#in a way the new house distinctly doesn't

[wodimewoahtime]

i should transfer my twitter posts onto tumblr..... the way i type is already incompatible with the X dot com word limit...... i type every twt post like it's for tumblr anyways!!!!!

[thesummerestsolstice]

I've already shared several of my Elrond in Valinor headcanons, but here's another one: by the beginning of the Fourth Age, so many fragmented stories about Elrond have made their way to Valinor that no one is sure what's real and what's fake.

Some people insist that he speaks Quenya with a decidedly Feanorian accent, while others are sure that he was taught Quenya by Gil-Galad after leaving the Feanorians' custody, and speaks with the same, somewhat nondescript accent instead. Galdor absolutely insists that Elrond spoke Quenya just like Turgon– with an accent that was traditional, but very much not Feanorian.

On the topic of Gil-Galad, some insist that they were friends, but others say they were uneasy allies– partners in crime, says Oropher, but no one listens to him. Gil-Galad made Elrond his herald because he didn't trust Elrond with a higher position– or because he trusted Elrond so much that he refused to let anyone else speak for him on diplomatic matters. Maybe they hated each other. Maybe they loved each other. At least one elf insists that they were, in fact, the same person. (no one puts much stock in that last theory, but still!)

Elrond is a healer, that's clear, but how he heals is a matter of fierce contention. People say he uses healing songs, but if he does, they aren't normal songs of power– none of the Valinorian healers seem to be able to use his songs for healing, and some of them aren't even in an elvish language. Then there are the stories about "healing the wounds of the fea," something that most people say must be some latent Maia power, but when this healing is described, it seems to be mostly just... talking? And medicine, sometimes, but no one can imagine how those things might heal a soul. At least one elf claims to have had her leg sewn back on by Elrond, and most think she's just exaggerating, but so many strange, seemingly-impossible stories about Elrond's healing powers have been told that no one's really sure anymore. (Also, apparently he's also a warrior too? Doesn't fighting usually mess with healing powers??)

Also, several elves have been very clear that Elrond is, in fact, nearly indistiguishable from any other elf, aside from slightly rounder ears. But no, others are absolutely certain that there is something distinctly mannish, in his face, in his body, in the way he moves. And that's not even getting into all the stories of his strange, Ainuric power, or the moments when he seems to be something else entirely. He's a very normal Peredhel, or sometimes he has wings, or you'd think he was any other Sindar, or stars glimmer in his hair, or he looks so Noldor that no one could ignore it. Or the fact that no one can agree on who it is he most looks like– Luthien, Turgon, Earendil, Elwing, Tuor, Melian.

So by the time Elrond shows up in Valinor, you'd best believe that everyone is waiting at the docks, mostly to find out what this "Elrond Peredhel" is actually like, and how many of the rumors they've heard about him are true.

(They all then get ambushed by Bilbo Baggins while Elrond goes to find a nice valley to build a new homely house in.)

[togglesbloggle]

Insofar as I have a principled position on the matter- and I don’t, not really- it’s this: art does have the ability to alter our values and our way of interpreting the world. It’s absolutely a live grenade, and should be taken seriously as such.

Like, of course it does! Probably you can point to some book, some film, some story somewhere that touched you not just deeply but irrevocably. There are moments of aesthetic experience which give a before and after to our lives, just as surely as moments of extraordinary suffering or extraordinary joy can.

I’m lucky enough to have more than a few I can list off, personally. Profoundly transformative ones like Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited or the music of John Cage, sure. But maybe even more interesting (tractable?) to me were small moments of grace like the one I found in the Dragonlance novels by Weis and Hickman: the dark wizard Raistlin Majere wove back and forth across the line between ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ in exactly such a way that, after reading his books at a young age, I immediately and quite distinctly overcame my fear of the dark.

What a wonderful thing for a book to do! I’d be hard-pressed to explain exactly how, if only because I’m such a different person now than I was then. Perhaps your own intuition will bridge the gap a bit. It was all tied up with this distinction between good and evil, you see, and with the ability to stare in to the face of evil things without flinching, to understand that they have contingency and history just like good things do, and to be in some sense in community with them.

That was a long, long time ago, and I don’t think my model of the world even has evil in it any more, not in the sense that I believed in it then. But my fear of the dark never came back, either.

I don’t believe for a minute that Weis and Hickman had any idea that they were giving me that gift in particular, nor did they have any sensible means to achieve such a goal even if they somehow wanted to. It wasn’t a transformation mediated by intent, you know? It didn’t reduce to an argument that I believed or disbelieved in some intellectual way, or to some specific controlled experience that the authors had planned for me.

Art is transformative, but not in the way that effective polemic is transformative. It doesn't (principally) reason with us or persuade us. Rather, I think art is dangerous for the same reasons that travel to a foreign country is dangerous, or a friendship with somebody new is dangerous. It threatens us by expanding our conscious history to include new categories of experience, that is, by changing the context in which we go about the business of living.

It's wrong to think of art mostly as a tug-of-war dragging hapless consumers from one ideology to another, with the victory going to whichever faction can fill the algorithm with mass-produced and doctrinally compliant stories clamoring endlessly for their views. Normalization has its power, don't get me wrong, but there will always be far greater power in a single glimpse over the horizon.

Think about Whoopi Goldberg's account of seeing Nichelle Nichol's Uhura on television:

“Well, when I was nine years old Star Trek came on. I looked at it and I went screaming through the house, ‘Come here, mum, everybody, come quick, come quick, there’s a black lady on television and she ain’t no maid!’ I knew right then and there I could be anything I wanted to be.”

Once. It took one time, and the walls fell away, and everything was possible. The fashions and approved styles may come and go with the seasons, but the outer perimeter of our experiences, and the sense of what the world could be, can only ever grow, and sometimes it grows by leaps and bounds in an instant.

I guess this is why I tend to think of censorship and control over media as basically quixotic. Sure, with enough energy you can control what's normal and what's public, but controlling what's possible is an exercise in futility on a grand scale. You can never win that fight, only lose it fast or slow.

We all have this remarkably unpredictable collection of soft places and hard places: some things in us that deform to match the shape of their environment, and other things that break us before they can bend. And we all try to find a way to make these strange shapes work within the limits of our own experience and the world as we understand it. Some of us thrive in communities and cultures where others die gasping, and some of us spend our entire lives trying to smash through excruciating barriers that others can't even detect.

Art is one of the things that expands those limits, gives the strange creature inside us a little bit of room to stretch and grow and find a space for the hard bits to arrange themselves as they need to be. But it can't do that without changing the soft parts as well, because the soft parts need external force to maintain their shape. Socialization and ideology can only weakly bind us, because they rely on deliberate and conscious pressures to conform; ignorance is stronger, because it denies us the choice altogether. Without art, you'll never really be able to learn what kind of animal you are, as opposed to the kind of person your world has told you to be. But art will change you, too, as discovery always will.

The life you have now has real value- great beauty, and great meaning. For all that you are defined in part by the walls of your cage, knowledge and new experiences are not something to accept lightly, and they can never be undone. All I can say, really, is that I've never once regretted it.

[pupmon1]

Loop killed their family

And no. I'm not talking about the cannibalism dream or anything like that. Loop killed their family...and nothing they did in their loops matters.

Because Siffrin's party is distinctly different from Loop's. They wear their faces...but they're wrong, turned on an axis Loop can't understand.

Mirabelle was such a ball of anxiety, every turn she needed to remind verbally herself to calm down, to stay positive.

The Housemaiden is anxious yes but she didn't constantly reaffirm herself, only exploded after the reality of the house finally crashed on her.

Isabeau was an idiot. Jealous over barrels and more than happy to run head first into weird floating water and locked doors without even thinking, and not a care for romance or books.

The Fighter is smart. He hides it, yes, behind the big dumb jock routine, but barely. He cares for romance and literature and is always aware of what's going on around him, even if he pretends not to.

Odile is jaded, quiet and joking but distant. She doesn’t always notice what's going on, more focused on getting to the end than wasting time.

The Researcher is astute to a fault. Always watching, always waiting, always listening...and always kind. Even the sharp words are only laced with laughing gas.

Bonnie is quiet. They're mostly out of the way, here because it's safe and they don't know whatelse they could do to help. They want to help, they just don't know how.

The Kid is loud! The Kid is loud and rambunctious and wants to help even if they can't. They still try. Every step they still try to help, with cooking and items and cheering from the back, they help. Because no one could ever stop them from doing so.

The first version of the party is gone. It doesn't matter what Loop did or did not do during their loops. Their family is gone...because they ate a star and erased reality. And when it all reset, the party met a new Siffrin. And Siffrin...met a new party.

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER ONE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about. Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, tiny reference to reader being a murderer lol, brief mention of child death, body horror, murder, descriptions of torture, Jack and reader arguing and not shutting tf up.

Word Count: 3.7k

A series of loud knocks on your office door interrupt your typing. “Come in.”

Your face stays looking at your screen, continuing your rhythmic clicking of the keyboard. You know who it is; you can see his burly stature in your peripheral vision, not to mention the way you can feel the energy sucked out of your body the moment he walks into the room. A trait that he has unknowingly tortured you with, a trait that is distinctly-  “Jack.” You state, breaking the tension. 

“It's good to see you.” What the fuck does he need. 

“I’m writing up the blood report for the Anderson case. Give me… 25 minutes, it’ll be yours.” You say, briefly glancing at him. You see that look in his eyes; he needs something, and his gaze is too sympathetic for a request for a blood report, let alone a blood report for a case he has nothing to do with. 

“Could you take a moment?” He’s frustrated, or maybe embarrassed; your lack of interest is not leaning in his favour. A part of you blissfully believes that if you stay apathetic towards him, he’ll walk out of your office. Maybe he’ll stomp, leave the door open just to peeve you, but nonetheless, you’ll be left alone to continue to describe the direction of the arterial spatter left on the blue living room curtains that clashed against the yellow cigarette stained walls.

In the corner of your eye, you can see him move closer, taking four deliberate steps closer. But that's all it takes for his black suit to transform into navy blue and for his sour look on his face to become clear as he firmly places his calloused hand on your shoulder. 

“I-I need you.” He sighs. He’s letting me know that he’s putting himself in a vulnerable position and that he doesn't want to be here either. “Eight girls are missing with no bodies.”

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard and cease typing. “That's not my problem, Jack. No body, no blood, no me.” As much as you try to swallow your annoyed tone, it slips out of your mouth before you can sand it down to a polite, soft refusal.

He pulls his hand away. “Elise Nichols, 19. She was supposed to house sit for her parents and take care of their cat-” 

“I’m trying to finish something Jack-” 

He interrupts your interruption. “Same height, weight, age, eye colour, hair colour as all these missing INNOCENT girls, and you don't care?!” He’s trying to make you feel guilty, obligated. But why must he disrupt your workplace? 

With a deep inhale, you answer, glaring at the blue light emanating from your monitor. “I’m back to doing blood work, Jack. I left the business of profiling, and I already have things here I am obligated to do.” Like more paperwork and plans for the plastic wrap in your trunk.

“I talked to your lieutenant, and she's more than willing to alleviate you of any duties; there's people on the forensics team to tie everything over without you.” He tries to reason, and if anything frustrates you more that he talked to your boss first. He may have had the assumption that you would jump at the opportunity, that everything would be water under the bridge, and that you two would walk out of the building holding hands and skipping gleefully. Or maybe he would need to convince you, but the second he put his hand on your shoulder, you’d understand. That you two would look at each other and have a silent understanding of what must be done, that you’d forgive him, and that you would remove the burden off his shoulders and cradle against your heart.

“But they can’t do what I do, like I do.” You quip.

“Which is exactly why I need you, not even for the full run just…” He breaks off his sentence and drags a hand over his eyes. He inhales through his nose and out of his mouth in an attempt to ground himself. “We’re going to Minnesota tomorrow, and I’m asking you to join.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn't changed much; he’s such a stubborn Taurus man. “And I’m declining. I’m not going to argue with you Jack. I’m sure this wasn't an easy thing to do or ask from me, and I’m sorry for disappointing you but I can’t do this. I’m not the same person anymore, and I’m not going to be helpful.” 

His expression softens with a margin of sympathy. You didn't think he was expecting you to acknowledge the elephant in the room; in all honesty, you weren't either. 

There's an uncomfortable silence laid across you both. It's his turn to speak, yet, he’s having trouble finding his words. “I doubt much has changed about you in what? 22 months?” He counters, It's a weak reply; he’s nearing his end of this discussion. He'll leave with his head hung low with the files still gripping his left hand, and you will continue typing up yours. 

“I don’t want to keep disagreeing with you Jack, but you keep making me and it's hurting my feelings. I don't want to do this.” It's your turn to be vulnerable, candour? No, but making it seem like he just tore the stitches off an open wound is the way to fast-track his guilt and exit. It’s time for you to sustain eye contact for the first time during this conversation. 

“I’m tired, Jack. I’m still trying to gather the missing pieces of who I was that broke off.” You plead with him. 

“So you break off all personal relationships you have, Will Graham.” I’m sorry, what about Will?

He said it to pique your interest, and he did. What an asshole. You can’t not ask how he’s doing. The itch to know how he’s been spending his days is an impossible thing not to scratch, plus, this is your best-no, least creepy way. You could find one of his students, email them, and ask how their professor seems to be doing. Ask if he’s gotten a new haircut. Glasses? A dog? That’s a completely normal thing to do. Or you could ask Alana. Fuck no. 

“You’ve been talking to Will?” You say before looking back towards your computer screen, you can’t help but be a bit ashamed of how easily he hooked you in. 

He spins the arm of your chair and spins it 90° to face him. “He’s assisting with this case.” 

You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he waits for your reaction. “I hate to sound narcissistic, but did he join you with the understanding that I would also be assisting?” You have to know if he’s still thinking of you. You know he’s not fond of Jack, so you can’t help but wonder why he agreed. 

He pops his chest out like a fucking bird, trying to assert dominance. “He’s not. We were meant to fly out tonight but I wanted to ask you first.” 

“You halted the investigation of a case to request my help?” He feels a sense of responsibility to help you; he still cares about you; or he is still guilty enough that he wants to right his wrongs. Maybe if you help him and save another girl's life per his request, all will be forgiven. But he’s still so career-driven that the only way your pain could be absolved would be work-related. You would have settled for a heartfelt apology; hell, you would have settled for a fruit basket if it meant his emotional harassment would cease.  

“That is immensely stupid. For someone who seems to be so invested in this case I find it ridiculous that you would halt an investigation for a one-ended conversation.”

Jack grunts out something unintelligible before grabbing his phone. 

“What?” You say, if he’s going to make a remark you’d rather it be audible instead of under his breath. 

“Would you like me to call Graham?” He says with pursed lips, tapping his finger on the side of his phone. He’s taunting you; you stay silent until he flips it open. 

You stand up and attempt to snatch the device out of his hand before he quickly pulls it out of your reach. “What the fuck is wrong with you Jack?!”

“What is wrong with YOU! You can prevent this girl's death and you’re not doing it because of what? Pride? I’m sure if you just read the files you would give valuable input!” He shouts. 

Now this is becoming a serious problem. “You do not get to come to my workplace and disrupt me and my coworkers.” You say sternly, and you jab a finger into his chest before continuing. “If you’d like me to read the files for your peace of mind, and for you to know that there's nothing I can add that you can't I will.”

“Then do it.” He growls. 

“Under one condition.” You add, “You take Will Graham off this case. Actually, you just leave him alone.”

He pauses for a moment, actually considering it. You can feel the tension in the room deflate as he contemplates the idea. “I-” He starts, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, but I can't do that. If you're not going to be involved in this case I need Graham.” He answers. 

You feel your heart fall to your stomach. Will shouldn't be working under Jack; he’s selfish and greedy when it comes to his agents. He’ll push Will, won’t listen to him when he asks to stop, and won’t force him to stop when he gets too immersed. 

“I’ll look at the case file and talk to you when I get off.” You say with an exhale, you can feel the tension in your neck. You turn your back to him and sit in your chair. “Leave it on my desk.”

He doesn't reply, but you can feel his stare. It's been silent for so long that you're about to say something, but he beats you to it. “Thank you.” He says so quickly that you're not even sure if it happened; before you can even look back at him, he walks out of your office. 

2 YEARS EARLIER

You hop out of your car onto the pavement, a street filled with police cars, no parking; you had to park down the street. The more steps you take, the more clearly you can see the spectacle in front of you. Press arguing with the police, concerned neighbours chatting to each other in between bites of their nails. You make your way in front of the house; it's no more than a one-bed, one-bathroom place. 

“This is a crime scene. I need you to leave; you can’t be on the property mam.” You hear from your right, and when you turn your head, you see an officer. 

“I’m forensics.” You say, walking past him and flashing your laminate, Does he just think you carry around this heavy ass bag and camera for fun?

The front door to the home opens slightly. Jack exits and immediately closes it behind him. As he turns around to scan the front yard, his eyes fall on you. “I need you in here now.” He shouts while pointing at you. If the audience outside of this house wasn't enough to convince you this is a bad one, Jack's tone does. 

The closer you get to him, the urgency in his body language becomes more apparent, his foot tapping on the wood below him. Once you make it to the steps on the porch, Jack begins to speak. 

“I’m going to need you to prepare yourself for this one; it's bad.” Well, there goes holding onto any hope.

“I’ve seen my fair share of 'bad'; I think I can handle it.” You say as you reach for the door knob, his hand on your wrist stops you. 

“I know you have, but I’m serious. I’ll open the door; you go first.”

“Okay?” You say, Jack's not one for dramatizing a crime scene. Two parts of your brain are arguing, half telling you to go turn tail before you see something you can't unsee. But the other part of yourself, the morbid, dirty part, wants nothing more than to see whatever gruesome scene is inside. 

Jack barely opens the door, just enough for you to squeeze through without any of the plethora of onlookers on the street to see. But before you can even take a step in, your senses are swarmed with a putrid smell. You’ve smelled a lot of dead bodies—badly decomposed ones with bugs living in bodily cavities. Or worse, children. Or worse then that, badly decomposed children with bugs living in bodily cavities. Before you can fully step into the house, the sight you see stops you in your tracks. 

You’re greeted with the living room upon entry and the kitchen to your left. There's no sofa, no coffee table, no TV, nothing; the room is free of furniture, though not empty. Taking centre stage is a large naked man, caked in what you presume to be mud, kneeled completely naked face down in the feeding trough in front of him. 

“What the fuck?” You look back at Jack, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “No one had seen him for a while; one of the kids in the neighbourhood got curious and crawled through the doggy door and found him.” 

“Holy shit.” You even get anything intelligent to come out. Your brain just stopped working correctly. It's awful and horrible. You should be thinking about how much this man suffered and how traumatized that poor child must be, but all you can think about is how disgusting he looks.

Jack walks towards the body and holds it’s head up with his latex-covered hands; once it's held vertically, you see something attached to the corpse's head. You almost don’t believe it at first. You grab a pair of gloves for yourself out of your bag and slip them on as you walk forward; all of it gets worse as you get closer.

His fat grey face is covered in what you’re assuming to be pig feed; his bloated face isn't the issue; it's the two real pig ears attached to the top of his head. Upon closer inspection, you see that his head seems to be freshly shaved and the ears sutured to him. It’s not the worst attachment, though most sorts of medical professionals could be ruled out as perpetrators, the stitching is far too messy for that. Unless he was fully conscious.

The skin is severely discoloured around the animal's ears. Not only was he alive during it, but from what appears to be a severe infection around them, he was likely living with it for multiple days.

Before you can even collect your thoughts, Jack's voice interrupts you. “There's a tail too.” He says while nodding towards the man’s behind. Your mouth tries to make a noise of acknowledgement, but you fail to as you can't stop staring at the rings of dried blood and pus around the base of each ear. 

“If you want to take a moment, he had a backyard. It's fenced in, but I'd still watch out for anyone with cameras; I’m pretty sure Zeller’s out there.” You hear him say, It sounds so fuzzy, everything feels so fuzzy, actually. 

“I’m fine, just dissociating, I think.” You say, still not looking at Jack. “I’m blood, Jack. There's no blood, why am I here?”

He stands up, his knees cracking from no longer crouching. “Bedroom.” He simply states before walking to the left side of the house. As you follow him down the short hallway and take a glance into the bathroom, you stop as you see Beverly’s back blocking the view and entry.

“What's-” Before you finish, Bev moves to the side, giving you a full vision of the washroom. The floor was coated in a thick layer of dried mud. As you creep forward, you see the bathtub filled with what looks to be about two whole feet of mud.

She turns around to look at you, she looks so overwhelmed. You're not sure what to say to her or how you’re meant to console someone in this situation. Beverly rarely shows her her stress, but right now, she's wearing it visibly like it's one of her cheap fough leather jackets. You give up on trying to find anything to say, but she doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she seems just as silent as you. 

Your brain finally kicks into work mode. You walk away from Bev and towards Jack, he says nothing as he opens the bedroom door for you. The bed is covered with layers of blood, and the bedside table has a bloody needle and black thread looped through it. 

“I don't understand why he left it all here—he cleaned up everything, removed all the furniture. Why?” You hear Bev say behind you. You didn't even hear her walk in, but you suppose you were a bit preoccupied. Jack's silence is unnerving as you try to piece together the gruesome scene in front of you. The realization sinks in that this killer wants to leave a lasting impression on his victims. 

"He desires for us to feel repulsed." You think out loud. “He wants us to see every bit of torture the victim incurred, even if it risks leaving evidence; or maybe he’s confident he didn't leave any.” The victim—who is the victim?

“Do we have an ID?” You inquire, looking at Jack.

Jack clears his throat before speaking. “Cristopher Myers, 43, unemployed, living on disability.” He approaches the bed from the right side. “We don't have any DNA, only bootprints.”

At that, Beverly smiles. “You haven't let us work our magic yet.” She says before walking out of the room, boots clicking behind her. 

You sigh, realizing you have a lot of work ahead of you. You will have to survey every single thing. “Where do you want me to start?” You ask. 

Jack starts to say something, then stops, not even sure where to start. “Well how do you think this began?” 

“Not sure, but there were ligature marks on the victim's wrists, which I'm assuming he used while…operating on him, but I don't see any restraints. Unless they are around here somewhere else, he may have disposed of them elsewhere. I’ll ask Bev to see if there's fibres left in the wounds, they’re shallow but he still tugged on them enough to dig in; they look like rope marks, I think.”

He hums back, his eyes still fixed on the bloody bed. “I’ll ask her, you do your work.”

"All right." You say. “I’m gonna start taking some pics. Can you back up?” Jack doesn't respond, just walks out of the room. His footsteps halt, and his voice resounds through the walls. His voice is quiet but you can assume he’s giving Beverly directions. 

As you remove your camera from its case, you reason that it does not concern you and that you should focus on your work. Time to take some seriously macabre photography. 

You gaze into your microscope, blood sample 24; every piece of DNA discovered at the site belongs to the victim. "I can’t concentrate with your moaning, it's distracting." You grunt.

Jimmy lets up on his pacing behind you. "I feel like I’m at a dead end; I am not complaining, I am frustrated." He mutters, frustrated. 

“And I feel like you need an Ativan, Jimmy.” You can't focus with someone whining in your ear. 

"You’re not helping at all." He states.

"I still need to go through eight more samples and write a blood report, so go bug your work husband." Jimmy rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering a response under his breath. You take a deep breath and refocus on analyzing the slide in front of you.

This one was a droplet from the floor, likely from the nasal cavity, with the nasal mucus you can see. Yum.

The victim didn’t seem to have any nasal bleeding. He didn’t seem to have any blood around any visible orifices, actually. You grab the phone and call Jack. 

“Hello.” You hear his static voice. 

You clear your voice before speaking; you want to sound clear. "Hey, how much longer till we get the coroner's report? I think I might have found something.”

Before you can even get out the second syllable of your final word, he interrupts. “What.”

“Um, I’m going to test the blood to be sure if it’s a match to the victim anyway, but I found blood from a nasal cavity, and I don’t think it’s from the victim.”

It’s silent on his end for a moment. “I’ll fax a copy over to you when I get it, you do the same when the results come back. And I want to be the first person you tell the results too.”

“Yes sir.” You say before he hangs up. 

A part of you knows the results already, you know that the sample isn’t the victim’s.

PRESENT DAY

You pick up the file that Jack threw on your desk. You're done for the day, you should get in your car and go home. But it’s like you feel a physical string wrapped around your wrist that's tugging you towards the yellow file.

Fuck it, you think as you snatch it off your desk. As you read through the file, you understand more and more why Jack wants you to be a part of this case. And you understand why he was desperate enough to ask Will for help despite the contempt they hold against each other. 

You sigh as you grab your phone—your mobile, not the one sitting on your desk. You can’t call Jack; you're too bullheaded to call and verbally admit defeat. You type your message and hope that he still has the name number, you don’t think you could handle the heightened level of awkwardness that showing up unannounced would cause. 

You take a deep breath before hitting send. You still feel unsure about your rash decision to join the case as you stare at the two words you sent to Jack. 

“I’ll come.”

chapter 2

[mt-oe]

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴…—𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘶

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

Here's a fic that I hope I post just in time for Valentine's day. I am currently writing this inebriated out of my shit. My cheeks are so hot and my world is spinning like I'm a dishrag in a bucket of water. I pray that my quality of writing doesn't plummet because all of you deserve so many good things and the world, and none of you deserve a shitty fanfic.

Every one of you deserves to be loved as softly as you need to be and as rough as you want to be.

I hope everyone will enjoy and I hope that everyone continued to love Mizu this day dedicated to love <3 Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, i do not know, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

What is love?

Even way back then, when you were still young, you've always wondered about what love is. You've heard it all over the teen magazines you bought monthly, on the newest romance film, and even in your parent's old film cassettes. Yet, still, you couldn't figure it out.

Your curiosity even reached a point when you'd pester your next door neighbor about it. The image of Mizu, your best friend, frowning at you as if you were asking her some kind of dumb insignificant shit would never fail to make you laugh.

"Could you stop pestering me about this and just go on," her annoyed voice would growl through the call. You distinctly remember her putting you on 'deafen' every time you started talking about it while the two of you were on Discord. But honestly, who could blame her? You were teens. Still kids. All she wanted was her LP and a new rank this season, not to hear you ask her what the hell love was.

There would be times when you'd ask your parents. But honestly, asking your parents about something that can give you incredibly subjective answers is never a good thing. You'd always be greeted with a ' just focus on your studied first' or a very vague try-hard-to-be-poetic-or-sentimental answer. They're answers were always either so lacking or so dramatic that it never quite hit the spot.

Searching on the internet was also an option. Your teen self would sit in front of your computer, searching and reading articles about love. Honestly, the answer varied so much it didn't satisfy you at all. More feel-y types of articles would tell you that it was a 'once in a lifetime special feeling that made you absolutely the happiest you'll ever be' while more logical sites would tell you that it was a chemical reaction in your brain.

You could remember Mizu scoff at them. Both of you were hanging in your house while her mother was getting high in their living room again. She walked up to your house one night with a small frown, tired from the smell of drugs and smoke.

Now, she had something else to be tired about. And that was you showing her all these articles were all the same level of ridiculous to her.

For the nth time that night, she rolled her eyes as you read out the contents of the article, both of you under the blanket with only the dim light from your phone illuminating your room. "We're almost done with high school and you're still hooked on this?" she asked, a rough huff leaving her throat. "Isn't this for kids?"

You immediately shook your head and let out a small whine, moving closer until your shoulders touched. "Oh c'mon, Mizu! Have a little curiosity in your life!" you grumbled, refreshing the website when the pictures wont load.

"I could think a hundred things more significant and worthwhile learning," she replied, hands adjusting the blanket, pulling it closer and making sure the chilly night breeze couldn't reach you. "This is nonsense."

"Reasonable nonsense, that is," you said with a slight smile. Her sapphire orbs scanned over your face, tracing over the excitement on your face and the twinkling in your eyes. A little part of her brain was filled with some sort of mushy happy feeling the more she stared. And before these feelings could take over, she rolled her eyes again, annoyance clear in the way she sighed.

"Whatever. It's your phone anyway," she grumbled, looking away. You giggled softly and shifted your weight further against her side, fully leaning against her shoulder. Mizu would never have admitted this during her teens, but your warmth, the feeling of your weight against her, and mutual feeling of comfort definitely made her heart beat faster than it ever did or could during fencing training.

Each article the two of you read together caused your curiosity to grow. Maybe, somewhere along the way, so did Mizu's.

What is love?

Love is a mystery, you thought to yourself.

In college, the two of you were still inseparable, attached by the hip as they say. Thankfully, both of you had decided to go to the same university under different programs. While you were buried in student debt, unsurprisingly, your best friend had managed to acquire a scholarship.

Everything was going well between the two of you. Both of you still hung out and still caught up with each other weekly or over a few games online. The frustrations and moments of joy mended your bond with each other every time. Each hour that passed the clock was worth the grogginess you'll inevitably feel for staying up too late. It felt like nothing could get in between the two of you.

That was until...

Some time during your sophomore year, Mizu's mother had waltzed her way into your lives. With her, she brought an arranged relationship for Mizu and another man. He was apparently an alumni of the same scholarship program Mizu was under and was pretty wealthy.

Both of you knew this was some ploy for her to get money, but whenever your best friend confronted her mother, she'd be greeted with excuses saying this was the best for her dearest daughter and how she knows what's best for her. You could only scoff at her words, knowing she never really cared for her past her childhood.

And for a time, Mizu believed you. She detested the idea of being forced into a relationship for money. Relationships in general were a waste of time for her. You thought everything was going to go well, that she'd still be by your side, that the fun would never stop.

But, somewhere along the way, your weekly gaming sessions turned into nights of doing your projects alone. Your best friend was apparently invited by her boyfriend, Mikio, to some new restaurant.

It didn't matter.

The weekly hangout sessions in either one of your dorms turned into a solo trip to the library to finish something or to mooch off of the campus wi-fi you paid for from your tuition anyway. Mizu was apparently going to go with the old geezer to some movie.

It didn't matter.

Your bot-support duo turned into you playing top or raging in jungle alone. He was apparently inviting her to play duo and she'd play with you some other time.

It didn't matter. It didn't hurt.

Just a pinch.

It was college anyway, people are bound to lose friends, right? Maybe you could go back to finding out what love is. Maybe the deeper academic pursuits in college and the wider range of educational materials could grant you a more extensive selection of literature regarding the matter.

You could drown yourself in writings from the library, books you've never even heard off, more knowledgeable goons trying so hard to explain love through neurotransmitters and electrical signals in the brain. Maybe the pursuit of this knowledge would allow you to move on from the person of your affection.

Affection? What a stupid word.

It was college and you've made new friends along the way. You'd get invited to parties and merriments and meet more people. Maybe this night, you'd take a shot more than the usual, a cig more than the usual, and you'd repeat that to yourself until the squeezing tightening feeling in your throat retches over to the toilet.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until you were in Akemi's arms crying about your blue-eyed best friend who she already seemed to dislike. Apparently, they'd known each other and Mizu had apparently wiped the floor with Akemi's boyfriend. A soft bitter chuckle left your throat.

"Yeah, that's definitely something she would do," you whispered, voice rough from vomiting the intoxication out.

One more shot. One more cigarette. Rinse and repeat.

Over and over until Akemi was starting to feel like comforting you was her own Sisyphus. You'd go on about how you were there first and how cruel the world was for making you realize your affection a bit too late.

"Affection? That's a stupid way of putting it. I think you're in love," Akemi would say, cringing as you buried your tear-stricken face against her hair.

Is love supposed to hurt?

You could not accept it.

Love tastes like pure coffee beans without any cream or sugar. Strong, bitter, almost tasteless, gives you migraines, could send you into palpitations, and can kill you. Slow and unknowingly.

Maybe it was the time to stop pursuing love. Maybe those old people in journals and books with a hundred million different titles from all the licenses they have were right. That it was all just neurotransmitters and electrical signals going the synapses in your neurons that'll inevitably deteriorate with age. It'll go away.

Is this really what love is?

What was love?

Love is a kind of bitterness that aches, you thought to yourself.

Semesters passed and you never got to bond with your best friend again—if you would still call her that.

The ache made you grow cold, but you preferred to call it mature. You continued on with your life, her name sounding like a distant song whenever the winds whispered. Every blue in your life felt like a strike of undescribed nostalgia. A memory that could have been a novel but ended a bit too early.

You weren't a god but you sure had the ability to summon a personal raincloud over your own moments of happiness. It wasn't bitterness. It was called choosing practicality over emotion, you said.

And maybe, that's how life works. Maybe you should just go on and be like those old geezers with a shit ton of masters degrees and doctorates who'd tell you that love was just hormones and your brain going overdrive.

Maybe you should grow old and into a boring life, not affected by the blue eyes that were staring back at your with a sad old smile.

Maybe you can be Ms. Practicality again and ignore how beautiful she was when she walked towards you.

Maybe you can finally control the electrical signals in your brain so your heart could stop beating so fast as she greeted you, placing a hand on your shoulder, feeling the warmth you missed so damn much. Her long hair against her shoulder and the cold aura of her eyes warming as her eyes squinted with that precious smile of hers.

Maybe the hundred million academic titles you planned to pursuit would give you an early lesson and tell you that you'd know what love was some day.

And maybe...that some day was today.

Maybe the crazy romance books and magazine articles were right. That love would waltz into your life one day and maybe love had already waltzed into your life from the very start.

You'd soon find out that your best friend had some how made a reputation for herself, getting into a fight with her ex over some betrayal. She didn't really want to talk about it since the wounds were still fresh. Rumors of her violent tendencies grew and now she was trying to lay low again.

They'd call her a dangerous fellow

Well...they were neither right nor wrong. This fellow was dangerous indeed.

Dangerously sweet.

Dangerously funny.

Dangerously understanding.

Dangerously charming.

Dangerously lovely.

After decades of asking the question, "What is love?", you'd finally get your question. The bells of heaven can finally ring now because your lifelong journey of finding out what this mystery was can finally end.

Love wears orange-tinted glasses. A gift she got from you before both of you went to college together. The sight and the knowledge of it being her favorite tugging your heart strings and warming your cheeks.

Love continued her fencing training and was somehow better than the instructors in uni. She'd be so cocky and call their techniques trash, so much so that they think of her more as a competition than a student.

Love doesn't laugh a lot but when she does, it sounds like what an angel would sound like. She thinks you're exaggerating but you could honestly drown in the honeyed sound.

Love incurs the wrath of her professors by passing projects late, but her work is so good, they could never give her a fail.

Love is called so many horrible things. They'd call her a demon, an onryo. You'd ask her if she was okay and she'd just look at you with a soft smile and tell you that she didn't mind.

Love was lying. She definitely minded and you could never figure out why she'd always act okay while she smile so genuinely at you.

Love always puts her hair in a bun and is lowkey ticked off about it going allover the place when she takes it out.

Love is always mistaken as a man. If she was a man, she'd be the prettiest man you've ever fallen in love with.

Love secretly likes stuffed animals but would never buy one for herself. Love likes to playfully rough house and lowkey beat the shit out of her friends.

Love wakes up before the sunrises and goes to the gym. All the equipment were available and it was quiet. She loves the peace.

But love also feels guilty whenever she accidentally wakes you up. Your groggy whine would make her heart beat faster and make her suddenly feel hesitant to go.

Love would get into arguments with you, but she'd still try her best to be understanding. Her patience wasn't big when it comes to anger and negative emotions, but for you, nothing was impossible.

Love was incredible. Love was all-pursuing.

Love made you realize that love wasn't a 'what' but a 'who'.

What is love?

Love is a person.

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/711450406570573824/imaging-a-baby-mushroom-rolling-around-so-cute

Imagine morell’s and his s/o’s kid just losing their little mind after realizing their mamma isn’t a mushroom like them

Kid: mamma what’s wrong with your cap

S/o: I don’t have a cap baby

Kid: but all mushrooms have a cap

Morell: your mamma’s not a mushroom kid

Kid: 😟…what

Maybe getting a haircut before having this conversation wasn't such a good idea, if your kid's recent distressed wailing was anything to go by.

Your poor little troublemaker, blessed with daddy's fat cap yet distinctly humanoid facial features, looks between you and Morell like the most disturbing news have just been revealed. They wipe their own tears now that they know mommy's not dying.

The shroom-hybrid reaches up on the couch, standing on short chubby little legs to gently, very cautiously, grab a piece of your freshly styled hair, stroking it in the same way you'd pet a frightened animal.

The gears in that tiny mushy brain start kicking and they take a few horrified steps back, quickly walking towards daddy.

They look at you anxiously, then huddle closer to Morell, who has crouched to reach them more easily. They then strain to reach their father's face and start whisper-screaming in a way only a child would believe is effectively sneaky.

" ... Why's mama not a mushroom? "

Morell starts holding in laughter.

" 'Cause daddy fell in love with a human, baby. "

You pay attention to the conversation. Specifically the way Morell refers to you as a human in this occasion, not a piggy or a piglet. Different meanings entirely, already creating the distinction in your child's mind that some humans are food, and others are to be loved, like mommy.

" Buh... But- "

" Mama's head has this thing called hair, baby, an' it's all pretty an' soft, right? " He pets the kid's cap comfortingly.

" Uhuh. " They nod.

" Well, it ain't like what we got. Ya can cut it jus' fine, it don' even hurt. "

The hybrid looks at you again, squints, puzzling it out. Finally, they reach a conclusion.

" So mommy's super strong!! "

Not the brightest conclusion, but who are you to kill the stars in their eyes?

" N-No sweetie, mama- " Morell tries, but it's in vain, the kid is already hyped up about the news and is racing to the middle of the living room.

" Mommy's SO STRONG! " They prepare to roll up. " Her cap- She doesn't NEED a cap! "

You and Morell watch, dumbfounded, as they go off rolling around the house, each bump followed by giggling.

[northstarscowboyhat]

Do you have any thoughts on the Justice family in Lucky Clover AU after the events of Undertale? I assume they move to the Surface, but what do they do with their lives?

Unfortunately, I am cringe and have thought about post UT events. Most of my thoughts are pretty loose though, not as concrete as Clover's time growing up in the Underground, but I can share some scattered thoughts!

Ironically, I imagine Ceroba/Starlo/Clover are among the last Underground inhabitants to move to the surface after the barrier was shattered. Ceroba had heavy reservations about leaving the house Chujin built and his grave behind. Of course, Starlo and Clover were more than patient and willing to wait and help her reconcile these feelings before they all moved.

I like the idea that when they do move, they build a new house that does resemble Ceroba's old house a lot, but is still distinctly it's own home. Somehow blends Japanese and western decor in a very seamless way. Nobody knows how they pulled it off, but they did.

I feel like Starlo definitely builds a new version of the Wild East when on the surface! Probably on a much smaller scale, since he doesn't really have the land to build an entire town LOL. It'd be more of a tourist attraction than it is a town like the original Wild East, but he still has a lot of pride in it.

Ceroba remains as a stay at home mom with Amalgamate Kanako, who requires a lot of attentive care that Ceroba is more than happy to provide her with. Kanako does regain a lot of her old personality, traits, memories etc but still needs help caring for herself. Which again, Ceroba is more than happy to do; she loves getting to make up for the time they lost together, and Kanako is very happy to be back with her mom even with the challenges that come from being an Amalgamate.

I have less concrete thoughts on Clover, though it should be noted that they absolutely keep up the cowboy shtick. I think they'd probably work at the new Wild East for a while, then maybe strike out on their own a bit, try out new things, do some sight seeing, etc. I could honestly see them eventually doing something with horses, like working at a stable or something, in between travelling around with Martlet. After having to live in hiding for so long, they'd appreciate having this newfound freedom and want to discover themselves more.

Not anything I thought in great detail about, but LC!Clover definitely has kids later on in life. All jokes aside, looking after Frisk definitely solidified for them that they want their own family someday.

Speaking of, should go without saying that Frisk doesn't live with Clover post Undertale Pacifist ending, LOL. Clover doesn't pretend they'll make a more suitable guardian than Toriel! But Frisk visits Clover a lot and they keep in touch.

[cre8inghavoc]

What are Friends For?

PT. 2

Status: ongoing!!

Updates: no set date.

WC: 2185

Description: Characters are aged up. After months of enduring her boyfriend's emotional abuse, Y/N found the courage to stand up for herself. She confronted him, refusing to tolerate his hurtful behavior any longer. In that moment, she broke free from the curse of their toxic relationship, reclaiming her independence and beginning a journey of healing. Pairing: megumi fushiguro x FEM!reader

Genre/Warnings:[18+] This story contains toxic boyfriend, cursing, name calling, self-doubt/hate, angst, breaking up, post-breakup, alcohol, drunk moments, new friends, dating!au, college!au, no curses!au, dark humour, dark jokes. SMAU.

Maki dropped you off at home ridiculously early, like 6 am early. But with a long list of errands to run and a breakup conversation that you were not looking forward to, you didn't have time to dwell on it. You just wanted to get this day over with. 

Your friends wanted to hang out later to cheer you up after the breakup, but you needed to clear your head first.

The thought of breaking up with your boyfriend made your stomach swirl. It wasn't the act itself that scared you, but rather his reaction. Would he explode in anger, or worse, shrug it off like it meant nothing? Neither option sounded appealing. You didn't want a dramatic showdown, but you also didn't want him to be emotionless. Would that mean he never loved you?

The constant back-and-forth overthinking was giving you a headache. Did you want him to fight for us, or would it be better if he just accepted it peacefully? It was hard to say. All you wanted was to focus on your errands and distract yourself, but your mind had other plans. No matter what, he seemed to be all you could think about.. And not in a good way, but when was it in a good way anyways? 

9:15 AM.

Knock knock.

Was that Maki already? You distinctly remember telling her to come by at 9:45 AM… Maybe she decided to show up early and grab breakfast before heading out for our errands together. With that thought in mind, you made your way to the door with a big smile. But as soon as you opened it, your smile quickly faded into a blank expression. Surprise. It's him.

You stand there, just staring at each other in silence for a moment. You take in his appearance - messy hair, wrinkled clothes, and that tired look in his eyes. He look like he just woke up… You know it's early, but still. Then, you notice something off. His eyes are glassy and bloodshot, and there's a strange scent lingering around him. Sweat, mixed with... could it be a hint of perfume? Wait. Is he... drunk? Putting together all the clues, I'd say there's a solid 90% chance he is.

"Hey babe~" Your boyfriend slurs, his breath heavy with the stench of alcohol. Scratch that, he's 100% drunk. The familiar pet name makes you cringe hard, even though it used to be a regular thing between you two. Now, it just feels weird... and not in a good way. Is it because you're losing feelings? Probably. But also, he doesn't deserve to call you that. He never did, and you shouldn't have let him. You shouldn't have let him take control the way he did. He's hurt you so many times. So much so that you understand why your friends never liked him. And honestly... You don't like him either.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, your tone tinged with confusion. You don't want him inside your house, especially not in his current state. So, almost subconsciously, you step out onto the porch and close the door behind you. Thank god he's too drunk to realize, or else he’d make that small thing a big problem.

"Whattt? Can’t come to s-say hi to my girlfrienddd~" He slurs again, and the possessive term “his” girlfriend sends another wave of discomfort through you. You don't want to be his, not anymore. Then, out of nowhere, he leans in close.

Oh, no.

Fuck.

He's about to kiss you. Panic sets in. You can't even bear his presence, let alone the thought of him claiming you as his girlfriend. You don't want to kiss him. You CAN’T kiss him.

Subconsciously, you blurted out, "Ew…" and it visibly angered him. He pulls back quickly, glaring at you with frustration evident on his face. 

"The fuck. Why the fuck did you say that?" he snaps.

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you realize what you just said. It's like the words slipped out before you could stop them. You panic, scrambling for an excuse. "Sorry! Your breath just smelled like really strong alcohol and I just didn't expect it…"

Smooth, Y/N. Not the worst lie, but definitely not your finest moment.

As you step back, your eyes catch something on his neck. A purple spot. No, it can't be... can it? You reach out and pull down the collar of his shirt, confirming your suspicions. It's a hickey. Unbelievable. You're not sure how you're supposed to feel. Angry? Sad? Heartbroken? But strangely, you just feel... disappointed. Disappointed in his actions, yes, but more so disappointed in yourself for sticking around through all the misery, only to have him cheat on you.

"Is that a hickey?" You question him, but that question only seems to piss him further. You can't recall ever seeing him this angry before. "Are you fucking accusing me of cheating on you? You're fucking pathetic, Y/N," he scoffs, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. "You're the one who went to a boy's house yesterday, and you're calling me a cheater? You know what, fuck you. You're just a bitch. You always like playing the victim card, don't you? It's always about you and your fucking drama. Maybe if you weren't a fucking whore trying to find attention from your little guy friends, I wouldn't feel the need to seek affection elsewhere. Fuck you. You're a nobody, and you will never be worth anything. No one wants an overthinking, paranoid, insecure, anxious fucking bitch. You're pathetic, truly. If your mind wasn't fucked up, maybe I would've loved you."

His hurtful words pierce through you like daggers, but it's his final remark that cuts deepest. "If your mind wasn't fucked up, maybe I would've loved you." Fucked up? YOU? FUCKED UP? You wouldn't feel this way if he hadn't treated you like absolute fucking shit. His comment triggers something inside you, igniting a fire of rage you've never felt before. For the first time ever, you stand up for yourself.

"You're a fucking liar. You're the one that's fucked up. Have you ever thought that the only reason why I have anxiety and overthink is because of YOU," you seethe, pointing a trembling finger at him. "YOU'RE THE FUCKING REASON I'M LIKE THIS, ASSHOLE. I'm so done with this. I'm done with you. We're fucking over. Do not ever talk to me again."

You realize that everyone in the neighbourhood could hear the whole ordeal, both of you yelling and hurling insults at each other. But at that moment, you didn't care. For the first time ever, you said what you always wanted to say, and it felt good.

What you didn't anticipate was how much this would enrage your now ex-boyfriend. Before you knew it, he had clenched his fist and swung it right at your face. Fear courses through you like never before. Fuck… Was he about to hit you? You knew he was capable of sinking low, but this... this was a new low.

"HEY!" A commanding voice breaks through the chaos, causing your ex's fist to freeze in midair. He quickly withdraws his hand and turns to face the person who interrupted him. Standing there was a tall man, dressed in a black hoodie and track pants. It's obvious he's out walking his two dogs, both of whom sit obediently by his side like they’re his bodyguard's. You find yourself catching your breath, relieved that this stranger arrived just in time, potentially saving you from further harm.

Your ex's retort is sharp and defensive. "What the fuck do you want? Can't you mind your fucking business? I'm trying to talk to my girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," the tall man corrects with a firm expression, catching you off guard with his confidence, especially considering he doesn't even know who you are. A soft smile tugs at your lips as your ex rolls his eyes and walks away.

 Finally, he's gone.

The tall man hurries over to you, his dogs following his move. "Are you okay?" he asks, his concern evident despite his neutral expression.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you... for helping me," you reply softly, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

"Of course. Did he hurt you?"

"No... but if it weren't for you stopping him, I don't know how far he would've gone." A tear escapes, trailing down your cheek. His hands gently cup your face as he wipes away the tear with his thumb, his touch surprisingly gentle. You find yourself getting lost in his eyes, a captivating dark blue unlike any you've seen before. They remind you of the night sky, filled with stars and the moon... oh, how you love the moon. You both share a prolonged gaze, completely lost in each other, until the sound of a car pulling up and a honk breaks the moment.

It's Maki; she's here to pick you up, and you've completely forgotten about your plans. He slowly withdraws his hands from your face, still not breaking eye contact.

You quickly turn your head away from him, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. Are you blushing? Oh no...

"Sorry... My friend is here to pick me up, and she gets very impatient... Before I go, I just wanted to say thank you so much for your help. I really appreciate it," you manage to say, giving him a genuine smile.

He chuckles softly and returns the smile. "I'm glad you're okay. Have fun with your friend. Tell her to become more of patient person."

You giggle at his response. "Will do!" you reply as you walk towards Maki's car. Once you get in, you wave at the man, and Maki drives off. You can't shake off the feeling of his soft voice and gentle touch lingering on your cheek. God, his touch felt good.

"So... are you going to tell me who that was or...?" Maki interrupts your thoughts.

Shit. You were too deep in thought to realize you were silent for practically five minutes.

"Omg... it's a long story..." you begin, explaining everything to her in detail. Her facial expressions change almost every two seconds, from happy to angry, to relieved, and then happy again.

"Wow... holy fuck, Y/N. That was a fucking rollercoaster. BUT I'M SO PROUD OF YOU FOR BREAKING UP WITH HIM!" she exclaims with extreme excitement.

You giggle at her response. "You're too much sometimes," you tease.

After running errands, you and Maki head out for dinner, and by the time you get back, it is already 10:30 PM. As you both enter Yuta's house, Maki bursts in with her hands in the air.

"GUESS WHO'S SINGLE, BITCHES!!!" she yells in excitement.

Inumaki stands up in shock. "You broke up with Nobara??!!"

Maki's face twists in confusion. "WHAT? NO! What the fuck, Toge."

"Then who??!!" he asks, still clueless.

You start dying of laughter as Yuta and Maki exchange looks before turning back to Inumaki, as if he's the slowest person in the room... which, let's face it, he is, but you'd never tell him that.

"Y/N, you idiot," Maki finally spits out.

"OH MY GOD! YES, FINALLY," Inumaki exclaimed excitedly.

Yuta and Maki slap their foreheads simultaneously. "You're actually so slow," they sigh in unison.

Yuta stands up and walks over to you, enveloping you in a hug, followed by the others.

"You know what time it is!" Yuta says, hinting at something you're clearly unaware of.

"Club time!!!!" Maki chimes in excitedly.

"What?! No, no, no, guys... It's too late, and I'm so tired..." you interject.

"You agreed we would celebrate your breakup..." Inumaki reminds you.

"Yeah... but the club?" you question.

Maki quickly responds, "Nobara invited me and told me to bring you guys too since she knows about your breakup. She thought it would be nice to distract yourself, plus you'll finally get to meet her and her friends too!"

Their expectant gazes make you feel guilty for not wanting to go. They just want you to feel better, and honestly, it's a good way to distract yourself. Well, not from your ex... but from the tall man who saved you. Fuck. You didn't even get his name or his number. Wait... why are you thinking about him so much? You don't even know him... Oh my god, you're so screwed.

"Okay, fine. When are we going?" you concede.

"Now," Yuta says, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the house, with the others following and getting into Maki's car.

The music is blasting, and the lights are flickering like crazy as you enter the club. You haven't been to a club in a year, so being here with your friends actually feels kind of nice... You all head to the bar and start downing shots one after another. After your fourth shot, you start feeling the alcohol kick in. As you reach for another shot, you feel a hand on your shoulder and a voice whispering in your ear.

"Slow down..."

Wait... this voice... It sounds so familiar. You turn your head quickly and see who it is.

No way.

It's him...

TAGLIST

@nikkimvriee , @xbarrjallenx , @atinymonbebestay , @1l-ynn

GUYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND LOVE!!!! <3 you don't understand how happy it made me reading your comments hehe

AND FINALLY SHE BROKE UP WITH THAT PIECE OF SHIT!

GO Y/N!!!! She's making me so proud 🥲

[applestorms]

actually. @moonlarked you wanted someone to talk about near & light as parallels? cuz uh...

ok SO, my big hot take on near is something like this: one of the most common criticisms i see about near is that he is simply too apathetic/bored/uncaring/etc, and that because he is not as emotionally invested as L, his win against light doesn't feel nearly (lol) as satisfying as it could've been. this is a view that often frustrates me, but for a very particular reason— namely, while i think it is somewhat accurate in content, i think it misses a lot of important context (and also misses a lot of the importance of light's character arc, but we'll get to that much later).

one of the most important things to remember about the wammy's kids is that, whether they like it or not, each and every one of them is defined almost entirely through their relationship to L. this is perhaps more obvious in the case of characters like BB and mello, who are very Aware of this shadow being cast upon them and react in very overt, emotional ways (e.g. becoming a literal serial killer out of seemingly pure spite & desire to be noticed, idolizing him but in a very emotionally complicated, kinda detached sorta way, etc), but it is true for Every wammy's kid, purely because of how the house itself functions. these kids are being raised to be L's successor— the greatest (and second greatest, and third greatest) detective on the planet. this is the ultimate goal hanging over every one of their heads, and it places a constant pressure on every kid there.

oftentimes, i think (perhaps both out of story and in it, as well?) people get so caught up in comparing near to L that they forget he also falls under this umbrella— only, for near, his position is slightly different because he actually somewhat succeeds at the task? like, yeah, L never gets the chance to officially call near his successor, but between the fact that he's constantly called the #1 kid at wammy's and that he. literally does actually end up becoming the new L after kira, i think it's always been pretty clear what his path was going to be.

going back to my starting point, this is one of the main ways that near makes a really good parallel to light in my mind, specifically the light that we see right at the start of the series. in both cases, near and pre-DN light, we see a kid who has succeeded at everything they've been handed, and more notably, we see a kid who is bored out of his fucking mind looking at the prospects of what he's got.

in the case of light, this is maybe a little more realistic/easy to understand— light does well in academics, he does well in sports, he does well with people. he is likely to follow in his father's footsteps with something criminal justice/police/law related, but even if he diverges from that path it likely won't be too big of a deal, as he has shown himself to be capable in enough areas that he's likely to succeed no matter what. by all measurable standards, light's doing pretty good at the start of the series. and yet— there is something so distinctly and inherently Bland about his life before he gets the DN. i've said before that light wouldn't call the DN a curse even if he wanted to, but i think in that moment when he's telling ryuk he disagrees w/ his father after visiting him in the hospital, when he says, "I've never once considered finding that notebook and gaining this power a misfortune. In fact, it's made me happier than I've ever been." (ch.22) he's still getting at something real and truthful.

again, going back to my equating of boredom with depression in this series— light's life is pretty good by all measurable standards. he has a family who loves him, presumably more than enough money to get by with a pretty cushy lifestyle, and does well, honestly better than well, in every single system he is presented with. but even so, he's still unhappy. there is something in his soul that has not yet been satisfied. he's bored of the world, bored of his place in it, how easy it all is. what the DN really offers him is a challenge, entertainment— just the same as L, and just the same as ryuk.

near similarly suffers from this kind of boredom, though it is perhaps less overtly stated than in the case of light, L, and ryuk, and less easy to catch as it is not as realistic/common. again: near basically ends up the winner of wammy's house. he is the one to take the title of L, he's declared the smartest, bestest kid at wammy's, and he gets all the power and privilege that comes with such a title. but still— he's so. fucking. bored. much to the embarrassment of mello, this shit was never really a challenge to him. it's pretty obvious that near isn't really even all that attached to the title of L— don't forget that his first real introduction to the story involves him explicitly saying that he'd be just fine working with mello as essentially co-L successors. and this is a viewpoint that he holds onto until the very end of the series, actually, claiming that he was only able to best light due to mello's sacrifice. near doesn't really give a fuck about the rat race he's been slotted into, though it's perhaps for that exact reason that he ends up winning it anyway, and getting all the responsibility that comes along.

that being said, i think there are still two main differences between light and near:

light fucks up.

near never gets past his boredom.

in the case of this first point, i do not mean to say that near never ever makes any move/judgement that could be considered a mistake— mello killing the entire SPK is the first thing that comes to mind, which i see as blood on near's hands for the same reason that L takes at least some responsibility for lind l. tailor. rather, i mean that near never makes a such a monumental fuck-up that he has to overturn his entire worldview just to account for it in the same way that light does when he accidentally kills two people w/ the DN the first time.

it's like, if you've ever known (or been) the kind of kid who always got perfect grades in school, straights A's for K-12, only to reach college and suddenly bomb their first test and have an existential crisis as their only real achievement in life is crushed into dust, then you know light yagami. only for light, it's on a whole 'nother scale, because not only does he fucking oopsie daisy kill two people, but he kills in such a context that he can mentally manipulate it back into seeming heroic. i hate to say that suffering causes character development because that's terrible advice (it's how you react to terrible circumstances that matters, imho) but to some degree, yeah, having conflicts/hard times in life is just necessary to figure shit out sometimes. near (and L, oh goddd i need to write about L properly sometime) has so many things smoothed over and handed to him, and on top of that, he's a super genius very rarely fucks anything up, at least according to base logic. he doesn't even really consider the morality of anything he's doing until light straight up asks him in a desperate bid to keep talking at the end, it's all just logic and factors to consider.

this all leads to my second point, which is that near never really gets the chance to overcome his boredom in the same way as the others. ryuk at least gets his entertainment for a couple years, and light and L (and mello) get so invested in each other and their game that it literally kills them, but near just kinda. keeps going. he keeps being L, he keeps solving cases, he does the duty he was given and enjoys his toys... and that's it. he lies around, the only one left to live, never even taking credit for the end of KIRA, never gets another haircut, and keeps the title going. what a life, for a kid who dragged a god back down to earth.

sidenote1: toys

am i reading too into things? maybe. near's toys hold a lot of significance throughout the story in more specific ways, most notably the finger puppets he uses at the very end of the story while tracking different people's/kira's actions, though you could probably read some kind of meaning into every toy he has and the ways in which he plays with them. what i want to look at here though is more the general reasoning behind playing with them in the first place— a desire for a childhood he didn't get to have? a love of games more generally? (could track with him seeing the KIRA case, or really all detective work, as just another game.) you could also read into his toys as another source for near's apathy/detachment from reality, literally breaking every notable person around him down into a doll by the end of the story, speaking a lot to how alienated he is from the world (again, very similar to both L and light, there). i don't have much more of a point to make here, just wanted to add this in somewhere since it's one of his most striking visual character traits.

sidenote2: light's arc

going back to my point at the start of this post... light's character arc.

uhh. near winning is a good thing, actually. and i don't just mean that as a moral claim— DN itself as a story isn't really concerned with trying to answer any moral questions about good or evil or the justice system, so it makes sense & is fair to me that it doesn't try all that hard to answer anything along those lines by the very end of the story. what i mean to say here is that near winning is a good thing on the level of the character arc, specifically as an end to light's arc.

i made a post a while back while mid-manga reread talking through some of the reasons why L's death can feel kind of unsatisfying/paint the second half of the story in a less interesting light (hah) for a lot of viewers, with the main point i ended up on being that L wasn't really able to win because he never really had all that clear of a win state in the first place. i still kiiind of agree with this point, though i think there's a lot more i could add to that post... anyways. point is, i bring up that post because it touches on a similar thing to what i want to talk about here: light's character arc being a tragedy.

this is more speculation on my part, but i think another part of the reason why people get turned off to DN post-L death is not just the fact that L isn't really a playable character in the game anymore, but the fact that light's character arc takes such a dramatic twist after the timeskip. i talked about this a little bit in my little ramble on light & titles (which a lot of you liked, apparently!! ty for all the lovely comments on there, i love reading what you guys have to say ^w^), but light's character arc in DN is a tragedy to me, full-stop.

tragedies to me are cyclical— revolutionary, if you will. since all stories necessitate some kind of something to take place, a tragedy to me is all about a character beginning in one point, then continually getting hit by Event, after Thing, after Event, only to end up in essentially the exact same place that they started. any character changes or development that seem to happen throughout the story are ultimately nullified by the end— the main subject does not truly grow, does not truly reflect on their actions or traumas, does not move on. two steps forward is two steps back. even ending up in a position worse than they started is sometimes better than a true tragedy, in my mind, as at least then there is some chance they may still reflect or change or grow in the future, leaving the hope that they may still overcome this new circumstance later on. a true tragedy ends in nothing meaningful ever getting the chance to truly change, at least in the case of the main subject of the story.

light's character arc in the first half of the story is an upward, underdog kind of story. yes, light has the power of a shinigami, of a supernatural force that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists— but part of the real appeal of his conflict with L is how powerful L feels in comparison, having the wealth and respect and title to command a world's worth of forces against him. fuck, even taking down naomi misora feels like an incredible hurdle overcome, a teenager managing to charm and yap and flutter his eyelashes out of a shitty situation he was only just lucky enough to stumble across in the first place, to stop someone who could've ruined his entire plan with a few words. killing L was always going to be light's greatest accomplishment when it comes to his rise to godhood, not only because of L's great power but the comparative position of light at the time that he did so— not yet an adult, not even really out of school, perhaps barely out of his parents' house.

in contrast, light's arc for the second half of the story is a downward spiral. we see all of the consequences light has been miraculously avoiding smack into him like meteors in this half, his ever-growing ego torn to shreds as he's yanked back down to earth. and in comparison to the anime, the manga really beats this point into you, dedicating the entire second half of the story to light's fall from grace as he loses his mind and loses his humanity. like, while i do kind of prefer the manga ending to the anime, i have to admit that light's death there is fucking brutal. light goes through pages, chapters, purely dedicated to near tearing him a new asshole, only end the story bloody and delirious and crawling on his knees begging a god of death to fix everything— all just to die the exact same death as everyone else he's killed. i mean, look at these fucking pages (ch.107):

(that last fucking picture of him. clawing at the sky. it always fucking gets to me.)

it hurts to read this shit!! we spend the entire first half of the story watching this dude's rise to glory, the entire time stuck inside of his head, emotionally connecting with him even if we don't really mean to or disagree with his actions or question his morality. watching his fall back down, especially after all of that, is fucking painful— an in no way does near make the process any easier. if anything, his blunt, snarky bitchery, saying all the quiet parts out loud, calling light out for being a terrible replacement L and pointing and laughing at his failures to his face, only shoves more salt in the wound, only proves just how human he has been all this time, how meaningless any of his supposed "rise to power" ever really was. light got his fifteen seconds of fame, sure— but near is armed and ready to make sure that's all he'd ever get, that the name Light Yagami would never even be associated with the position he held for so long. six years was all he got— and it was all he was ever going to get, because light yagami did not do this for humanity, he did it for himself. all near did was collect the debt that L prescribed. he fulfilled his duty as told— nothing more, and nothing less.

i just have to wonder... is this why people hate him? because he has no sympathy for the fall? maybe. i don't know.

either way, i don't think i could ever really hate him. it's a big responsibility, being the only one left behind. but near has always been the one to hold such weights on his shoulders.

[seafoamreadings]

week of november 5th, 2023

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: long distance travel leading to love or some other form of long distance relationship become probable at this time. if that's not you, you probably have at least beautiful relationship developments happening alongside some major philosophical/academic strides.

taurus: this week, especially early on, is magically venusian, and i'm not saying "magically" lightly. it's powerful old love magic. and if you're a practitioner, it's a great time to direct that energy with your own will.

gemini: if the setting has seemed like being stuck in swampy quicksand lately, the increase in air and fire energy help you to pull yourself out of it and get back to flitting around like the mischievous little pixies we all know geminis can be! have a great time. be respectful of the heavier energies that still remain though, nothing too crazy okay?

cancerians: the watery scorpio new moon is very much your wheelhouse and can herald new romance. if you're looking, set intentions around that. if you are not, focus instead on arts, pleasures, and fun. while it technically occurs at the very beginning of next week, you will feel it from the end of this week, and can start planning now!

leo: leos who've been struggling recently suddenly find their voice again, find a muse, find a spark of joy a somber world. fan the flame and nourish it. warmth like that comes and goes, but make the most of it while it's here.

virgo: this week sees venus leave your sign for libra. while it's always a little sad to see her move on from blessing your first house, maybe you can appreciate how well she'll now attract money and good resources to you. live your authentic truth, stick to your values, and reap the rewards.

libra: in spite of the fact that it actually is scorpio season (which by the way is great for you financially) there's a distinctly libran tone to this week due to the presence of both venus and the moon. stay serene, even if you have to fake it a little.

scorpio: your sign and your ruling planet are always about power. this week in particular you are at your best, your strongest. "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is a dangerous phrase at times and often wrong but at the moment, it's most likely to be true for you. soak up those vibes and do what you need to do! pluto is strongly on your side, and mars supports, along with a lot of good watery vibes in the background.

sagittarius: in such a stolid and steady time, the ingress of mercury into your sign comes as a welcome change of pace. speak only truths. others can't help but to do so as well, even if the tells are nonverbal. be on the lookout if you have any suspicions or questions, mercury here for the next few weeks tells you what you need to know.

capricorn: we're now seeing the last of pluto in your sign for our entire lifetimes and then some. this week's aspects to venus and mercury are pleasant, for such a chthonic archetype. you speak powerfully and magnetically. your aura is enchanting. use it for good and not evil, in order to bring you a better pluto in aquarius period later on.

aquarius: two ingresses occur this week to make you feel a little more awake and alive if you've been feeling stifled, stuck, or slowed down. socializing is extremely auspicious from this week onward, especially with people and ideas that are completely brand new to you. if you've been wanting to immerse yourself in some new social culture, the time is now and especially by the weekend.

pisces: you're always a deep personality but from this week's venus into libra ingress, you will be especially so. small talk is hard to abide, trivialities of life enrage you, you become (even more of?) a ride or die. that's okay, the intimacy and loyalty are beautiful, as long as you are looking out for your physical, emotional, and spiritual safety in the process.

[inhuman-obey-me]

levi + 🚪 no mc please!

"I feel a sickness for a home I’ve never been." - Leviathan

"YES, I got the last piece of the set!" Leviathan shouts excitedly to himself, happily setting the new piece to his gear before inputting a dance command.

The little avatar on his screen begins to bop around, moving its arms cheerfully to no particular music as if to show off the new jacket it's wearing. The blurry pixels that make up the character's face look like they're smiling, just like the Avatar of Envy is, beaming from his seat as he reaches up to stretch for the first time in hours.

Messages from his guildmates start rolling in, too, filling the chat with, "YOOO CONGRATS" and "omg sooo jealous" and "looks AMAZING, man!!"

Ah, satisfaction.

And then, killing his elation just as quickly -- "alright, I think that's it for me tonight."

"Wait, some of you still need another drop from this dungeon though, right? Let's not stop yet," Levi types frantically. For the first time all night, he notices his eyes stinging from the strain of playing for so many hours straight, but he's desperate not to log off. If anything, his chest is starting to constrict at the thought, full of panic at the idea of ending already.

The others, however, are done. They collectively decide this is a good place to stop for the night, and one by one, he watches his teammates' avatars disappear from the screen, leaving his character alone in the field, still dancing away.

And, just like that, the night's distraction is over. Groaning with frustration, he scrolls idly through his quest list, checking for something, anything to still do. A dungeon, a raid, maybe some limited-time seasonal event? Of course, he's already completed all the most fun quests though, and the only things still available for him to handle alone are mindless, repetitive tasks. Boring.

He closes out the game too, dropping his head into his hands in defeat. He should get some sleep anyway, admittedly. Lucifer will be mad if he oversleeps come morning, after all.

It's just, the moment he turns around, he'll have to see that same damn room again -- his new one, with its jellyfish lamps and porcelain white tub for a bed. He'd been excited about it at first, since he'd gotten to decorate it with all his otaku paraphernalia, and the fish tank walls really did cast a lovely blue glow over everything. His figurines look great in their displays, and his entire manga collection is neatly organized on the shelves, just how he likes it.

It's a good room. It's got all of his favorite things. It's very distinctly his -- no more of the dusty old guest rooms of the Demon Lord's Castle, each one indistinguishable from all the others.

He should like it.

But that doesn't change what the room is: new. This is his new room, in a new house, in this new realm, with a new body, having to make a new home, and it's all because he's not welcome in his old one anymore. The Celestial Realm cast them out, and he'll never see his old room in the Celestial Palace again. He'll never get to stay in that nice, comfortable, familiar place anymore, and the thought makes him deeply envious of his past self who got to enjoy his time there so obliviously, never even realizing that those days would come to an end!

Then again, if he's honest with himself -- wasn't he the same way back then, too?

It's just a sickness for a home that's never been. Truthfully, he didn't feel any more comfortable in his skin as an angel than he does as a demon. Having his brothers with him is what makes a place home more than anything else, but even they don't really understand him.

No one does.

But there's always escaping into his games, his anime, his manga. In those, he can imagine himself as the hero. He doesn't have to think about what a sad, pathetic demon he is now. He doesn't have to think about being a demon at all. He can be whatever he wants to be, wherever he wants to be.

And where he wants to be right now, is not here. Anything would be better than thinking about all this again. Late night be damned, he's not ready to face this yet.

Screw it, he's not going to sleep. He boots up another game.

[moonchild701]

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Holiday Party & Family

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Summary: Dabi's first Christmas party since he was Touya

Pairing: Dabi/Gen Reader (it's more implied...)

Content Warning: Angst, Fluff, SFW

Word Count: 650

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This is the 6th part of 12 fics for a 12 Days of Christmas event. Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Prompt: Holiday Parties

My Masterlist

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The sounds of laughter and Jingle Bells playing from the radio fills the bar, with the scents of gingerbread cookies and eggnog wafting through the air.

Toga decided that, as a new family, having a Christmas party was a must. Twice was immediately on board, which trickled down the line, and Shigaraki surprisingly agreed to it,

Dabi vaguely remembers the last time he actually celebrated Christmas as a "family".

It was when Shoto wasn't born yet, when Touya was still loved, still valued.

Fuyumi and Natsuo followed him around like ducklings, waking up Enji and a heavily pregnant Rei, due in a few weeks, early Christmas morning with excitement and laughter.

It was snowing gently outside, dusting the trees and streets white, but the cold winter air was kept out. The house was warm; toasty and cozy and distinctly home.

He ran down to see the pile of colourful presents under the Christmas tree, lights and ornaments decorating its branches.

He doesn't remember what he got that year; maybe a bike, maybe another toy. All he remembers is the joy, and the realization the very next year that that was the last of it.

So you can understand his apprehension of having a Christmas party with his so called "new family".

But then, Toga was so happy, and he was reminded of Fuyumi's genuinely happy, smiling face that he doesn't quite remember because it's been so long, and he refuses to be a part of the reason for the possibility of hers fading too.

So he sucked it up, and endured. He didn't participate in the preparations, he couldn't bring himself to, but he didn't try to prevent it, so that has to count for something.

Someone strung colored lights along the walls and window sills, a wreath on each door and there's somehow a decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room. He doesn't know how or where they got all of this, but he doesn't question it.

At some point Toga demands that everyone is to be in a Christmas costume of their choosing, and there are of course some protests, but they're quicky dismissed.

So Dabi is now wearing a long Santa coat to replace his usual edgy coat, open over his usual clothes, because he's decided that he's hilarious.

Toga is dressed as an adorable elf, Twice is in a full snowman costume, Spinner has on a normal Santa hat and a curly, white Santa beard, courtesy of Toga, Compress is in a concerningly detailed nutcracker costume, Magne is just in a snowflake patterned sweater, with a headband with antlers that light up, Shigaraki's hilariously wearing a bright green grinch tshirt along with a matching green Santa hat, Kurogiri decided on a simple red Santa hat, and you're dressed in a little reindeer costume and antlers.

And in the midst of laughing at something stupid Twice said, Dabi is suddenly hit with the cemented realization that these people in the room might actually care about him. Support and value him as not only his quirk, as a weapon, but as a friend.

As family.

The League is accepting in a way no other space has been for him, for all of them. Regardless of what they've done, or how they’d lived before joining, they were all valued and appreciated, even if they don't say and admit it out loud; even if he won't.

Their pasts don’t matter, because it's the present that counts in the long run, but he could imagine that they each have at least one bad Christmas memory of their own.

And yet, somehow, they found enough joy with each other, with him, to even consider enjoying Christmas.

But, he thinks, now isn't the time to dwell on the implications and depth of it all.

For now, he'll just enjoy Christmas for the first time in a long while, with his newfound family.

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[a-drama-addict]

codex askss 2 for emira, 8 for chronos, 1 for therése and 15 for chloe!

YESSSS YESSSSS [ask game]

Emira | 2. a letter written by your OC’s family member

Em,

Haven't heard from you in ages, which is worrying because your ass usually doesn't go quiet easily. The amount of trees that could've been saved if you just showed a sign of life.

Things in the alienage have been quiet too. I think our people still move with the way you do.

Soris and Valora missed you at their anniversary. I did too. Andraste's ass, can't you just reply? Leliana won't either. But that's just how Leliana is these days, isn't she?

Best of luck to you wherever you may be.

With love,

Shianni

— A letter written by Hahren Shianni, Bann of Denerim's Alienage, dated 9:41 Dragon

Chronos | 8. your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries

Patient notes - Inquisitor Adaar

Inquisitor Adaar sustained an injury last mission he went on, going to stop the Grey Wardens. He lost his leg.

Decapitated just below the knee

Nasty nerve damage

Has to rest for at least 4 weeks, ideally 8

Give him whiskey for the pain, won't do much but it's better than nothing

The Iron Bull insist he'll take care of the Inquisitor. Said he's dealt with lost limbs before. Better him than me, Inquisitor's pissed. Least it wasn't his sword arm. Well, staff arm I suppose.

— A note written by the surgeon in Skyhold, the paper is crumpled and there's some dry blood on it. There's also a doodle of a bee- distinctly done in a different pen.

Therése | 1. an overheard conversation about your OC

Recruit: She... She killed her father?

Senior Warden: Most have done worse.

Recruit: No, no I've heard worse before. But killing her father- burning down the house she killed him in, then killing two of the guards that tried to arrest her?

Senior Warden: Thorne had her reasons. We instilled the right of conscription before she got hung.

Recruit: She killed three people!

Senior Warden: And she has killed a thousand more darkspawn since then. Not everyone's recruited because their sword arm's good, some people have a past.

— An overheard conversation in the Hossberg Wetlands, circa 9:52 Dragon, right before the siege of Weisshaupt.

Chloe | 15. a letter to your OC from a companion they haven’t seen in a while

Muffin,

I know, I know, 'You promised to stay in touch, tall guy! Hanged Man's boring without you!' and you're right. It always is.

Heard things were going well in Kirkwall though, so figures you don't need me. Fenris sent a letter few weeks back, said you gave your regards. Glad he still visits you.

In the same vein, Isabela sends her regards to you, says she misses you. And a few words I dare not repeat. Something about your ass, something about a phallus.

I've got a solid lead on Solas, got a good team for it too. Ever heard of Neve Gallus? Best damn detective I've ever met. Harding, one of the Inquisition scouts, is here too. And got a new one, a good one. Kinda reminds me of you, just not nearly as beautiful, strong, or iconic.

When we stop Solas, I'll be back. Next batch of drinks are on me. I'll bring Isabela too.

Always yours,

Varric Tethras

— A letter written by author Varric Tethras, adessed to the Champion of Kirkwall, Chloe Hawke, dated 9:51 Dragon.

[corianten]

Ten people I’d like to know better

Ooh it's been a while since I last did one of these. Tag from @vainoharhakuvitelma, thank uu 🌸

Last song: Gasoline by Måneskin

Favourite colour: Petrol blue, honey yellow, warm brown

Last book I finished: Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer. Its film version is one of my favourite films and a few people have recommended the book series to me but, hmm, I couldn't quite get into the writing style. Still stuck on the second book. The film is in a more conventional story form but I connected to it more somehow and felt like it picked and polished just the right elements from the original story to focus on.

Last movie: During New Years' we had friends over and picked some mediocre body swap film from Netflix to talk over and It's What Inside served that purpose quite well.

Last tv show: We're finally watching Hannibal; it's been sitting on my hard drive for ages now. I did watch the four first episodes back when it first aired and the hype was still fresh, but somehow just never finished it. It's funny watching it a decade later now cause there's something so distinctly 2010s in it that I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe how it's so genuine in its dark theatricality and edginess, doesn't shy away from it nor does it ridicule its own genre.

Sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet 🍪

Last thing I searched for online: “pirkka tumma leivontasuklaa” to check if this brand of baking chocolate has milk in it :P gonna make cookies ✨️✨️

Current obsession: Obsession is a strong word but I did just stay over at a friend's house playing Kingdom Hearts (Re:Chain of Memories if you'd like to know) for like.. the better part of two days. Another thing that's been on my mind a lot lately are various tricks I want to try on Illustrator. I'd like to get better at vector graphics.

Something I’m looking forward to: Overall I feel like this year has had a good start (personally, ignoring the politics both in Finland and around the world) so I'm looking forward to keeping it that way - planning nice little get togethers and outings and filling my free days with stuff that I actually want in my life. =v= Nothing special, just nice little everyday things.

Tagging @nyyhkis @beastwife @softabomination @homohaamu @dutinaattori @zombieheroine @rabbitmagic @onsvaltti @hymykuoppaista @ruusupuu, no pressure tho 🌻🖤

[redstringraven]

For Cassia: 3, 8, 11! And for Nyxram: 1, 6, 11!

<:D!! AAAAA thank you so much!

Secret Ask List

-------------------- .: • CASSIA --------------------

3) what song describes your oc?

cassia is one of those ocs where the music i find for her playlist is almost all vibes and not really based on lyrics. it's the energy of the music, the way it makes you wanna move or bob or sing along. that being said: "rage" by hyper crush and "joyride" by kesha immediately make me think of her. lyrically, "i love it" by icona pop might be a good fit.

8) what hobbies does your oc have? what do they do to unwind?

cassia's major hobby is rollerskating! but she's also super into street art, and she enjoys beautifying her favorite areas of new york in a manner of silly or meaningful ways. when she's at home, she also enjoys random doodling--mostly ideas for graffiti or future street art--learning dances from her favorite music videos, and playing a variety of video games.

11) what was your inspiration for your oc?

i distinctly remember driving to my local movie trading company to see if they had any physical dvds for tmnt'03, and "girlfriend" by avril lavigne came on spotify shuffle. for whatever reason, i got the image of a pink-haired girl in rollerskates, and she wouldn't leave my head. cassia's my first tmnt oc, and i think she was always meant to be kind of like april in that she's a grounding presence in their otherwise chaotic lives. despite how high-energy and mischievous she is, she's extremely stable and does regularly go to therapy, which has made her more thoughtful and aware of others along with herself. her biggest conflicts come from being an out trans-girl in the 90s and early 2000s, but none of it is tied to her immediate family (her parents ADORE her). she is, for the most part, about as ''''average'''' a civilian in the tmnt'03 world as you can get. i dunno! i think i kind of just wanted to give them all another anchor of sorts, another safe haven. cassia's parents, oliver and esme, also become guardian figures to the turtles in a sense (especially mikey). esme loves to mother them.

-------------------- .: • NYXRAM ----------------------------

1) does your oc have a voice claim, if so who?

god yes. nyx's voice claim is shohreh aghdashloo. the moment i heard her as enforcer grayson in arcane, i pointed at the screen and muttered: "you". as someone who's very picky about these sorts of things i seriously feel like it was gift-wrapped to me. >xD shohreh also provides the voice for the dragon in damsel, which is a dumb as hell movie but i will continue to listen to it for the sake of hearing her talk.

6) if your oc is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

kind of a weird question, since 'modern day' implies that this is more a difference in time period? e-e;; i imagine she'd likely still have assassin roots, but. after the rebellion succeeds, the republic begins to rebuild, and the games are disbanded, nyxram takes it upon herself to use her family's "estate" as a sanctuary for the animals used in the games, since most of them can't be returned to their natural habitats due to injuries and/or being raised in captivity. so! i think a potential "modern day" or "human" profession for her might be owning and managing something like an old friends senior dogs sanctuary. providing housing, love, and comfort for older animals when most folks want younger pets, and ensuring that their last few years are happy and safe. she's taken so much life, so... it feels like giving back, in a way.

11) what was your inspiration for your oc?

@/plantdonut doesn't live with me (alas), but if she did, i would have turned to her during our '03 rewatch a few years ago and asked, bluntly, "why do all the triceratons gotta be dudes? where're my giant, amazon warrior dinosaurs?". and within a few days, i was practicing my hand at drawing triceratons, so i could make it so. my two major points of inspiration for nyx come from cassandra cain (2nd batgirl, pre-new52) and john wick. cassandra for being... basically born and bred to be the perfect assassin, only to have 'too much' compassion and love and guilt and go hero instead, and john wick for being a 'baba yaga' to anyone who knows his name. not the boogeyman, but the one you send to kill the boogeyman. the idea of a triceraton assassin was very cool to me, given that they're often a straight-forward, loud, and blunt force to face with little concern for being subtle. it also draws an interesting connection to her and the turtles; at some point nyx comments that despite their practice being tied to assassins such as herself, any blood on their hands comes from self-defense. in some ways, she envies them. but in many more, she doesn't. she's the sole survivor of her clutch, and the only one of her siblings to 'earn' a name. she was, in a way, a political move--a gift/tool offered to the prime leader to ensure that her parents had a connection to power and could continue their own work with protection from punishment. ...they just didn't expect for her to want something else. since the triceratons seem to have a handful of 'nods' and aesthetics pointing toward the roman empire, i named nyxram after the greek goddess 'nyx', the personification and substance of night. i also specifically use greek spelling with her, whereas her parents will have roman spelling of their names to further emphasize her 'otherness' from triceraton society as a whole.