth on a rotting corpse."

BigB: "SOMETHING HAS FRACTURED HERE AND IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. EACH DAY YOU WILL CHASE THE FAULT LINES LOOKING FOR A BRIDGE ONLY TO FIND IT ALREADY BURNT."

Etho: "I am above myself, hovering, pressing pale fingers into the dull bruise of yesterday to test its lingering ache. Is this all that's left?"

Gem: "what are gods if not the mothers of our own inventions. we are the avatars of violence and love and hope and fear in equal measure."

Scar: "I think I want to live. I know one day, I must die. In the cosmic wheel of fortune, I am a gamble in the making, gentle breath washing a little luck over the dice."

Grian: "Within the shape of my clawed fingers are knives: scrabbled dirt; scarlet lines; the escape route / Between a fence and / Tall grasses."

Impulse: "Life's bitter, stilted offering / Is that every person we meet / Will one day become a perfect stranger."

Martyn: "Dangerous beasts must earn / Their survival. / You are no different than a knife / In the hands of murderers."

Lizzie: "When I think of the egg-tooth, / I revel in purple glass; the lightning; the shatter; the knife-slip between / Death, and a wake."

Mumbo: "This is your life now, / Found in the cracks and crevices, scraps pried between laughter and reckless abandon."

Pearl: "I am begging, raw in the face of absolution— do not hate me. Please, keep watering me in your garden, / Despite how closely my heart resembles a weed."

Ren: "— and sometimes hearts are forged in violence /— and sometimes blood cannot form scabs / — and sometimes wounds carry half-hearted sutures / — and we are all but living fragments / —"

Skizz: "Just a little longer. Please. / There is light pooling at the bottom of the flower vase."

Scott: "I can only hope that with the rising of the dawn / I will pass through darkness and return to day, / Where I am a solar ray blinding— teeth and claws sharpened, the stretch of my skin carrying gold / Above the dull, dug out earth"

Joel: "Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; / Yes, there is a loss."

Jimmy: "for year after bloody year, i clung to life with aching fingernails, grasped at every straw, took every scrap of double-barrelled hope and shot myself in the chest with it."

Tango: "every time you claw yourself from the ashes you insist it will never happen again. every time you reach the breaking point, it happens a little bit faster."

Cleo: "It's about catharsis, not letting go. / Because a part of me wants to hold this, / A swelling hurt deeper than tides, / Hotter than stars. The kind of rage / A mother might raise against her own child."

I dont share my poetry on here very often, partially because it tends to end up coming from a very personal part of me, but since this was actually a lot of fun maybe i'll start posting my poems more often here :]] i think what i found most interesting about this exercise was that as i scrolled my notes app and cherry-picked quotes for each character, it felt like the ones i chose naturally became part of a larger conversation-- as if the characters were speaking to me through my own words about their lowest points, about their ultimate views on the games filtered through the lens of a red life.

It felt enlightening; i dont often feel like im speaking to characters or being informed about their plots/preferences, etc. the way many other writers discuss in workshops or casually online, but by the end of this exercise i felt like i just... understood them, better than i had before. There's something inexplicable about reading your own words and consciously finding ways to apply them in a way that encapsulates them down to a character's core that just... truly highlights the specific qualities that resonate most with you. And i think stumbling upon that organically was a very vivid and incredible experience for me

Admittedly, i did struggle on Scott, Ren, and Etho a lot-- im not as familiar with them as characters, and for a while i couldn't quite pinpoint what exact themes they tend to carry with them throughout all their life seasons. But when i started to really look at everyone's quotes as a whole, i realized they felt like a story, like the response to a question-- as if i was being TOLD what they felt and how, and that that was how i needed to frame the rest of my selections. So Scott's ended up being about control, and the desperate hanging onto of it; Ren's is about the acceptance and bitterness of what he cannot change; Etho's is a quiet resignation rounded out with softer disbelief. The more i looked at these choices, the more they felt correct to me-- and while i still think i have a ways to go before i fully understand these characters, i feel like this has helped me a lot with that ultimate goal :]

Of all these poetry snippets, though, i think Scar, Skizz, and Joel's are my absolute favorites. Skizz's poem is actually the whole poem in its entirety (as is Cleo's, funnily enough)-- it's a short, very simple poem that is incredibly close to my heart for many reasons, but the main one being because it was written at one of my lowest points a few years back. Its about clawing for hope when there isnt any, and finding even the smallest of beautiful things to hold onto, and begging yourself to keep holding onto that at any cost. The pure, clean beauty of watching light refract through a vase of flowers, and knowing that sometimes, that's all there is to live for-- I felt like that really spoke to Skizz's life series character as a whole: finding the beauty in every tiny thing, no matter how small, and scrabbling for more time to appreciate it.

Scar's snippet comes from a much longer poem of mine about the difficulty of reconciling the idea of a future when you havent had to think of one before (incidentally, Etho's snippet comes from this poem as well). I think out of everyone, this quote encapsulates him the best; i like how it subtly references that inner well of vivacity he draws from that many other characters struggle to find, and how that in turn ties in with the lore that he never died a final death during Secret Life. And i love how it simultaneously manages to encompass the way he utilizes the social game in each season as well-- Scar's an incredibly intelligent social player, and i think the imagery of a gambler breathing their luck over the dice as they cast it, and as he casts himself at others for alliances and enemies, truly does fit him.

As for Joel, the full poem his quote comes from is one im particularly proud of, especially for its final lines. I think, quite honestly, i can let this poem stand for itself in its entirety:

They say transformation is letting the light in, But in my mind it's a violence. A coarseness, a fracturing, the bloody vowels between a scream And a howl. How do you transform without killing yourself? When I am a lion, my hands and feet Grow claws; my teeth sharpen. No longer do I spark— I ignite. Tamed by nothing, no one, I lose myself to the shattered chains; Yes, there is a loss. To transform is to leave behind a body And eat its still-breathing corpse.

I find myself referencing this poem a lot even in my daily life-- as longterm readers of mine already know, one of my favorite themes is that of replacing yourself and permanent transformation. This poem really is just about how changing, in any shape or form, alters you forever; how you can look back on yourself from even just a few months ago and feel like a completely different person despite remaining the same. Connecting it with Joel's character, and how he acts during his red lives in each season, was a natural and intuitive progression once i really sat and thought about it.

Alright thats enough yapping from me 😂😂😂 im not used to writing meta nor delving into my poetry on here, so this was a bit of an experimental post for me. If youve read up until this point, i both applaud your patience and really hope you enjoyed this window into my personal works and thoughts on them :]] cheers, and thanks to @/chipperchemical the op of the original post for inspiring me!!!❤️❤️❤️

[muchmossymess]

okay but the unexplored potential of a revali and purah dynamic

revali is so keen to be the best of the best and push himself past all conceivable limits, and purah wants to find the limits of sheikah tech and magic only to barrel past them and nearly become god

so one day, purah comes to revali "how high can medoh fly?" and he pauses bc he hasnt thought about that much, which he realises is asinine how has he not thought of taking her higher "well her resting altitude is x but its possible to go higher, though i dont know her limits" and they just look at each other bc well now they have too know-

and it continues like that, purah coming to revali with questions about medoh or the rito or his wind magic or eventually just requests for assistance "i need you to fly this up there for me, clear out this monster camp, ect ect" and revali loving the attention and the chance to show off, and that hes able to prove himself as truly better (he often tries to rope in the other champions to compare) and purah is loving all the data and the chance to work so closely with a pilot and they both compliment each others personalities quite well, both sassy and intelligent and where purah is overbearing and bubbly revali is insecure and sulky

anyway this is all pre calamity stuff, i want them to be very good friends and cause chaos together and push each other to constantly better each other, and purah would scoff at revalis creative insults but internally laugh and file them away to use later, and revali may act uninterested when purah talks for hours about conclusions shes come to and different approaches they could take hes actually paying complete attention and thinking of ways to use this knowledge in piloting or training

[werewolf-w1tch]

finally finished the dtiys that @ask-the-cat-cafe is hosting! honestly wasn't sure i'd make the deadline with finals crunch lmao

[soundleer]

me when im sprunki brained but miis are in my veins hehehehegegegehe

no thoughts only gay people hehehehebejdhrje

+ old screenshot of jebin kart riding

[dizquized]

FOR YOUR OWN SANITY, do not look in the tags, dont do it. its not worth it. a demon possessed me or something, i dont know.

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

''After everything, the Hollow Knight's efforts may not have been entirely in vain...''

aaaaaand chapter 10! the grand finale!!!

Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this fic! Hope you enjoy <3<3<3

[whumble-beeee]

Tortured? I Was Tortured Once.

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 5

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references, torture, threats, begging, blood

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[{When hero-keeping in the short term}... it's imperative to do everything in your power to keep your identity a secret; wear a mask to hide your face, cover as much of your body as possible to minimize the amount of prints, hair, or other forms of DNA/evidence you could leave behind at the scene. Use a voice modulator, and if you can help it, don’t even be in the same room with the hero when they are conscious. Most importantly, do not tell the hero any identifying details about yourself, your loved ones, or your past.

This is solely to protect you, the dastardly villain! Should the hero ever escape or decide to take revenge (not that a hero would ever dare, as long as you follow the instructions in this guide!), you want to make it nigh impossible to find you and hurt you, lest they turn you into their captured villain!]

* * * * * * * *

“Alright!” Deeby clapped his hands together, chipper than ever. “So, back when I was in the early days of my job, I sometimes made some… questionable choices. Dangerous ones. Not that what I do isn’t dangerous, I can handle the dangers of the job. I mean I fucked with the wrong people. Powerful people. Not in the sense of… y’know, what you have. Super-powers. I mean like they were like a crime lord or CEO, lotta money, lotta power… God, I was a fucking idiot. But hey, live and learn, right?”

He brushed at Stan’s cheek to ease his attention up and away from the floor, where it had been firmly located since the start of the monologue. Stan just leaned away slightly and tried not to let his burning eyes brim over into tears. “I’m still here, right? Still kicking, so I must have done something right.”

“Unfortunately…” Stan mumbled.

“Repite?”

“Nothing.”

Deeby tilted his head matter-of-factly. “Look, if you’re gonna be defiant, at least do it loud and proud, bud.” He ruffled Stan’s hair much too aggressively for Stan’s liking.

“Might actually respect you if you did that. Anyway, I’m sure you can figure out what basically happened after that; I got hired to rough up some asshole’s waste-of-space trust fund kid, gave him back with a couple bones broken and a couple extra bullet holes, but he was fine, then daddy got mad and managed to find me somehow, and here’s where it gets really interesting, bud. You wanna know what this chain’s for?”

He reached up and jangled the metal loops reaching down from the ceiling, and the chain shifted just enough to barely nudge into Stan and nearly send him careening backward again from fear.

“Uh…” He’d been doing his damndest to ignore the mercenary and retreat into himself, and was actually half succeeding right up until the required audience participation. The question just served to jarringly rip him back headfirst into the painful and hopeless despair of the present situation. “Not–... Not really…”

“Sucks to be you then, I guess. So I get knocked out and kidnapped, and I wake up in this, like, fucked up white-tiled torture room with like a drain in the floor and suspicious cabinets and all that, and then I'm strung up in the center of the room–...”

He grabbed Stan's arms and wrenched them up all the way above his head, so his wrists were together in Deeby's hands and held flush with the chain. Then he pulled up even more. Stan squeaked and briefly struggled to tug away, but quickly fell into pliable stiffness under the mercenary’s warning stare. So instead, he stretched as tall as he could, shoulders pressing the sides of the collar into his neck to try and relieve the tension. It didn't really work.

“...–Like this. So I was literally hanging from the ceiling from my wrists, feet barely even touching the ground, cuffs grinding into my wrists so bad they were already bleeding when I woke up, it hurt like shit. Hold your arms up there, would ya bud?”

Deeby let go of Stan's wrists and he immediately pulled them back into his sides. No way he was holding himself in a torture position. No way.

That was until the mercenary regrabbed his wrists and slammed them back up into the chain, leaning down slightly and getting way too close to Stan’s face. He could feel the body heat radiating off the man.

Stan leaned away as much as he physically could, which wasn’t much with his arms holding him excruciatingly erect.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” Deeby growled, not a trace of his usual smile highlighting his fiery eyes. “Hold the position or I’ll lock your handcuffs up there just like they did to me and we can roleplay it exactly as it played out. You wanna do that instead?”

Stan managed a minuscule shake of the head. He was sure he’d be able to feel the bounty hunter’s breath on his face if it weren’t for the mask.

“Speak up, runt.”

“G-got it,” Stan breathed.

Deeby more tentatively let go of Stan's wrists this time, an unnecessary precaution, since Stan grasped the chain and held onto it for dear life so as not to anger him further.

This isn't so bad. He lied to himself, Deeby mercifully backing up to more than inches away from his face. At least there aren't any flashbacks now. Just have to hold the chain.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

He held up his fingers to create a fake camera frame around Stan. As if he knew exactly what picture he wanted to paint with Stan's body.

“So I woke up like that, hanging by the wrists, and of course I recognized the guy because I do my research, y'know? So I woke up and I already knew exactly what was happening. He tried to monologue at me, I bantered back, the guy was getting all pissy because I guess I was too smug or whatever. And… well, I forgot to say, when I woke up, they'd taken off my shirt–”

Deeby started to twiddle at the top button on Stan's button-down and, with an amount of force that surprised the both of them, Stan slapped his hand away and nearly toppled to the ground jumping backward.

“Don't touch my shirt!” he yelped. He tripped over the chain that anchored him to the corner sending spirals of agony out from his knee again before he stabilized himself and stared at the mercenary in abject terror.

Deeby stared back in disbelief. Then a flash of danger, a slight tilt of the chin, furrowing of the eyebrows, a tensing of the shoulders.

“You… really don't know when to quit. Do you?” he growled.

Stan took another small limp back. “I–”

“I'm not gonna take your shirt off.” Stan barely withheld the primal urge to fully turn around and run when the mercenary surged forward, grabbed Stan by the chain of the handcuffs, and yanked him forward. The southern twang rang so hopelessly clear through his wrathful voice. “I am many unsavory things, but a perv ain't fuckin’ one of 'em. Get back over here and stay before I kick your ass again.”

Then once again, Stan found himself with his arms pinned above his head and flush against the chain. Though this time, the mercenary clamped his hand over Stan's own, pressed them in so hard that Stan's fingers smushed painfully between the chain links. He didn’t even try to struggle. Just tried to shrink away from his towering presence and keep his eyes on the floor. Not let Deeby see the redness of his eyes that threatened tears.

“So, Stan, whaddya think they did to me next?” Deeby questioned, humor all but gone from his voice. “Strung up, shirt off, completely helpless and at their mercy. What would you do if you were a sick sonofabitch getting revenge on the person who tortured your son?”

Stan stared off to the side. “I… I don't…–”

“Oh come on, bud, you must have some sort of idea. Can't think of a single way you'd hurt–”

“No, no, no no nononoNO!” Stan mutter bordered on shouting as he started trying to yank his hands out of the mercenary’s grasp and only succeeded in yanking them hard enough that he was being held up solely and much more painfully by the cuffs themselves.

He couldn't take this anymore, was Deeby gonna torture him or not?

“I can't think of a single way I'd wanna torture someone! I'm not some– some freak sadist kidnapper-torturer like that guy! Or like you!!”

Deeby hummed lightly, unfazed by yet another one of Stan's outbursts, holding the cuffs firm. “You'll learn.”

Stan growled and yanked again, hard enough that when they didn't give it all, he actually lifted into the air slightly. He cried out from the bite of the metal digging into his wrists and scraping into the top layers of skin. A few drips of blood started to pool on the surface.

If Deeby noticed the scarlet now smeared across Stan's wrists, he didn't show it. He just pulled the chain of the cuffs up further. Stan's elbows locked straight up, pressing into the side of his head. He almost had to go up on his tiptoes.

“Besides,” the hunter continued nonchalantly. “What he did to me isn't what I would do to you, if I were to torture you.”

“IF!?” Stan groaned, trying another weak yank against the cuffs and sending small lightning bolts of pain down his arms. “What do you mean ‘if’?! What–… What do you call this?”

Deeby shrugged. “Foreplay?”

Stan froze dead in his tracks. He could physically feel all the blood leaving his head and rushing down straight to his feet. Foreplay? As in… There was… Ge wouldn't, right? There was no way.

“Y-you–...” He could barely even get words to form properly, barely able to suck in enough air to even speak. “You–... Wait, you–”

“Cálmate, Stan, Christ, it was a joke. Loosen up. Wanna know what I would do, though?”

“Ah…”

His head felt like it had just been dunked underwater. Or maybe that was the concussion coming back haunt this waking nightmare once more. Who’s to say? Why not both, make it a party.

And yet, Deeby still leaned down to whisper in Stan's ear; “There's a reason I put the leash chain on your good leg.”

Before Stan could react, Deeby leaned back on his heels and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling with him, unbalancing Stan just enough that he had to try to take a step forward to readjust, except the fetter on his ankle caught on the very end of the leash. He couldn't get his good leg under himself for support. Which left–

Stan let out a yelp as his full weight fell onto his injured knee, shooting rivulets of pain all the way up to his spine. And couldn't shift his weight off of it with how to chain dragged him out, so when his knee immediately buckled to save himself from the screeching pain, he had the new problem of the cuffs knawing into his already bloody wrists, which made him scream again and claw desperately at the chain and the hand holding him up until he was death gripping the chain in a half pullup. His arms were already shaking from the strain of it.

“DEEBY!!” He choked out. “Deeby! Deeby please stop, stop, I can't AUAGH–” He slipped and spent agonizing moments flailing before he got another hold again, moments in which Deeby didn't let up at all, despite Stan's amiable requests.

“Deeby you said–!” he could barely squeak out a phrase through the tear-blurred vision and gasping breaths and the sheer amount of concentration it took to focus through the already horrible aches and agony the clench onto the chain and hold himself up and not make it worse. “You said no torture! You– you said–! Let go! You said you wouldn't–”

“I said I wouldn't hurt you if you did what I told you to.” Deeby retorted nonchalantly, pulling back on the chain just a bit more and wrenching Stan even more off balance. “Which you didn't.”

“Let go–!” Stan tugged as hard as he could. No give.

“Repeatedly.”

“I can't–” Stan's voice cracked. His hands were on fire clutching onto the cold metal links. “I can't hold this, I can't, I can't, please let go-o, it– it hurts! Please!”

“That's the point, bud, it's a stress position. It stresses you. You’re doing great, chiquito, taking it like a champ.”

Little droplets of blood left bright red tracks down Stan's forearms as whines squeaked out from behind his gritted teeth in place of the full blown screams he refused to let out.

“I hate you.”

“Tell you what, bud. If you can shut up for just 30 seconds, no whines, no cries, no begging or grand sweeping declarations of feelings, I'll let you down. Deal?”

“That’s–!”

“Take it or leave it. Deal?”

“Deal–! Deal!”

“Great, now mouth-shut.”

Stan immediately squeezed his lips together as violently as possible and focused every single fiber of his being into holding himself up, keeping off his bad knee and not letting the cuffs scrape his arms to bone while also not squeaking in pain or cursing Deeby out. That may have been the hardest part of the entire balancing act. His muscles burned with the strain. His hands started to slip on the chain from the sweat, so he gripped harder, hard enough that his hands started to go numb. That was fine. Less pain, right? Was thirty seconds over yet? Stan just had to pray that Deeby would keep his word this time and actually only do thirty seconds. God he would give anything to just go home. See his family again. Be out of this hell.

Then a new, perfunctory voice shattered his fragile concentration. He'd been so laser focused hadn't even noticed someone else enter the room.

“Oh, did I interrupt an intimate moment? I can come back in ten minutes if you two wanna finish up.”

Stan’s grip slipped on the chain and he cried out, catching himself after an agonizing centimeter fall and praying to anyone that would listen that Deeby wouldn’t get mad at him for it. Though Deeby didn't seem to care too much anymore as his own grip holding Stan's cuffs loosened and a small growl ementated from the bottom of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Then Stan was suddenly freed, cuffs no longer held in the iron grip of a bounty hunter, and he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

[luck-of-the-drawings]

AND AS IT TURNED OUT, THE THINGS THAT WERE ALONGSIDE ME FROM THE START, REMAINED THERE FOR ME ALONG THE WAY. [inspired by my stuffed rabbit, violet. also inspired by the sunrise of a new day. and inspired by this crazy cool album art]

[gaysaito]

day 12 tomorrow im going to die

[good-beanswrites]

Hello!! If you're still taking requests for that drabble game, might I request either Strength with Kotoko + Mikoto or Weak with Amane + Futa? It's fine if you aren't doing it anymore, of course

I've been in this fanbase since trial one and out of all the things I've read, your writing is probably amongst my favorite! (Even if I haven't finished going through it all yet...) I hope you have a splendid day! <3

!!!!! You are so kind waaahh this completely made my day, thank you ;---; I'm so glad you're enjoying omg ✨And thanks for these, they were really cool and fitting combos!! I tried to do a dual-perspective of Kotoko and Mikoto's pre-T2 fight, and I posted the one for Weak below.

Strength can manifest in a variety of ways, not just physically. Kotoko had a strong determination, for example. Mikoto had a powerful way with people. She showed solid self control and willpower. He held to strict deadlines and routines. She maintained a sharp intelligence. He upheld an unshakeable resolve.

Also, they were both ridiculously physically strong.

The pair came to this realization around the same time. They’d gotten a taste of the others’ power when clashing in the interrogation room, but it had begun suddenly and ended just as quickly. This time was different. They stood in the center of the panopticon, with the echoing space to themselves. As Kotoko swung a punch toward Mikoto, and he caught her against his forearms, they had a moment to gauge the other’s muscle. 

Kotoko stared into his eyes, which had a different sort of awareness to them now. He’s more coordinated, she thought, he must not be the same one I faced before. He’s leaning on the strength in his arms -- he’s not using his legs to their fullest potential. It doesn’t matter, given the raw force of his blows. Has he trained for fights, or just built his muscles in general? 

Mikoto stared into her eyes, returning her fiery gaze. Fuck, this lady’s strong.

She wound up again. He retaliated quickly. She shoved his back into the guard’s tower. He sidestepped her next attack. 

He didn’t really care why his fellow prisoner had come charging at him swinging, but she made sure he knew.

“The warden may not be able to administer punishments,” she said in between timed breaths, “so they entrusted me with that responsibility. This is justice, for the lives you’ve taken. You won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

He broke into harsh laughter. “You’re one crazy motherfucker! You’re the only person hurting anyone.” He tried to grab her, but she slipped from his arms. His eyes narrowed, laughter dying away with unsettling speed. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you hurt me.”

Kotoko was struck by the way he said it. Her voice had shaken with the very same determination when putting herself between an innocent citizen and some creep. It was how she felt now, trying to keep his violent hands away from the other prisoners. There were children here, weak and scared. Es themself was just a child, and had already suffered his violence. She refused to let this villain cause any more pain. “I’m doing what needs to be done. You’re nothing but a murderous monster.” She swung her fist.

Mikoto caught her by the wrist, forcing her to look at the blood caked in her hand. He didn’t know whose it was, but it wasn't either of theirs. “You’re the fucking monster!” He shoved her backwards. “And I’m gonna kill you for it…!”

He didn’t know how she could think she was the hero in this whole situation. He was the one protecting someone else. 

Neither held back. Mikoto wheezed as her boots connected. Kotoko cringed as Mikoto landed a solid hit on her face. There was some shouting from the hallway. Their resolves hardened. Mikoto wasn’t going to let anyone else threaten him. Kotoko wasn’t going to let him threaten anyone else. They were strong, they reminded themselves. They had to end this now.

The two charged at one another. A moment before they were set to collide, they both cried out in pain. Blinding white light flooded the dark panopticon. They clutched their eyes, stumbling away from one another. A figure shoved through, planting himself between them.

“Stop this, both of you!” It was Kazui.

“Get outta my way,” Mikoto growled.

“This is not your concern,” Kotoko said, blinking in the light. 

The spotlight in the guard’s tower had been switched on, pointed directly at them. Kazui remained in place. “That’s enough. Look at yourselves, for god’s sake!”

Under the harsh light, they now saw the sort of state they were in. Mikoto’s uniform had torn in new places, blood seeping through. He could taste some in his mouth, too. Kotoko’s face was cut. Her leg ached. They stood covered in bruises, panting. 

“Go back to your cells,” Kazui commanded. “We’ll sort this out in the morning.”

Kotoko squared her shoulders. “There’s nothing to sort out. He’s a murderer. I won’t lose to him.”

“This bitch tried to kill me. I’m not letting her get away with it.”

“I don’t care.” Kazui said simply. “Call it a draw. You’ll both tear yourselves apart if you keep going.”

They continued staring at one another as if their gaze alone could take them to the ground, but neither moved to fight. 

Mikoto felt a pang of guilt. Lost in adrenaline, he didn’t realize how banged up he was. He thought of how much pain he’d experience in the upcoming days. The whole point was to save himself from harm. 

Kotoko cursed Kazui for interrupting her. As one of the forgiven, he was supposed to be on her side. Even if he wasn’t honorable enough to see her as an ally, she’d have to be the bigger person. She wouldn’t threaten him. 

Neither was happy about conceding, but couldn't think of a better option given their end goals.

Kazui remained between them as they stalked off to their respective cells.

“A temporary draw,” Kotoko muttered to Mikoto. She flashed a grin that felt more like an animal baring its teeth.

He returned the smile. “You won't be so lucky next time.”

[sheepmacaron]

Some fusion goats that I've done for fun!!!

[transmasc-malleus]

after playing kh1 and kh2 to basically completion (still working on kh2) i think my view has changed and kh1 is now my fav kingdom hearts game.....kh2 has fallen from its throne.........

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

surprise fic is now over 30K

[alicenpai]

BABES WAKE UP. DUNGEON MESHI TRAILER DROPPED

come talk to me at anime north tomorrow about dungeon meshi im all caught up 🥹🫶

seeing this tankobon obi from a while back with the anime announcement on it feels so nostalgic now!!!

edit: Lines in Motion is so real for this one. love their video essays