#inkys japanese bullshit

[turboautismrobot]

ピクミン1と2とピクミン3

Wiiであそぶ ピクミン

ピクミン4と5、ピクミン6、ピクミン7

ピクミン百八十億と十一

ピクミン3 デラックスとHey！ピクミン

ピクミン誘惑とピクミン罪

あなたのipadでピクミン、名前はピクミンブルーム

ピクミンとDOOMの新たなクロスオーバー

失われたブラウザゲームピクミンSPACE FORCE

ピクミンフォーテナイト

ピクミンローム質粘土とピクミン砂

ピクミンアドベンチャー (ニンテンドーランド)

ピクミンが大乱闘スマッシュブラザーズXに来ます

ピクミンのボールを投げる新しいゲームを作成しました。

ゲームキューブでピクミン、そこでプレイできます

好きでも嫌いでも、きっと見つかるよ

ゲームキューブでピクミン、そこでプレイできます

好きでも嫌いでも 、そこにあります

ゲームキューブでピクミン

ゲームキューブでピクミン

ゲームキューブでピクミン

くそゲームキューブでピクミン

[nodutra19]

Finished The Navidson Record

Today, on the bus to and from work, I finished the main text of House of Leaves, and I want to share my thoughts.

This has been an utterly refreshing change of pace with regards to American horror, or to be precise with the American use of the supernatural. Allow me to elucidate y'all: to be quite frank with all those United Statians¹ gathered here, the use of the supernatural and fantastical in urban settings by white American authors is rather flaccid and uninteresting. which is why I'm unsurprised Mark Z. Danielewski pulled from Jorge Luis Borges, a Latin-American author (specifically Argentine). Much to my convenience and delight, Shinra Archaeology Department recently tweeted the following:

"FFVII: Advent Children director Nomura says Americans seem to have a compulsion to explain everything for why things are how they are. He thinks Japanese sensibilities allow for reality-defying action like you see in Advent Children. (Dengeki 325)."

Regardless of how you feel about FFVII: Advent Children, and FFVII itself, I think Nomura is spot on here. So far as I've read (up to page 528 of the second edition), so much is "unexplained" and ambiguous, much lost to the impenetrable dark. Let's take a classic in American horror, and thus of the white American use of the fantastical: It by Stephen King. I love the book myself bar the infantile understanding of racism I currently recollect, but one thing that I absolutely disliked was how Pennywise was a literal creature from outer space. It was the dumbest decision King could've made. Now let's compare this to Toni Morrison's Beloved: the titular character has an identity left to the dark. It could be the manifestation of the suffering of enslaved Africans, specifically of the protagonist, but it could also be a case of confused identity as some have argued. Either way the true contours of what occurred are left in inky corridors; what truly matters about the supernatural is how the characters interact with it. There's no cosmic plot or twist, unlike It.

Let's go back to Japan: the biggest manga and anime hits of the past decade have been Jujutsu Kaisen and Chainsaw Man, and in each there are spirits that society must not only deal with but for whose existences all are responsible: in JJK, Curses are the result of negative human emotions accumulating in a certain area; in CSM, Devils are the manifestations of humans' fears and they are powered by the fear itself. This is closer to Beloved than It. This isn't to say ambiguity isn't a thing in American fiction, it's simply to say that the American mindset often disallows anything other than a molecular understanding of ghosts and goblins. Nnedi Okorafor once said:

"In non-Western cultures, the mystical coexisting with the mundane is normal."

In House of Leaves, I think Danielewski takes this to heart and doesn't impede the beauty, horror, and gravity of the layers of unreality with some precise explanation of how the house functions. He specifically goes out of his way to demonstrate not only how hopeless it is, but, really, ridiculous, all while, to my ears, he mocks popular forms of analyses. I don't know his politics of beliefs, but he manages to embody and satirize how we tend to dissect fiction through Zampanò.

I could be misinterpreting the text, but it is humorous to read rather tongue-in-cheek jokes made against Freudianism and that "Viennese medicine man's"² bullshit in certain segments. The way Danielewski mimicked their voices, their prose, immediately summons the image of smarmy dickheads sitting next to their house fire writing their regurgitated trash out, nodding to themselves that a house representing a vagina is somehow a coherent take on the situation.

And yet despite the satire, Danielewski weaves in so much heart throughout, especially with Johnny or specific beautiful nuggets of prose such as that excerpt of the biography on Karen Green.

This book isn't duplicitous; rather, it's a unique whole, a cornucopia of terror, unreality, and what stands at the center of human existence: the dialectics between us and story, including the ones we tell ourselves for any number of innumerable reasons be it in ink or impenetrable streams of consciousness. Even the way Zampanò uses big words has a twofold nature: it's to commentate on how smartasses speak, but it's also an indulgence of language, something that I, a Nabokovian, adore to the fullest.³

I still have to read the appendices and the Whalestoe Letters, so perhaps my opinions will change, but these are my impressions up to page 528.

This is also one of the very few books to have truly scared me. The only other two have been the aforementioned Beloved, and Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita, which, for those unaware, does not side with its monstrous protagonist.⁴

A term I borrowed from Nabokov's Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle. It's actually a great equivalent to the Spanish word "Estadounidense," which is a more accurate term for Americans. Estado=state, unido=united, and -ense denotes a person from a specific place. Literally one could say "United Stateser," but that's as graceful as calling someone a "Dominican Republican."

How Nabokov referred to Freud. I can't remember where. If you want a good if puzzled laugh, I recommend looking up the other shit the ol Russian said about the motherfucker who has ruined the name of Oedipus.

I say this like I can't be criticized for the exact same thing. Such is life!

See Jamie Loftus's Lolita Podcast

[frogandbird]

Strawberry Skys - Chapter Seventeen - Red Masks

[Prev] - [First] - [Next]

“English” “Japanese”

One would think that a massive kappa wandering the roofs of New York would be safe from asholes with a bit too much confidence, but you would be wrong.

Four humans in black clothing had jumped out at her, yelling something about her being hamato and thus needing to beat her up.

She had managed to drop her pizza boxes before slamming one of the humans into the ground before one was foolish enough to try and climb her spiked shell.

Another kappa had come out of nowhere, kicking one of the humans in the face as she had grabbed another.

The one on her shell vaulted over, yelling at the other kappa. Said Kappa had flung the human they had just kicked into their buddy, both falling into her siblings' dinner.

Onix dropped the human she had been holding, who was probably alive, letting them fall to the cold ground.

The other kappa was spinning around, clearly looking for anymore of the foot ninjas.

There were four around, two tossed into the pizza boxes that had been for her siblings dinner, the one she had just dropped at her feet, and the one that had been slammed into a wall.

Said kappa finally stood properly, putting their sai away. Onix wished Lou haddnt taken hers.

The kapp turned to her, looking her up and down.

“Why the fuck were you fighting Foot goans.” the kappa gestured at one of the downed humans.

Onix shrugged and went to see what pizza she could save.

“hey-!” The kappa squeaked, probably not liking that she was ignoring them.

She moved the humans to one side, not bothering to be gentle as she flipped open the first box. Pizza mush. None of her kids would eat that.

“I'm talking to you.” The kappa poked at her side, jumping back when she turned to look at them.

“I'm not deaf.” Onix growled, tossing the ruined pizza box atop the human and looking at the other two. Both were trashed. She paused as the words left her mouth. She never spoke to strangers. Nt unless her sibling were around

“Then stop acting like you are.” The kappa spoke, a low growl in their voice.

“Be glad I haven't bit you yet.” She huffed. Her instincts needed to clam the fuck down. This stranger was not family just because they were Kappa.

Wwow. You’re even meaner than I am. Look ya’ pice of shit, just answer me.”

“Why should i.” She lashed her tail and stood, she should go. she didn't want to. Why did she trust this stranger.

“Because this is Hamato bullshit and we don't need others-”

the kappa was cut off when Onix turned, looking at their green eyes with her own.

She looked at the kappa with more care than before, taking note of hte burn scars and the inky black and blue tattoos on their arms, the red mask on their face and the sai tied to their belt.

“Then we’re on the same side.” Onix rose to her full height, a rare thing when the sewers weren’t built for turtles almost seven feet tall. If they were Hamato, then she could probably trust them, and her gut could finally stop yelling at her.

The kappa's face screwed up, looking up at her. They weren't really much shorter than her, likely half a foot, but it still made them look up and her look down.

“The fuck dose that mean.” The kappa growled, arms crossing over their chest.

Onix huffed. She extended a hand. “Hamato Baron Onix.” and why did she do that.

The kappa blinked. “Hamato Raphael.” they paused. “he/him.”

Onix nodded. “She/her.” She stepped back, picking up the pizza boxes and dumping them into a dumpster.

“Not worth saving?” Raphael asked from behind her, having not moved.

“Not even Oreo would eat it.” She paused. “And that little shit will eat anything.”

A braked laugh came from behind and she spun to look at the kappa.

“Yeah, Mike is like that. I know a place that accepts mutants. Pay back for tossing that guy into your dinner.” Raphael nodded to the downed foot ninja then up to the rooftops.

Onix paused. “Lead the way.” this wouldn’t be too bad. hopefully.

—

Onix hummed at the red masieen that Raphael stopped at, getting tokens from it. The kappa was about to say something when she came forward, producing some money from her sachle and looked at the thing.

“You know how to use ‘em?”

“Yeah, have these things down below. That and dad never shuts up about how useful they can be.” Onix snorted at the memory of Lou yelling about how he could never get the proper food he wanted without the things. Mutant looks and all.

“Are you not a mutant?” Raphael leaded against the wall as Onix waited for the coins to drop.

“Ah, kappa. Most of my family are mutants though. No real difference besides how we were made.” Onix hummed, using two of her fingers to scoop up the coins.

Raphael snoreted. “Yeah sure.”

Onix huffed and stood. The kappa wasn't so bad now that he wasn't bashing heads into walls. “You’re not a kappa?”

“Nah, murat turtle through and through.” Rapheal waved one hand, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the building they had stopped at.

“Oh, and the owner is blind, he doesn’t care what you look like if ya pay. Been dealing with us for years.”

“Noted.”

Onix blinked at the scents that emerald hit her senses, smells that she had long forgotten. The scent of oils and fresh veggies and chicken all swirled together, hints of warm scales and sun cooked fruit underneath the sea of warmth coming from the kitchen. She blinked back the memories and looked around the small shop.

The shop itself was small and cute, your average small business restaurant topside. A bar counter sat in front of the show kitchen, a curtain blocking the main kitchen off from the rest of the store front. The windows were notably covered in long red curtains, linked together they showed off a long dragon that curled around the shop.

Onix blinked as a short and plump human came out of the kitchen.

”hello Raph! are your siblings with you?”

”No, i brought someone else with me though.” Raphael sat at one of the bar stoles, loudly dropping the wooden token.

”I can introduce myself.” Onix hummed, setting her own tokens down. She ignored the startled jump Rapael gave. ”hamato Onix.”

“You can speak japanese?” Raphael looked at her all funny, like she had grown another pair of tusks.

Onix shrugged. She had known it most her life, learning the very basics with papa before Lou took over teaching. She leaned her arms on the counter, not wanting to break the stool that she was arched over.

The human laughed, taking Raphaels token and feeling teh carving.

“dude, seriously, who are you.”

“A kappa with too much on her plate.” Onix sighed.

The ringing of the door bell made her jump, looking back to see a human with red hair and a yellow sweater coming in. The human had green arm warmers on nad black leggings, fain green marks on their hands.

“Oh.” The human looked up at her, clearly surprised.

“Hey April.” Raphael spoke, making Onix blink at him.

The new human, April apparently, just looked between the two turtles in red.

The other human called something from the back, but Onix wasn't really paying attention to them.

“uh Raph, there is a massive turtle standing next to you.” April kept glancing at Onix, then back at Raph.

Onix snickered as Raphael and April spoke, trading a conversation she could fully understand. Raphael had a grin on his face, talking freely and loudly as Onix twitched her tail.

The other human came out of the kitchen, putting a box next to Raphael before turning in her direction.Onix gently moved the tokens over humming.

The human took them and nodded at her before disappearing into the back again.

Onix watched the new April, taking note of how different her little sister was to this new human.

Between the different looks, Onixs little sister could never try to hold the slightly heated conversation that was going on without yelling or hissing at the other kids.

It was simply how you won arguments in her house. Be louder or hiss enough and you would eventually get your point across. unless it was Violet you were arguing with, then you may as well try fighting with a stray cat.

Raphael suddenly started laughing, making April look around and Onix tune back into the conversation

“What?!” April looked slightly pissed at the smaller turtle, their hands raised slightly as he continued to cackle.

Raphael didn’t respond, holding his sides as he slowly began to recover.

Onix tilted her head, fully aware her face was displaying her amusement.

”Hamato Onix, she/her. It is nice to meet you.”Onix huffed, ducking her head into her bandana to not scare off the human with her tusks. Though that probably wouldn’t be a real problem with either of the humans in the building.

April paused for a long moment before responding “April O'Neil. She/they.”

Onix clicked back at her, standing when a box was pushed up against her arm.

April visibly stepped back, earning a punch from Raphael.

Onix chuckled and took the boxes that had been set down by the other human, one she still didn't know the name of.

“Thank you.” Onix turned over to Raph and April. “Thanks for showing me this place. I need to get back to the kids.”

Raphael, April, and the other human all called goodbyes as she exited the shop, the cold air of fall hitting her face.

Onix reached under her bandana, grabbing hold of the small jem on her choker. “Time to test your newest trick Oni.”

— —

Raph stared at the door as it swung close. The kappa that had just taken up the space next to him was strange. He would give em’ that.

The heavy looking fabric that had covered her shell was clearly there to hide scars, Raph could see that just from how the spikes on her uncovered arm had been so much bigger than the ones on her covered one.

The bandana she wore had been black and red, much like one of Caseys. It had even scared the diamond marks on her face on one of its tails. Hell, she could speak Japanese as fluently as El could, and seemed entirely too aware of how much space she took up.

That wasn't the strangest part. The strangest part was how her eyes matched his, say for the red flicks in his being replaced by silver in hers. Or how his gut screamed at him to trust her, even if her size and spikes suggested otherwise.

Or even how she gave two different names, one to him and another to the others. It was clear to him that Onix had trusted him, possibly for the same reason he trusted her. She didn’t seem at all bothered when he mentioned being a mutant, even if she was a kappa. It was strange.

“Why do you and Mikey keep finding people bigger than you to befriend?” Apirl sighed, collapsing into a bar stool.

Raph shrugged. He asked himself the same thing sometimes.

[koulakoukoula2003]

Hello!, Hope you are doing fine, I've been so obsessed with Levi for sometime now hehe, so I wanted to ask if you could do one where reader who just joined the survey corps and she is from japan, (im from japan so I would really like to imagine :D) and she has really dark inky black hair and all features a Japanese person would have?, and Levi is quite interested in her and it ends with them together. Tysm I'm so sorry if I'm troubling you have a good day!!!

Omggggg a japanese person 👏👏👏😍 hajimemashite, girisha shusshin desu (yeah idk katakana/hiragana yet and god I hope this makes sense🤣) and you're not troubling me at all! Levi's been my biggest obsession tbh

So, I'm pretty sure the Hizuru country in the SNK world are the Japanese of the SNK universe (and thus they're smart and hot af), so reader here, like Mikasa, is from the Hizuru, but still nobody knows about the Hizuru and the outside world yet.

Genre: Fluffy fluffy fluffff, no TW Pairing: Levi x Reader

You were... different. Everybody has been staring at you as if you were an alien since you were a child. And now here you were, many years later, a soldier of the Scout Regiment. You were a talented soldier. You had among the highest kill counts but nobody could surpass Levi's kill count.

Levi joined a bit later than you did but he climbed the ranks fast. You were both Lieutenants now. He was so skilled, watching him slaughter titans was like a brutal form of art.

"How do you do it?"

It was night now. He was in the training halls, punching and kicking a punching bag, taking out on it some unrequited rage that you were sure it was linked to his two comrades dying in the latest expedition, Furlan and Isabel. Those three were close. They had survived the underground together. They had been close until he lost both.

Levi had closed up to himself ever since. Hange had tried to be there for him, but he'd push everybody away. And you could tell you were annoying him now just being there and interrupting his midnight training session. He couldn't sleep. He never slept.

He ignored you and he resumed the pinching and kicking. His white shirt was beginning to cling on his sweaty body, and the knuckles of his hands were starting to bruise from how hard he was pushing himself, and you noticed right away.

You rushed to his side and shoved his hands away from the punching bag, pausing his training. You examined his knuckles as they were a deep dark purple and you sighed heavily.

Before you could say anything, he pulled his hands away from yours and took a step back.

"Leave me alone, brat," Levi growled, visibly pissed.

You frowned. "No! You either stop harming yourself, or you show me a few forms,"

He groaned. "You really are a pain in the ass, aren't you?"

You smirked. "I've been told that a lot,"

"I bet," Levi sighed heavily. "Fine, show me your combat stance," You got in your stance, bringing your fists to your face and he frowned. "That's pathetic,"

Your eyes widened. "What?! It's what I've been taught in the cadet corps!"

"Well they teach you bullshit,"

Levi stood behind you, forcing your feet to further part and making you sink in your stance and bend your knees a little more. He caught your hands from behind you and brought them in a different position, untangling your fists.

He got in the same stance beside you. "Follow after me,"

And that's how it started. From that night forth, you met at the same late midnight hour in the training grounds. He taught you all he knew but most importantly he taught you to use what you knew and improvise and the better way to do that was spar.

He was a difficult opponent. There was no saying how many times he beat you and you were bruised for the next weeks. But you were an impressively fast learner, even though, he would never admit it.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was a few months later now as he dodged your attacks and he tried to kick you to make you lose your balance, but you swiftly took a step back.

His fist ran for your stomach but you took another step back, and another, avoiding his attacks, waiting for an opening and when you found it, he was dropping on his back before he knew it and you were on top of him, pinning his hands on the floor, on the level of his head.

You were panting. You were sweaty. Your pitch black, straight hair were clinging to your face. Your dark, uniquely shaped eyes were all he could look at. You let out a squeal of happiness. It almost felt like victory to you, but it was short-lived.

You were on your back and he on top of you before you knew it. You cried out in the sudden movement and you groaned. He pinned your hands above your head and his knees sank around your waist.

But you were so beautiful right there. You black hair were a mess and you dark eyes shined so bright. You were perfect. Smart, and beautiful and an incredibly fast learner, and disciplined and respectful.

He wasn't thinking when he kissed you. He kissed you hard and you kissed him back and he released your arms. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your fingers in his hair and you certainly had no idea where this was going to lead, but you knew it was coming. You had felt some tension between you and for weeks be was all you could think about and maybe it had been the same for him.

You didn't know where this was going to lead, but you knew you were going to stand by his side till the very end.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Love Story (Part 1) Ruri Kazama

Oh boy... I got a lot riding on this one. *sweats*

@rurifangirl by request.

Even after climbing up out of the elevator shaft, your long night wasn’t over. The police raid, the one that prompted Hydra to move all their files in the first place, was about to begin and every able-bodied operative was running around trying to clean up the signs of the battle in the mural hall and the signs of the deadpools’ reign of destruction, including the bodies left behind. 

Exhausted, hiding in an equipment room, you slept, propped up between Caesar and Chu Zihang. You couldn’t lay down. The act of lying down was too painful. Out of the three, you had suffered the greatest injury. You had fought the deadpool in the basement, only to climb from the bottom of the elevator shaft to find another battle. You’d reached the limit of your endurance, so Caesar and Chu Zihang offered their shoulders and kept watch. Your mind relaxes despite still being in the midst of the enemy and you quietly slip into oblivion, feeling safer than you had in a very long time.

But you were forced to lie down eventually. Caesar found an unwatched police car and carefully lifted you into the trunk, then they climbed in themselves and shut it. The police car left the Genji Heavy Industries building. The Hydra may be powerful, but at this time when their headquarters had come under such a devastating attack, they were not inclined to search police cars. That was how you finally escaped.

Every bump in the road sent lightning through your nerves. If it weren’t for your lost voice, you doubt you could have kept quiet. But just in case, you take your hair and bite it between your teeth.

“Your back is already partially healed.” Chu Zihang’s voice is audible, but you can’t see him because your eyes are firmly shut.

“I noticed that, but I wasn’t going to say anything about you in front of that humanoid dragon.” Caesar was saying. “You slept for three days and healed from a grievous gunshot wound that nearly took your life. He healed from a stab through the belly in an hour and now… even with your wounds cauterized, they’re closed up a little more every time I look at them.”

“MC, the Lenin, the strange port, the so-called Hydras and the Devil Clan… they’re all pieces painting a single picture.” Zihang stated. “The way he described the so-called Ghosts, it sounded a lot like you. You’re the same Hybrid Species, but you’re more likely to become deadpool. It was good that we weren’t captured by the Hydras. They would definitely have killed you. As a Ghost.”

Caesar hissed in fury. “The whole Hydra organization will burn before I let them touch you!”

To think that at one time you actually felt like you could fit in more with Hydra than Cassell. You had followed after Chisei in battle, admiring his strength against deadpool. But if Chisei had known anything about you, he would have slain you in that elevator. Realizing how much danger you were in made you sigh.

Your heart sinks. You had been hoping to talk to Chisei about what he might know about you and find out what more similarities you might have with him. But now, that date over sake would be an impossibility. Caesar was right. The world really is bullshit.

Your eyes flutter open again. “Caesar. I almost forgot to tell you something…”

“Save it. It’s too hard for you to speak right now, and I can barely hear you over the sound of the car. Take this time to recover.”

Sneaking out of the police lot wasn’t difficult. It was raining hard and that concealed your silhouettes.  The heavy droplets soaked your clothes and the blood that was caked on them. Chu Zihang is carrying you now, sprinting down the flooded streets of Tokyo. You leave behind a trail of deadpool blood that mixes with the rainwater in black inky streaks and runs into the gutters and down into the storm drains.

The sun was coming up. If you were caught out here, Kaguya might find out where you were hiding, Hydra would rush in to trap you, and you would die.

Caesar slammed open the door to the Takamagahara. It swung on its hinge and banged into the wall. The morning light swept through the city at that moment to illuminate their entrance. Caesar and Chu Zihang held the door, panting, wet shirts clinging to their bodies, drops of water falling from the tips of their hair.

"Yo, everyone is still awake? Good business in the store last night?" Caesar waved his hand in greeting. He looked from the light into the dark interior of the lobby and couldn't see very well, only that the dance floor was full of people. But you had buried your face in Chu Zihang’s chest to hide from cameras and had no trouble with light-blindness.

In a glance, you take in the scene. So much is going on. The women you had helped Caesar take pictures of in the VIP private suite of the Takamagahara are standing in a semicircle. Their arms are over their ample chests or their hands are on their hips. They were all glaring, and the target of their ire was Whale.

Whale, this man that seemed like such a powerful tycoon when you met him, that was bold enough to keep harboring you despite being illegal immigrants, had been reduced to a groveling servant before them, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered paper money. The bills were quite large, but no one moved to touch them.

Fujiwara, the former Sumo star and the man you described as the biggest Seal on the Shore of Baikal, was standing between them and Whale,  but his appearance was not that of someone who was going to try to defend Whale. It was the appearance of the shield bearer who happily takes the sword strike for his King and gives him the chance to escape!

Even though the Takamagahara should be closing, all the performers are crowded into the space, motionless in a bow, eyes downcast. You recognize your official suitors in the MC Romance competition among them.

Armani frowns deeply at you. Now that he was in the light of day, you can see that he’s the classic cold and stern type of handsome male character, someone with high standards of food, drink and clothing. Even now he was wearing a slick suit that was hardly wrinkled from the night’s activity. But despite this current figure, he had been wearing something far more revealing to meet you and you saw his belly button ring.

Chance snorts and tries not to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand before schooling his face into a sorrowful look. He was dressed the same with his chain and his sleeveless open puffy coat. You notice his henna tattoos go all the way up his arm in a twisting serpentine pattern. 

Diamond, the sexy cowboy, just looks at you in astonishment. He was the one who had been the most forward and confident in his win. Now he realized that after you had refused to give him a star-heart ticket, you went out with other boys! This had never happened to him in his entire life!

 But it was Calypso, the one who had handed you the closed rose bud, who spoke, pointing at Chu Zihang and Caesar. “What are you doing with her? You’re not competing!”

Everyone turns to look at you. Caesar’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light of the lobby and you see his face go taut and his eyes widened. “Shit!” He squeaked!

The humpback whale looked horrified and said, "You can't come back and speak that way to the guests!”

Chu Zihang touched Caesar's back with his elbow as he scooted over to hide behind him.

Caesar immediately understood and walked up to the women with an elegant salute, "How did you sleep last night? You look much better!"

"The guests drank too much and fell asleep. We went out for a bite to eat." Chu Zihang stammered. His Japanese was horrible. After all, he could make money with just his face and his sullen attitude so there was little need to work on pronunciation when all he had to do was mumble.

Whale is staring with eyes as big as dinner plates at Chu Zihang who was still carrying the travel bag with his sword inside. The bag was soaking wet and the blood mixed with water pooled on the floor where you stood. It looked like he’d hidden a severed head in there! Chu Zihang’s eyes shifted to his bag and then looked back up. “The Main Character was injured in the Earthquake so we had to take her and others to the hospital.”

It was a stupid story. It would have been better to keep his silence! Who knew Chu Zihang could stammer out a dumb line like that? It was about Lu Mingfei level of dumb. But Chu Zihang owned it, glaring hard with the cold stare of a killer. If he couldn’t make them believe his lie, he could at least stop them from asking any questions.

 Whale’s lips trembled. "I don't believe it! Can’t you make up a more logical lie about finding a dead cat or dog hit by a car in the street. So you brought it back to bury it because you like small animals?”

    "Ah! Right, Ukyou! Are you okay?" A large woman stepped around the sumo wrestler. If Fujiwara was the King of the Seals, this had to be the Queen. Her dress strained at the seams to contain her and she was like a giant egg testing the weight limits of her tiny heels. Her lips were smeared with gaudy red lipstick and she fluttered her gold powdered eyes at Chu Zihang.

But Chu Zihang’s reaction was telling. The way he tensed up, held you tighter and his eyes got wide, shocked you.

 "Who is the roadside nobody you rescued? Maybe he's a yakuza? Maybe it's some other bad guy or something that could….”

You turn and look at the woman, still carried in Chu Zihang’s arms. The woman’s face went pale and then paler, about as pale as the faces of the deadpool. Her mouth dropped open like a deadpool too only she didn’t have the rows of teeth to display. Her whole body started to shake and her hands went over her mouth.

Then her hands balled into fists, her eyes narrowed and her head dropped as if she were going to charge you. She let out a scream that sent chills up your spine. It wasn’t any words, just a primordial screech. Her face flushed red to her hairline. When she finally found the words, she bellowed, “Who the fuck is that?!”

She lumbered forward, eyes blazing with rage. “Get your hands off my Ukyou! You Bitch! You Bitch!” She swung her purse and missed you by inches, but her aim was good. She missed you because Chu Zihang had turned his body to shield you and the purse cracked hard against his jaw. Unbeknownst to both of you, she had filled her purse with bottles of champagne. Her plan was to take these bottles as a ‘fine’ for the insult of what happened to her last night. But at the sight of you, they became a weapon.

The sound of those bottles smashing against Chu Zihang’s head was audible to all and if there was any doubt as to the sheer force of her anger, her Prada bag turned dark and started to drip and the hall filled with the smell of champagne.

You look at him in disbelief. 

Chu Zihang didn’t move, but his eyes were wild. A small red bead of blood formed at the corner of his mouth and that turned into a thin red line down his chin.  The pressure of his fingertips against your skin told you that this blow really hurt.

She hurt him. That thought rings like a bell that sounds deep in your stomach and turns it.

The woman looks shocked for a moment. She didn't mean to strike him. He was hit because he protected you. "Why are you protecting her? I'm your client! Asshole! Do you know who I am? How dare you! How dare you take what I’ve paid good money for and give it to this hussy! You’re nothing but trash! No different from a dog! We spend good money so you can please us! And when I buy something it’s mine! Do you understand? Do you speak English? MINE!" Her face is inches from his. She reaches out with one hand to try to yank you out of his grip.

The woman suddenly stopped as though frozen in time. Her voice was cut off and she started to tremble. People couldn't see around her, they only saw your stare. It was like the empty and frozen stare of a shark, but you were smiling, a sort of strange disbelieving smile. You tilt your head in a curious gesture.

They couldn’t see that bronze dagger you’d slipped under the folds of her neck. If this woman so much as swallowed, the ripple of her throat would be enough to cut her. 

But the combination of empty eyes and surprised grin was far more frightening. It was the look of someone who snapped. The bronze claw in your hand was enough to pierce the flesh of Rank-A deadpool. With only a little pressure you could sever her head!

You were hungry, exhausted and in pain. But even if you had been perfectly fine, you weren't going to sit by and let this woman abuse him. He had fought all night with you, nearly died for you and then carried you here. This precious person who had rushed into the fire, who had patted your shoulder to comfort you. She treated him like an object, like a slave right in front of you.

Despite the ice of grief breaking around your frigid heart, giving you a glimpse of the possibility of happiness, you were still trained to kill and you’d killed for less… much less… than what she’d just done.

Caesar slowly turned his back, "I hate to see two women fight ...... so I can only turn around."

“My career is finished…” Whale softly moaned.

"Excuse me, is this Takamagahara? Ruri Kazama has taken the liberty of coming to visit for the Romance Contest." Someone knocked gently on the door.

You, along with everyone else in the room, looked over at the door in surprise.

The door was open. A handsome man with a boyish face stood in the mild sunlight, wearing a white shirt and black suit, with fresh straight black hair in a ponytail, holding a bunch of budding tulips.

The man was a little embarrassed by everyone's stares. He bowed deeply and offered his business card with both hands. “Please forgive my tardiness.”

"Master Kazama ...... Ruri?" Someone said in a reverent voice.

Master? You turn and look at where the reverent voice was coming from, but the entire hall was silent and no one spoke again. Chance was standing in mute astonishment. Armani’s sharp black eyes were wide.

Your knife lowers from the fat woman’s neck and you squint at this newcomer, wondering why this man was held in such high regard. He was nothing like the muscle bound flirts who had been jostling for your favor before. His manner was more like a shy school boy. As far as his appearance was concerned, you could be forgiven for mistaking him for a svelte young woman.

Fujiwara sprinted over, took the pure white business card. He held it high above his head as he took it back and placed it in the hands of the Whale.

"It's really Master Kazama at the door." Whale straightened his bow tie and stepped out to welcome him.  "Today is a glorious day for Takamagahara." The Whale bowed deeply.

 "I've heard a lot about you, too, Senior Whale. Yoroshiku Hajimemashite." Ruri Kazama returned the bow.

You reach up and gently wipe the blood from Chu Zihang’s face. “You okay?” Your voice is still gone, but he’s close enough to hear. When he nods, you ask, “Who is that?”

“There is a ranking in the Male Escort Association, and Ruri Kazama is the number one on this ranking for six consecutive years.”

“So what you’re saying is…” You rasp. “He’s like… Time Magazine Hottest guy?”

Chu Zihang shakes his head. “This ranking is not based on beauty nor popularity, but on the principle of art. Those selected are considered Master Ikemen. Ruri Kazama is a legend. They say he exists only for love. If he continues to keep this legend maintained for ten years, then he has the hope to become the god of the male escort world and will have a shrine built for him to receive offerings.”

You snort, disguising it as a sneeze, covering your face with your hand. “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

But Chu Zihang doesn’t seem to share your humor. “The fact that he has joined this contest raises your status as well.”

When you look back, the wind blew the hem of his coat, and Ruri Kazama stood in the sunlight with a slight smile. Although he behaved like the one shy kid from high school, you can’t deny his beauty. It shines like water: light and natural, but at the same time, reflected the sun’s infinite luster.

Ruri Kazama bowed deeply to Caesar, "It's BasaraKing, isn't it? This is a man who is as spontaneous as a Gundam."

He bowed again to Chu Zihang, "This one, if I'm not wrong, is Ukyo Sensei, said to be the image of a swordsman, but acts like a gentleman."

Then he looks at you. At first glance, those eyes looked clear and soft. But the longer you looked, they looked like two deep pools, the water of which was transparent. When you looked into their depths, however, they were pitch black, bottomless, and frigid.

[writing-radionoises]

to be loved

ship: odazai, fyodazai, kunikidazai if you squint

genre: alternative universe

prompt: in an alternate universe where when someone who cares about you touches you, it leaves a colored mark on your skin, dazai is covered in so many unwanted marks from his abuser.

notes: tw for mori typical bullshit, referenced self harm, and implied sexual content. this is also just. my au but yall are free to do whatever you want with it as long as you credit me ^^

Most people value and adore marks.

The colored hand prints and kiss marks that litter each and every person’s body, each one unique from the other.

It means that someone cares about you, loves you in any way possible.

Whether it be platonically, romantically, or familial.

However, Dazai is not one of these people who values the marks.

Being passed around from person to person has left him with left marks, most of which fade after he is passed off again.

When a mark fades, it means the person has forgotten about you, or that they’ve died.

Many of Dazai’s past caretakers have died.

However, that would be why Dazai loathes his marks or the romanticization behind them.

His body is covered in marks. Bruise-like hand prints litter his body, predominately on the wrists and waist.

He has a distinct hand print over his mouth, a hand once used to silence his screaming and protesting against the perpetrator.

Dr. Mori Ogai is the cause behind these marks. He has a tendency to manhandle Dazai, toss him around however he pleases, and use him like a toy.

Dazai hates Mori more than anything, and had always wished the marks would just disappear. He wished Mori would stop caring about him, forget about him.

He wished Mori would die.

There was nothing that Dazai hated more than feeling like Mori’s toy on display, everyone who saw him could see all the pain Mori put him through.

Dazai covered himself in every way possible. Bandages, oversized clothes, jackets in spring.

But the marks pop out against his pale skin like neon colors.

Over time, he got used to them. He got used to having no other marks than from Mori, to looking like a beaten up toy, like a broken porcelain doll.

It was, until Dazai met Odasaku.

Odasaku was a kind man, his hand was littered in little hand prints from children, like rainbow face paint. He had a warm and comforting smile, and pushed Dazai to become his friend.

The first mark Dazai had gained outside of Mori’s was one of Odasaku’s. Oda had grabbed his hand, and when he removed his hand to bid a goodbye to Dazai, a green mark remained over Dazai’s left hand.

It looked fluorescent against Dazai’s pale skin, and mellowed out over time into a pretty pastel green. Dazai would trace each where Oda’s fingers laid before sleeping in awe.

To think another person would care about him.

Many marks would follow. Odasaku was an affectionate person, he left Dazai with forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hugs, and anything of the sort.

The green of his marks popped out against the once disgusting and gross color Mori had left Dazai with.

Soon enough, the green color would be painted on his lips, as well.

Dazai grew fond of the marks Oda would leave on him, and would ignore the ones Mori had left.

More colors followed suit with Oda’s.

Ango’s was a light brown, only the slightest bit darker than Dazai’s skin tone. He left behind the ghost of hand shakes, ghosts of the memory of wiping off Dazai’s face.

A light brown lingered against Dazai’s scarred arms from Ango’s stitching, overlapping with the bruises Mori left.

It had shocked Dazai the first time he saw such marks, having believed that Ango could care less about him. But nonetheless, Ango’s marks appeared on his skin, and never left.

When Osamu had picked up the homeless and sickly Akutagawa siblings, he had noticed the younger one, Gin, was covered in blotchy and inky black hand prints. Against her cheek, along her hands, on her shoulders. Dazai found the same marks on himself later that night after carrying the older Akutagawa to his car. Sure enough, a blotchy black handprint laid against his collarbone, where Ryuunosuke had clung to him like a kitten.

Dazai had remembered reading somewhere that black markings were rare. A certain part of him was rather happy that Ryuunosuke had left one on him.

Over time, Dazai started looking more and more like an abstract painting than a person.

He loved it. He loved feeling loved.

But all good things come to an end.

Ango betrayed him and Odasaku, leading to Odasaku’s death, and eventually to Ango abandoning Dazai.

The last mark Odasaku left on him before his death was a light touch on the cheek as he pulled off the bandages covering the scar Akutagawa had left Dazai.

He asked Dazai to do one thing for him, one last thing to make Dazai happy.

To be on the side that saves people.

An unconventional request it was, hard to process among every other thought racing through Dazai’s mind.

He didn’t want Oda to disappear, he didn’t want the last person to truly love him to die yet.

The thought of the marks Oda left on him shattered Dazai’s heart. The last thing he would have left of Oda, gone.

… And yet, the green marks never disappeared.

Weeks went by after Oda’s death, Dazai would awaken every morning and stare into the mirror, waiting for them to fade.

But they didn’t.

Oda may have been gone, but his love wasn’t. His love for Dazai would outlive him, and carry Dazai to trying to do the right thing.

He left the Port Mafia.

He waited for Akutagawa’s marks on him to disappear. For Mori’s marks to disappear.

They never did. If anything, Akutagawa’s marks grew more vibrant against his skin.

He couldn’t tell if he was getting paler, or if the marks really were changing color.

Mori’s marks remained, much to Dazai’s dismay.

He’ll just have to wait for the old bastard to die.

The surprising part, more so, was that Ango’s marks stayed. The cinnamon color remained over his hands, in streaks against his face, and underneath his knees from being carried.

Dazai never understood why they didn’t. He couldn’t comprehend Ango still caring about him after all this time.

He wondered if Ango’s marks stayed on Odasaku, too.

He never found out the answer.

Dazai had his identity erased, now at 19 years old, and bought a cheap apartment with his savings.

No longer a mafia member, but now just a kid.

… A kid just barely under the drinking age. Which was annoying.

Dazai converted his former alcoholism into a caffeine addiction.

There was a coffee shop down the street from his apartment that he liked to go to, despite the sad memories with it.

His first get together with Oda and Ango.

“I’ve… Only had black coffee before, I don’t know what to get,” Dazai mumbled, rubbing his bandaged arm awkwardly as Ango turned to him.

Oda was already at the counter, ordering something.

“Do you need suggestions?” Ango asked, to which Dazai nodded.

Ango pulled Dazai close against his chest, readjusting his glasses as he began to narrow things down for Dazai, figuring out something he’d like.

Dazai was incredibly confused by how much Ango knew about coffee, he was certain the other had been too busy to visit coffee shops like this all that much.

“Can I have a large iced white mocha with… Four extra shots of espresso?”

“You want six in that?”

“Yeah, please,” Dazai said with a smile.

“Alright…” The cashier said, wary as she looked over the total, “That’ll be 600 yen.”

Dazai handed the woman his money, and left the line to go sit down by the window.

It’s frosty outside, winter is making its way into Yokohama.

Dazai will have to buy a new jacket soon…

A man slides into the seat across from Dazai. He adorns a clean white button up, and a fluffy white coat over his shoulders. His hair is a deep purple, shoulder length and silky smooth, a white fluffy hat atop his head. His face is soft, and his piercing violet eyes bright with curiosity, wonder with the world around him. There’s a bandage over his right cheek, and bandaids all across his fingers. It appears he has a habit of biting them.

Dazai can’t find this man anything short of gorgeous. The smile on the man’s face tells him more people think the same.

“My, my, you are an interesting looking one,” says the man with a smile, a foreign accent slips into his Japanese with easy, “Like a patchwork doll, I have not seen anyone quite like you.”

Dazai returns the smile, “So I’ve been told. You’re a strange looking one yourself, you aren’t from around here, are you?”

The man nods a no, “Ah, no. I am from Russia, though I am fluent in Japanese and English.”

“Far way from home, I see. Your Japanese is very good for a tertiary language.”

“Thank you,” replies the man, “My former teachers regarded me as a language prodigy. Ah, I’ve forgotten to ask… What might be your name?”

“Osamu Dazai,” the brunette replied, propping his head up in his hands, “Yours?”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” he replied.

“Dosto… Dos-”

“Fyodor is fine. I understand in Japanese you call people by their last names, however, Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue.”

“Fyodor-san,” Dazai corrected, “You are quite the stunning one, you know? Your beauty is incomparable to anything I’ve ever seen.”

A smile appeared on Fyodor’s face, Dazai half expected him to get flustered, though he remained calm.

“Many people say the same, I don’t quite understand. I believe I’m rather average looking, to say the least…”

The server provides Dazai with his drink, and passing what appears to be a caramel macchiato to Fyodor as she leaves, Dazai hums a thank you to her.

Fyodor pops the lid off his drink, fishing out a small bottle of clear liquid and dumping it into the drink as he stirs with his straw.

“Vodka? Isn’t it like nine in the morning?”

“I said I am Russian, did I not?”

Dazai laughs a bit.

Fyodor writes his phone number on Dazai’s napkin later.

His handwriting is crooked and messy, though to Dazai, it looks amazing.

He doesn’t quite understand his interest in this Fyodor person.

Dazai awakens in a hotel room.

He’s been in ones like these time and time again, never remembering where he was.

After Odasaku died, Dazai developed a habit of letting people take him home for temporary pleasure.

However, this one is different.

The hotel room smells heavily of alcohol, yet the place is rather neat. Coats hung up on the closet doors, lean counters, suitcases emptied and set to the side.

Dazai pulls the white sheets closer to his naked body as he glances next to him, to see the sleeping body of Fyodor Dostovesky.

His hat had been discarded, placed haphazardly on the bedside table, yet he looked incredibly peaceful when he slept.

Dazai remembered more bit by bit. Fyodor invited him to a bar, asking if Dazai would teach him a little more about Japanese drinking culture. They, of course, got drunk. He supposed Fyodor and him hooked up shortly afterwards.

Dazai wasn’t surprised, he did this with just about every man he met nowadays.

Dazai glanced down and over his own body.

No new marks. To be expected.

Yet, when he looked over Fyodor, he was a blank canvas.

He adorned no marks from what Dazai saw.

His brows furrowed in confusion, Fyodor must be a well-loved man with his beauty and interesting personality.

At the very least, he would have marks from his mother and father, right?

The plot thickens, and Dazai slides out of bed to get his clothes.

Fyodor awakens shortly afterwards, greeting Dazai with what Dazai assumes in a ‘good morning,’ though he has spoken in Russian.

He watched Fyodor brush out his hair, button up his shirt and place his hat back on, and then proceed to order breakfast in for the two of them.

Dazai comes to the conclusion that Fyodor is an amazing actor, and that he definitely has a hangover he’s not talking about.

As they eat, Dazai decides to spring a question.

“You don’t have any marks at all, do you?” He asked the other man.

Fyodor glances up from his food, shifting his head to the side as he nods.

“Yes, I have no such markings. It is a mystery to me as well.”

“Not even ones from your parents, eh?” Dazai asked, shoving a piece of omurice into his mouth.

“My parents died when I was young,” Fyodor explained, “It was my fault, it was an ability accident. I was fostered shortly afterwards by a priest, though he never left any markings on me, either. I do not know much of anyone outside of them.”

“So you’r-”

“Unloved,” Fyodor interrupted, followed by a smile, “But I do not mind. I have never left markings on another person, either.”

Dazai’s brows furrowed, “Never, huh?”

Fyodor nods, “Never. I have started to believe I’m incapable of doing such.”

“Incapable of caring for others?”

The Russian man looks up, thinking about his answer for a few minutes before looking down at his food. There’s a slight somber look in his eyes, one of loneliness and doubt.

“I suppose so.”

It’s been years since Dazai and Fyodor met. Their relationship broke off, Dazai joined the Detective Agency, and Fyodor went off to become a terrorist.

Dazai is now 22, and Fyodor is 23.

It is not the first time they have seen each other again after all their years as teens, but the first time they’ve been alone together since then.

They both escape from the prison, Fyodor now his enemy instead of a past lover or friend.

But Fyodor still smiles at him like he’s a friend.

No marks appear on Fyodor’s skin, though Dazai has gained some new ones.

Soft yellow ones from Kunikida, his partner.

A brash violet from Atsushi, his newest apprentice.

A dull green from Fukuzawa, his mentor and father figure.

Among many others from so many of the agency members. Dazai is back on his feet, he feels loved once more, and will not let anyone take that from him.

And yet, when Fyodor looks at him, he can feel the slightest bit of jealousy from the Russian man, too.

He wants to be loved, too. Dazai knows it.

Dazai wonders if he’s the only person who has ever cared about Fyodor, wonders if Fyodor even knows it.

Fyodor readjusts his hat as he walks closer to Dazai.

“Might I show you something, Osamu?” He asks.

“If it isn’t death, sure,” Dazai replied, half joking.

The smile on the other’s face softens, “It is not death, I promise.”

Fyodor fumbles with his hands before taking the left one, fingertips covering his bandaids, and gently caressing Dazai’s cheek. It feels cold, the other’s anemia leaves Fyodor with icy cold hands and feet. He used to tease Dazai with it, but this was not him teasing.

Fyodor’s face is soft and genuine and as he removes his hand, followed by a weak smile.

“I thought I should probably contribute to the masterpiece.”

Fyodor leaves before Dazai can say anything as he presses his hand against his now cold cheek, looking into his reflection in the glass windows.

A baby blue handprint had made itself home on Dazai’s cheek, where Fyodor had touched him.

A smile came to his face.

“So you weren’t incapable after all,” Osamu says, softly.

How peculiar...

[illshowyourhurricanes]

LAST ONE I SWEAR!! #2 for Season 2 Billy

Are you sure, boo? Are you sure?! (I am kidding, I love your requests!) Either way, I am so glad you requested this for who you requested it for because the way it popped into my head for our poor deserving of a redemption arc Billy felt right and I needed to reel in the fluff and get back to my angsty stuff. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Swan Song

Image prompt 2: Billy Russo x OC (I got permission for this, y’all!)

Rating: PG-13 to R-ish for language

Word count: 1468

Tag list: @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @ms-delos @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @ladyofnaps @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

Follower event tag list: @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @witchygagirl @breanime

If you’d like to be added to/removed from/added to my permanent tag list, please just send me an ask!

Special thanks to @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ for beta reading this (and for the cool conversation).

His inky, dark eyes narrowed behind his mask. 

Billy’s leg was shaking, frustration and confusion further distorting the disconnect in his mind. Dipping his head, he ran the palm of one hand over the hair on his scalp as the other balled up into a fist. He squeezed and released, squeezed and released, yet the fist remained. He was nerve endings on fire yet unconnected, a maze of impulses uncontrolled, and his brain was squeezed too tight in a vise or fucking lies. His face hurt. He was wired and wild-eyed and overly exhausted from lack of sleep and those fucking skulls that haunted him and why— how? Why was he here, how did he get here, why did this happen, what happened, who happened, where was all this bullshit supposed to fit in his life? 

He stood too quickly, causing his chair to fall backward with a loud, echoing clatter. People turned to stare. Billy looked at each of them, sneering behind his mask, tilting his head slightly as his eyes moved from person to person to person. As they each looked away, he shuffled to the far wall, toward the barred windows that didn’t open, and he began pacing the length of the room. 

Though he looked straight ahead, he was seeing nothing. Instead, he was in combat. He was back in Kandahar, Lieutenant William Russo, out of breath, exhausted, covered in a filth of dirt and dust and gunpowder and sweat and blood. His entire body ached just from the effort of staying alive, killing anyone who stood in his way. It was exhilarating. It was a feeling of success and triumph that turned to a hot rush of adrenaline throughout his body, heartbeat felt throughout his chest. 

It was triumph, something that Billy could remember the feeling of but could not conjure up, not anymore.It was one emotion he could not bring himself to feel— what was there to be triumphant about? His face was ruined, sloppily sewn together like fucking Frankenstein. 

Frank. Where was Frank?

Billy stopped pacing, his eyes beginning to focus on his surroundings— sounds of some goddamn loon sobbing in group therapy down the hall, a doctor’s heels click-clacking down the tiled corridor. He slowly turned; they were still there, those intrusive cops that took shifts watching him, always fucking watching him. Billy Russo was a dangerous man, they said. He was a Marine, had gone through extensive training and spent time serving multiple  tours overseas. He was a Special Forces Scout Sniper, trained to kill. 

It was war. 

This life he’d woken up to without knowing how, it was war. But Billy did not have a gun. He didn’t have a sense of identity. He was not a dangerous man. 

His face hurt. Lifting his mask to softly run a hand over his face, his fingers swiped from his forehead down to his chin, over the thick scarring of defeat and ruin. Frank. He made his way to an empty table, noisily scraping the legs of a chair over the floor, slumping down, legs splayed and elbows over the table top. Billy sniffed, moved his head side-to-side, heard the satisfying cracking of his neck. Why hadn’t Frankie… where was he? Billy was locked up in this shithole, all for… for nothin’. Frank, he knows me, he’s my brother, he…

Billy bolted up from his seat, jogging toward the officers. The pair of cops straightened their backs, standing on alert, each of them reaching for the grip of their guns. Billy’s eyes caught the movement, and he swallowed past the immediate craving to have his own gun to use on these pigs. The realization of his hand itching for a handgun hit him, hazing his thoughts… why had he approached these cops? He stood dumbly. Wordless. 

“Frank,” he said finally. “Where’s Frank? Frank Castle, he’s my brother, he knows…” He let out a puff of air, closing his eyes, trying to gather and organize his words. His voice was muffled behind the mask, his tone falling flat like his affect. “You gotta get in touch with Frank.”

The policemen just stared at him, bored expressions on their faces, hands still on their guns. Billy stared back from behind the visage of his mask, clenching his jaw, challenging the chumps facing him. With a deep inhale he turned to retreat to his table, and that was when he saw her. She was sitting in the chair facing the windows, perpendicular to where Billy had been seated. It had been the only empty table in the room. Now, the tabletop was littered with a rainbow of paper, each sheet perfect squares. 

Her hair was the color of honey, and it was clean, brushed and pinned back from her face. Why is she here? Billy approached the table, resigning himself to possibly being presented with small talk. He didn’t do small talk. 

But she was so focused on what she was doing, she didn’t look up when Billy sat. My fucking face hurts. He crouched down back into his chair, his head still but his eyes locked on the girl’s hands. She folded the paper, a shimmering silver, with exact precision. Edge to edge, corner to corner, unfolding and flipping. He continued to watch sideways, and when she was finished, she smiled in satisfaction, perfectly content, and plucked another square from the array of paper— a vibrant purple. She’d not once looked at Billy, nor had she said a word. She folded another bird, then another. 

Maybe she should be in here. 

When she set her fourth paper bird on the table and picked up an emerald green square, Billy spoke. “How many swans you gonna make?” he asked, his voice rough and laced with annoyance. 

The woman finally looked up then, and she didn’t bat an eye at the sight of his stark white mask. It was going to stay white too. Billy thought of his doctor with disdain: what a joke. She wants me to fingerpaint. This joint is far from kindergarten, lady. She should be locked in here too. 

Then, the stranger had the nerve to smile, and so brightly that it lit up her entire face. Billy’s brows raised, not that she could see. Beginning to fold again, she brought her attention back to the paper. “Cranes,” she said finally. “They’re cranes.” 

Billy’s hand rubbed over his skull again, back and forth, once, twice, three times. “How many cranes you gonna make?” He corrected himself, voice dripping with sarcasm. A bird was a bird, he thought, but then he recanted. Raven, it’s Blackbird. 

“Legend says a thousand.” She interrupted his thoughts and it seemed like she was speaking in some kind of riddle. Billy didn’t reply; instead, his eyes darted around the room in paranoia, unconsciously shaking his leg again. His face hurt and it itched and he was hot behind the mask. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Slowly, he gripped the mask and slid it upward until his mangled face was revealed. Her eyes lifted to his face again, two seconds before looking back down. His nostrils flared and he set his chin, raising his head high. If someone was going to look down on someone, Billy was going to be the one looking down. 

“Orizuru— paper cranes—the Japanese call them birds of happiness or paradise. Legend has it they carry souls there. To Paradise.” Her voice lilted and fell like wind chimes. “They’re also a symbol of hope and healing.” She finished by folding the beak downward. She smiled again, and Billy just stared. She’s delusional. 

“Here,” she said, holding out her most recent bird. Sunlight from the false, imprisoning windows reflected off the jewel-toned paper. “For hope and healing.”

Billy stared at the swan, the crane, whatever sort of bird that she held delicately in the palm of her hand. His heart began to hammer against his rib cage, anger rising from his core and threatening to escape from his throat. 

Hope. Healing. Fucking bullshit. 

In one swift motion, he ripped the mask from his head with one hand and grabbed the stupid paper bird with the other. Standing, he caused the chair to clatter to the floor for the second time—third maybe, he’d lost count— and looked down at the girl menacingly. His upper lip was curled in contempt. 

“I don’t need your fucking swan.” He crumpled the perfectly folded paper in his hand, tossing it to the floor and turning to walk away. As he approached the cops, the ones who would be escorting him to his room, he heard her voice call out. 

“Cranes. They’re paper cranes.” 

He stopped short, standing perfectly still for just two seconds, and rolled his shoulders, inhaled deeply. Never looking back, Billy began walking again, throwing his mask to the floor to join the broken crane. He nodded to the cops, each one wrenching an arm back a little too roughly as Billy led them down the hall. 

[timetravelingshark]

Rewrite?

So I’ve seen a lot of people mention that the creation myth in RWBY was kind of generic, and that the whole bit with Grimm coming before humans didn’t really make sense, which I agree with. Also, some people thought that the religion should be a bit more inspired by Asian mythologies, considering how much of RWBY is inspired by Japanese media, which I can get. So I decided to take a crack at a rewrite (I guess?). I took inspiration from some of the Shinto beliefs, Chinese philosophy, and Greek mythology. 

This obviously ain’t perfect, and I’m open to criticism. I’m also not saying that this is any better than what the show put out, I’m just saying what I would have wrote if I were a writer on the show.

The myth is under the cut.

Long ago, spirits roamed the earth.

There were many sorts of spirits, all with different names and purposes. But there were two who were the most important. They created all that is around us, the moon and sun and the dirt beneath our feet.

They were the Light Spirit and the Dark Spirit. Everywhere the Light Spirit went, he created, flowers springing from his feet and life blossoming from a simple touch. He created the plants and animals, the sun and clouds. He did not mean to, but it was just his nature.

Everywhere the Dark Spirit went, she destroyed. Plants wilted beneath her feet, and fire and famine and drought followed in her wake. The skies darkened in her presence, and the embers from the fires around her formed into the moon and stars. Everything the Light Spirit created, the Dark Spirit eventually destroyed. She could not help it, it was just her nature.

The Light Spirit grew tired of the constant cycle of creation and destruction. He ventured down into the deep caverns where the Dark Spirit resided and proposed a truce to their unintentional rivalry. They would create something together, something that had as much potential to be a creature of darkness as it did a creature of light. It would roam the Earth and flourish, and all the spirits would no longer have to be so lonely anymore.

The Dark Spirit agreed, and together they created this creature.

Its bones were made from the dust deep in the earth, its flesh made from clay. Water coursed through its veins, and fires lit within its heart. Air filled its lungs, and with that, the two spirits stepped back to admire their handiwork.

They called their new creation Mankind.

Over the next thousand years, Mankind roamed Remnant. They flourished, covering the entire planet. Both the Light Spirit and the Dark Spirit watched their creation closely, eager to see how they had grown.

The Dark Spirit noticed how, despite having equal ability to be Dark or Light, Mankind almost always chose to be Light. Creation was celebrated by them, destruction feared and shunned.

The Dark Spirit grew jealous. She couldn’t help it, it was in her nature.

In her anger and jealousy, the Dark Spirit created for the second and final time in her eternal life.

It did not turn out beautiful, like the Light Spirit’s creations. They were horrid, misshapen things, jaws dripping inky black and bones jutting from their skin. They had no souls to speak of. In fact, they had no purpose other than to destroy everything Mankind had worked for.

The Dark Spirit looked upon her creation, and called them Grimm.

When the Light Spirit looked upon the carnage caused by the Grimm, he was horrified. He was powerless to destroy the Grimm, because he couldn’t destroy. It wasn’t his nature.

Blinded by grief and rage at the slaughter of their creation, he found the Dark Spirit and locked her away, deep inside the caverns that she had so often resided.

When he realized that he had betrayed his fellow spirit, the Light Spirit was overcome by shame. He, too, locked himself away in penance, far from where any human could possibly find him. The other spirits, sensing that something was wrong with the world, fled into deep forests, under the seas, or up onto the highest mountains.

It’s been two hundred thousand years since any human has seen the spirits. Some say they’ve faded away, never to return. Some say they’re still around, biding their time, waiting for the day when they can walk side by side with humans once more. Still, some say they’re still here, interacting with us in small ways.

I’m not sure we’ll ever know.

Other bits

I decided to nix the relics. With Maidens, Auras, Semblances, Magic, Dust, and Whatever the Fuck Ozpin Is, there’s already way too many power sources. Taking out the relics makes things a tad less confusing imo. (there’s also another reason why I cut them out but we’ll get to that in a minute.)

Ozpin and Salem in this follow more closely with the WoR series. 

Ozpin was one of the early humans, born about 20,000 years after the spirits shut themselves away. He was fascinated with magic and aura ever since he was a child. He managed to develop his aura so much that he stopped aging or getting sick. However if, somehow, his aura gets depleted enough that he gets killed, his soul moves on to another body. Even Ozpin doesn’t know why this happens, but he’s convinced it has something to do with Salem, and old... friend... of his. Over the 180,000 years he’s been around, he’s taken on a total of 85 forms, not including Oscar. (Because he’s been around for so long, Ozpin is not fazed by ANYTHING. He’s literally seen it all.)

Salem was also one of the early humans. She and Ozpin were friends, way back when. Salem was fascinated by the Grimm, ever since a young age. She wanted to study them, not fight them like the rest of humanity. So she ventured out into the world, determined to find answers about them. She ended up stumbling across a few trickster spirits. Knowing that spirits were powerful, she offered up her heart in trade for all the time in the world to gather knowledge about the Grimm. To her horror, the deal turned Salem herself into a Grimm, never aging. Now soulless and immortal due to, y’know, being a Grimm, Salem had eternity to do whatever the hell she pleased. Taking advantage of this, she learned everything she could about Grimm and how to command them. She is very bitter over her fate, though. Nobody wants to live forever, especially when you’re the very thing Humanity is actively trying to eliminate.

It’s rumored that if the Light and Dark Spirit are released, all the other spirits will come back as well. The re-emergence of spirits would shake the world to its core, and the spirits were known to not really get along with humans. Spirits are essentially the ultimate chaotic neutrals, and don’t play by human laws. If they were re-released, the world would go to chaos, and could be remade by powerful hands. This is what Salem wants, to remake a world that screwed her over in her idea of how a world should be.

Again, this sure as hell isn’t perfect. A lot (as in, 99%) of the Oz/Salem things I’m still shaky on. Please hit me up with some constructive criticism, ‘cause lord knows I need it. Also, if you’ve actually read through all this bullshit may God bless your patient soul.

[aldreaoakley]

Arranged Marriage!AU one-shot

It’s been a long while since I wrote something and @catchthespade had this one post that got my gears going and... just don’t kill me because I actually intended this to be a one-shot...

[long post again...]

As the car got closer and closer to the Ichinomiya residence, ___ wrings her hands in a frenzy. This is her first time meeting her betrothed like this and all for economic reasons. Her family's company is close to going bankrupt -despite that they specialized in anything related to cooking- and the deal with the Ichinomiya family is more than perfect. Combining the best with the best, it was a deal that both parties agree to.

"Miss," the driver interrupts, "we are here."

"Thank you Hikaru," ___ whispers while the heavily imposing gates swing inward.

The second her butler, Shuichi, opens the door is the same one ___ is fighting every single nerve to not flee to a far corner inside the vehicle. A man with inky Arctic eyes glares at her while the man next to him smirks. If anything, ___ is a hundred percent sure that this is not going to work out. ~*~ "This is bullshit Eisuke," Soryu snarls the second the door closes. "The corporation is booming and you are making a deal like this!"

Eisuke sighs with heavy exasperation at his bodyguard's tone. This wasn't his idea either but Akira had already gone ahead with the deal with the ___ even before his adoption. It was-

"Akira told me that the deal was should anything happen to the ___ family, we get married. Today we are just signing the damned papers to show that her family's company is now part of the corporation," he flatlines. "I had no say on this even before today. He told me this yesterday."

As far as Eisuke is aware, Akira didn't even meet ___ inside the hospital where she was born and that the deal happened to ensure that ___ has a comfortable life. He did have to wonder about one thing though.

"Do a through search on all of her staff. Wet nurse, butler, everyone," he orders Soryu.

With a nod, he watches the other leave. Once the door clicks shut, Eisuke pages for a maid. He needs a heavy dose of coffee. Now. ~*~ "This is no fair... why does Eisuke have such a grumpy bodyguard," ___ whines while her hair gets brushed. "All I wanted to do was run away but with Shuichi in there it was impossible to... but...... Eisuke does seem nice..."

"I would be careful," her nursemaid, Chisato, warns. "The Ichinomiya Corporation is very powerful. Should anything happen while we are there, it will be instant death."

"Is he really that bad," ___ questions. "He is so cordial and polite."

"Then that is for you to decide miss," Chisato comforts, "because at the end of the day, he is your husband by law. Now go to sleep."

"Yes ma'am."

After Chisato leaves, turning the light off, ___ breaths an irritated humph. So what if the deal gets a green light, all that matters now is that she's in a good position. Just as she is to be. ~*~ Eisuke frowns from overhearing a loud ruckus, forcing him to pause mid-paperwork. Slamming his palms against his oak desk, he storms to the door to see... 

/What the fucking hell is going on here/ he frowns.

The scene in front of him is not what he had in mind. On the floor is ___ with dirty water staining her new dress and shattered vases decorating her and the carpet. Nearby are three maids sneering, taunting and jeering with a few of his female business associates. Of course... these types of messes has been happening ever since the day after their wedding. He didn't dare touch her in order to produce an heir nor did he even leave a mark to show who she belongs to. It's a no-brainer to him but clearly there are those who disagree. Out a corner he sees Soryu cock his hidden gun. He signals for him to drop it. The latter reluctantly does so. Smoothing his suit and schooling his expression, Eisuke steps out.

"Ladies," he greets, "what are you doing to my wife?"

He sees ___ eyes widen a bit before relief floods them. There is nothing like the little things that she does that makes him feel like nothing is mundane. However, he isn't one for the frivolous love ideas of hers.

"We are just scolding her for being clumsy around such-"

"Do you take me for a fool," he hisses darkly. "Don't take me for a fool. Now all of you leave or else."

At the threat, they scatter. Eisuke signals for another maid as he helps ___ to her feet.

"Thank you for doing that. You are a wonderful husband," she smiles.

"Haven't you forgotten or should I repeat it," he mouths to her.

"Oh... but you're still my husband, not some other fool," ___ sulks. "And I'm not picking anyone else!"

Unknowingly, a soft smile dances across his face with the comment falling from his lips on gentle tones.

"You are far too nice for your own good." ~*~ Several weeks has gone by, leaving ___ able to finally relax inside her private gardens. To her knowledge, the maids got fired and the women who keep on giving her grief are also banned from ever interacting with her or Eisuke again.

"Ah... life is so peaceful," ___ smiles while sipping some tea. "Well back to work~"

But some odd reason, ___ cannot shake off a bad feeling after putting her cup down. The feeling lingers while getting closer to the main house. Something covers ___'s mouth and she manages to bite the hand then running off. While somewhat regretting wearing dressy jeans, ___ is happy that they are practical enough for one thing.

"Eisuke," ___ screams while fleeing the set of thudding feet. ~*~ "All right. ... I see. ... See to it that they don't have any further contact with any groups. And if possible, get Ota and Mr. Baba involved. ... I can't risk anything happening to my wife."

As his phone beep to signal that the call is over Eisuke looks at ___'s trembling form. He recalls what happened several hours ago. Her panicked screams ringing across the grounds mimicking the intuitive unease he was feeling... The way how the masked man was reaching towards her... Mamoru (a security guard) tackling the would-be kidnapper... The fuss with the police...

But despite all that, he feels some pride at ___ for being brave despite all the fear coursing through her. Biting someone who is attempting to grab you is stupid but...

"I'm glad you're safe," he murmurs gently, wrapping her in his scent. "I'm not going to loose my wife."

"Me too," her voice timidly leaks out. "Um..."

"Just don't do something that will risk our future."

"... Okay~"

For some odd reason... something that Eisuke can't explain to himself but during the few months after their wedding, he somehow gain something that was more precious than the corporation or a new addition to the business. The love that he thought had died when he was little, along with whatever hope he had then, had reappeared in the form of the being in his arms.

Author’s note: Yes I am familiar with how arranged marriages work and I also used some elements from an OTBS sub-story as help. I had to include Hikaru, Shuichi, Chisato, Soryu, Mamoru, Ota and Baba or it didn’t feel right adding in so many OCs.

On a side note... I didn’t include MC making coffee because I did allude to it with the cooking franchise thing. In all the KBTBB stories, MC is a cook that can only be rivaled by Baba and Luke.

I remember from the Japanese voiced stories that Baba is called Baba-san and thanks to @redpantychan for explaining how the honorifics work in Japan that I managed to get the feel right. I may live in America but I am respectful and aware of other countries. And Japan isn’t someplace that is as roomy as a wide open Kansas plain but rich people’s houses there can be somewhat insane...

Kudos to @catchthespade for all her Eisuke posts. Those helped me with how to get his character to develop in such a short time.

[unicornskulls]

A couple of things! (Your post is pretty good, btw, but I can shed some light on a few topics. Please don’t take this as a rejoinder to you so much as some discussion along similar lines.) 1. L lies pretty consistently about anything to do with his actual life or preferences, especially to Light. The idea that they’re friends is probably the biggest lie; another is that he only mildly suspects Light, when in actuality, he doesn’t even have any other good suspects and is almost certain that Light is Kira.

2. Yeah, Light is just as much of a liar. This is a fandom that I’ve seen claim, in the past, that Light’s mass murder of thousands of people is somehow ethically less bad than L claiming to be his friend. Guys, come on. 

3. I really wish this fandom would get over that “lying monster” speech, at least when doing character analysis. It’s not the author’s version of the scene at all -- it’s a version from an adaptation of an adaptation that the original writer was not involved in. In Ohba’s version of the scene, L just tells the kids he solves cases because he likes to win and that he’s willing to cheat to get there, and then he picks out the kids who have a certain specific response to that statement. (My interpretation of this scene is that it has to do with passing over earnest kids who are likely to burn out in the course of doing L’s work.) In any case, How to Read refers to the manga; “lying monster” is from an adaptation of the anime that came out some time later (summer of 2008, actually). Is there any other time at all in the manga when L mythologizes himself and speaks in metaphor? NOPE. I actually think the lying monster speech is pretty OOC for him, and accomplishes nothing, whereas the original version of the scene has a fairly clear goal. And L always acts with a clear, identifiable goal in the manga.

3a. For what it’s worth, “has there ever been a point in your life when you’ve actually told the truth?” is also from an adaptation and not part of the character as he was originally developed or written... but in this case, it doesn’t strike me as even a little bit OOC. The rooftop scene is great and seems consistent with the manga character to me. But it’s not in the manga; it was added by the anime’s production team. 

4. L lies to protect himself -- the same reason he lives in hiding. Probably the L you see in the early chapters of the manga is the closest to his true self (who would he be putting on a bullshit persona for at that point?), but that’s a back-formed interpretation that has nothing to do with why he was depicted that way. The creators simply wanted their original Japanese audience to take L seriously, so they didn’t initially show the full range of his eccentricity.

5. People who are confused on this subject might also be interested in reading about private investigation techniques in general, specifically pretexting, which is more or less targeted lying and a form of social hacking. If you’ve ever seen a show where someone calls a business pretending to be someone they aren’t to get the receptionist to give them information that they otherwise wouldn’t, you’ve seen pretexting in action. And L does it all the time.

Maybe I should start my Death Note blog again… but ehhh, I just don’t feel like blogging consistently enough on the topic. I’ve returned to being the A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones person that I was before Death Note got its inky tentacles all over me. (Imagine people’s surprise when I’d be sitting at some hipster party monologuing about Cersei’s motivations. SIGH. /pushes glasses up.)

Ryuzaki & Lying:

For whatever reason, L is known for lying. For example, there’s a personality quiz in How to Read; if you get matched with L, it tells you “try not to lie so much.” Not to mention, the famous cut scene from the anime where L gives his lying monsters monologue.

But when does L even lie? It’s Light who is constantly lying to everyone. Yet, nothing is ever mentioned about that.

WHY?

For this to work, L must lie significantly more than Light. Which (as everyone knows) is nearly impossible (because every word out of his mouth is BS). As L says to Light, “has there ever been a point in your life where you’ve actually told the truth?” It’s funny L reprimands Light about lying when L is the character strangely called the biggest liar.

Therefore, if L manages to lie MORE than Light himself, L must be lying about his entire personality and beliefs.

The only explanation I can think of is the Ryuzaki persona. Even then, I’m not sure that’s more lying than Light. I mean…I’d say Light hides his personality about the same amount. Unless L wildly differs from Ryuzaki.

[turboautismrobot]

日本語はとてもむずいです、なんで私が欲しかったこれ学ぶ（ ＴДＴ）

[turboautismrobot]

hi ! im rain/nove/inky (it/she + neos), 18, brazilian, will post in portugese from time 2 time :3c en/pt-br/esp ok !

art blog @sapatosonico

please look at my art please its my reason for living for breathing for getting out of bed in the morning i love drawing more than almost anything please look at it please please plea

proship DNI !!

abt me !!

wasian, aroace, demigirl, autistic

extended prns: it/she/ink/rain/@

[🇧🇷]: ela/elu/ely/isso

more on pronoums.cc if you want it

bfy / glorified second abt me ?????

i have a small typing quirk of spacing exclamation points and /, and i really like abbreviating text with numbers, i dont do it all the time but i do it sometimes so if that bothers u uh sorry ig 👍

i make a lot of typing errors (keyword: typing) specially in english, if were friends i dont mind you correcting them and i dont think you sound rude when you do that

i dont usually captalize anything when i type so if my texts have proper captalization and no abbreviations im using speech to text (i have pain on my wrists and hands). plz dont mention it if my speech to text fucks up words unless i point it out myself, it is a very stupid keyboard robot and i also have an accent (asking for clarification on confusing text is fine)

i post mostly in english but feel free to talk in portugese or spanish to me, my spanish isnt great so i might take longer to read/respond but i do still understand it !

i absolutely do not care if you spam my notifications go wild 👍

intrests !!

VOCALOID !!! / vocal synths (but mostly vocaloid. and adachi rei)

danganronpa

sonic

arcaea (@evilmemories)

hello charlotte

your turn to die

rpgmaker horror

generation loss

fnaf

splatoon

hollow knight

murder drones

gore/guro (DRAWN. NO IRL) (confined 2 sideblog, if youre not into that you dont need to worry abt this one :3)

theres definetly more but these are the major ones i think lmao

[turboautismrobot]

立、出、作、飲、走、読、文、字 dont mind me im just writing down stuff insaw today to know how they look digitally

[turboautismrobot]

gotten to the stage of japanese knowledge that i can daydream simple interactions fully in jp thats awsome

[turboautismrobot]

fucking hate this kanji

[turboautismrobot]

THIS FUCKASS LANGUAGE THINKS ITS SO FUNNY